“I actually don’t play any head games.” It comes out low as if I were speaking to myself. “And you’re right. I totally need to step up my game. More than half my freshman year is over, and I haven’t—”
He leans forward to get a better look at me.
Crap. I almost all but admitted that I’m still a virgin—still looking for a single boy to call my own rather than dipping into multiples.
“Haven’t what?” His lips twitch with the smile he’s too greedy to give.
“Haven’t beat my record for last year. Each year I try to top myself. You know, notch up my bedpost by at least ten prospects.” Ten? In addition to the other nonexistent boys I’ve bedded? And really? Marking up my bedpost? I would no sooner carve furniture than I would gouge my eye out. Jet works hard for everything he provides me with, and the last thing I’m going to do is destroy it.
“What’s this?” Lawson picks up my wrist and gently turns it over, examining my tattoo gone wrong.
“This, my ring-through-the-penis-friend, ismyerror in judgment. I don’t know why I didn’t go to my brother. On second thought, I do know why. He refused to give me a tat on command last September, so instead of patiently waiting for him, I went to the first rusty needle I could find. That shop was run by conmen.”
“What exactly is that I’m looking at?” He cradles my hand in his as he brings my arm up closer for inspection. Lawson’s musky cologne, the heat from his body washes over me in waves, and I feel a little dizzy as if I might fall over. His chest rises and falls with such an arrogant calm I almost want to swat him for it. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time around a member of the opposite sex who isn’t my brother. I don’t think I’ve ever felt my heart racing as if I’ve just run a miracle mile in less than ten seconds. But there’s something about Lawson tonight, about that dark, thick hair my fingers ache to run through, about the way his hand is holding mine as if it were fragile as a butterfly. There is just something about this moment that I cannot put my finger on.
“It’s a rose spearing through a heart,” I whisper as if it were my greatest grievance, and at this point in my life it sort of is.
“Did you get your money back?”
“Very funny.” I go to pull my hand away, but Lawson interlaces our fingers instead. “What’s with the hand job?” I try to snark it out like usual, but my voice hitches.
He winces. “I take it you don’t know what a hand job is.”
Crap. Note to self: ask Ava or Harper what the hell a hand job is. On second thought, they’re both so innocent I’d better ask Daisy.
“Yes, I know what a hand job is.” I rack my brain for a moment. “It’s my specialty.” I give his fingers a squeeze. It’s just a hand. How bad can it be?
Lawson ticks his head back with a suppressed laugh and tries his hardest to focus in on the screen up ahead. “So, tell me what else you specialize in? Any other body parts you care to showcase on these serial dates?”
“I mostly use my lips. You know, when my hand gets tired. I like kissing.” It’s true. I do like kissing, especially since it’s all I’ve ever really done, but this walking dildo who happens to be givingmea hand job—what with the way he’s rubbing his thumb over my palm—doesn’t need to know that.
“That’s freaking disgusting,” he moans as if I just vomited on his comfy brown sofa. “I mean, not in theory, but that you’d want to do that to a bunch of guys.” He leans back to get a better look at me, and I’m forced to turn my face to the ceiling to meet up with his gaze. Lawson is taller than me on foot, and yet even here on the sofa I’m dwarfed by his presence. There are so many girls at Briggs—in my sorority who are completely smitten with this tall, drop-your-panties gorgeous beast of a man. I wonder what they would do if they were in my position?
His lids hood over until there’s just a line of neon green peering from beneath. His breathing picks up pace, and from my peripheral vision I watch as his chest pounds in and out as if he’s just run the ball up and down the court twelve times.
“Don’t do that stuff, okay?” he says the words over my hair, searing my scalp with his breath. “I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you like that. I mean, if you were my little sister.” The words explode over my scalp in puffs, and a brilliant sizzle of electricity strums throughout my body. “I’m sure Rush wouldn’t want that either. I’m pretty sure your real brother would shit a brick if he knew.”
A soft laugh rolls through me as I latch my other hand to his arm. I don’t hesitate to run my fingers slowly up and down his rock-hard biceps. It’s something I’ve wanted to do ever since the first time I saw his muscles jumping on the court. Lawson may be hard as sheetrock, but his skin feels smooth and soft as velvet, and I marvel at this.
“Yes, he most certainly would. And then, he would take that brick and bash the poor boy’s brains in. That’s why I don’t tell my big brother anything—either of them actually.” Not to mention the fact I don’t really care for lying to my big brothers. But for some reason, stretching the truth with Lawson feels second nature, and that thought alone weighs heavy on me.
“What else do you do with those lips?” He slides down a notch until his eyes are level with mine, and my heart lets out one horrific boom.
“Just kiss,” I whisper as if I were divulging classified evidence.
“So, if I were a guy and I came in like this”—his head inches toward mine, and I can feel his warm breath over my mouth—“what would you do?” His voice is even-keeled, not a note of sarcasm, and that heady cologne, the feel of his muscles—his chest pressed to my arm begins to intoxicate me until my own breathing is just as erratic as his. I lean in ever so close, and my mouth parts, ready and waiting.
“I would do this.” My lips graze over his just barely, and my insides jump as my adrenaline spikes. I gasp in a never-ending breath at the thought of what I’ve done.
Of course, Lawson wasn’t asking for a kiss. My face heats hotter than lava at the thought of embarrassing myself this way, and I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.
“I think”—he whispers right over my lips, and my heart thrashes throughout my entire body like a prison riot—“that was nice, but maybe you should do it like this.” Lawson touches his lips over mine, and I die a sweet, smoldering death on the inside. He comes in slow and lingering before pressing in with something harder, far more enthusiastic, and then I do what I never thought in a million years I would do—I open for him. Lawson’s tongue touches mine with a gentle sweep, swimming over mine, teaching me, guiding me in the way he thinks it should be done best.
A groan works its way up my throat, and without hesitation I’m all in. So what if I’ve sent the wrong message? So what if he’s sendingmethe wrong message? It’s Valentine’s Day. I’m entitled to a kiss—if you can quantify something this deliciously spectacular as something so basic.
Lawson wraps his arms around me, and I can feel the heft of his rock-hard body against mine. My hands drift to his waist and accidentally slide up his T-shirt—before I realize it, I’m gliding over his expansive chest. He pulls me close until we’re better able to soak in the magic that this unexpected moment brings. Lawson’s tongue is a force to be reckoned with, sweeping aggressively, owning my mouth, owning me in the very best way.
I should probably slap the living hell out of him—then shortly thereafter, slap the living hell out of myself, but I can’t seem to let go. I can’t seem to break my mouth from his, and if I’m honest, which is a rarity in and of itself, I don’t want to.
