“I would like to see you again.”
“My brother’s rule. My shadow.”
“Make an exception. Ditch the shadow.”
“You’re asking me to be bad.”
“I’m asking you to take control of your life.”
He isn’t wrong. “Can I think about it?”
“No pressure, Ever. I never want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“But you said you have rules for the women you see.”
“That’s different. The rules are so we’re on the same page.”
“What are they?”
“You give me full control in the bedroom. I glove up every time, and you must be on some form of birth control. No-strings sex but exclusive. Outside the bedroom, you want something, you give up something in return. If I break things off, we go full no contact. No exceptions.”
He’s asking me to take control of my life, yet if I see him again, he’ll be the one taking the reins. I’m exchanging one form of control for another, and I’m finding out that I am torn when it comes to this man.
Give in or resist? Live recklessly by breaking Ty’s rules and keeping Gage in the dark? Or continue life as is, living vicariously through my friends and the ups and downs of their latest relationship or their hang-ups on their crushes?
Something is going on with Gwen and Dare. Arie has a love-hate situationship with Riot. Riley and Midnight can’t decide whether their relationship is on or off. And I heard from Riley that Syn’s ex-boyfriend from high school just transferred in as DU’s starting quarterback.
That boy has balls.
No one transfers in and takes the starting position from the current starter without a battle of egos and a pissing match happening. I wish him much luck. Wish him more luck if he’s looking to reconnect with Syn, pronounced like sin. She hates jocks.
“What if I do the breaking up?” Riley and Syn had, at some point, broken up with Midnight and Taron, respectively.
“Won’t happen.”
“You’re that confident?”
“I am.”
I shrug, not too worried about these rules of his, because we will never happen. “I expected worse.”
“Like what?” He leans back with his arm resting along the top of the bench as he unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt, giving me a hint of more ink and dark chest hair I would love to rub my fingers through. Then I would rest my head in the crook of his neck and discreetly inhale his scent. He would smell like soap, freshly washed clothes straight out of the dryer, and a musky male scent.
“Rules I expect from a no-exceptions kind of guy would be no kissing on the mouth. Too intimate. No PDAs. Too showy. But open for late-night booty calls and an NDA.”
“Ouch.” He rubs the spot over his heart. “Should I follow your rules, Ever?” With one arm still resting on the back of the bench, Bobby reaches for my hand, collapses it, and brings my knuckles to his mouth.
I watch, mesmerized, as he dips his head and grazes his teeth on my skin before he blows at the wetness he’s left behind. I tremble, imagining what his tongue and warm mouth could do to other parts of my body.
“They’re not my rules,” I stammer. “I made them up to make a point.”
“That there’s worse out there?”
“That your preference isn’t someone else’s.”
“Are you saying you’re fine with kissing, PDAs, late-night hookups, and NDAs?”
“Everything but the NDAs.”
