So is mine. “Lucky.”
“Let me drive you. I don’t want you walking alone.”
“I walk all over the place alone.”
“Please. Let me drive you.”
It’s probably no use arguing with him. He seems particularly domineering tonight. “Fine.”
I get a small smile out of him. I guess that’s nice. “You wait right here. I’ll get the car.”
Giving him my sweetest smile, I answer, “Sure.”
Lucky’s right hand rises, his pointer finger aimed right at me. “Don’t move.”
“Nope.” I shake my head like I mean it.
Lucky turns and starts to jog back in the direction of the bar. As soon as he’s a half block away, I take the opportunity to make a run for it.
For some reason, the whole notion of me attempting to get home before he can catch me causes a giggle to start in my chest and burst from my lips. By the time I’ve rounded the next block, I’m laughing my butt off. I see headlights turn onto the street. It’s got to be him. With a maneuver that can only be described as genius, I take a right onto a sidewalk that takes me between two campus buildings. “Ha. Let’s see you get your car through here, Lucky Ganetti.”
Still giggling, I wave as I pass a few people walking in the opposite direction. They probably either think I’m drunk or crazy. Maybe both. As soon as I pass through the buildings, I’m on a street secluded by trees. From here, I can see my building. I don’t see Lucky anywhere, but now isn’t the time to become complacent. Using the trees as cover, I make my way slowly toward my dorm. I’ve only got one more street to cross and I’ll be home free. Looking right, then left to ensure there’s no traffic coming, I race across the street. Panting, I make my way to the front door of my building. Reaching into my back pocket for my key card, I’m shocked when someone grasps my shoulders, turns me around quickly, and presses me up against the glass door.
“You. Are a brat, Foxy.” Lucky’s panting too.
A fresh set of giggles erupts. It can’t be helped.
“I told you to wait for me.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Like I said. Brat.”
I should be mad at him using that word, but I’m not. It was really bratty of me to take off. Heck, it wasn’t like he should be surprised. I shrug. “Sorry.”
Lucky moves in. That’s when I realize just how close he is and that my back is up against the door. His hands that were on my shoulders have slowly made their way down my arms. Then, one of them moves up. He touches my face again, like he did that one other time. I feel his fingers slide into my hair, and while I should worry about the fact I’m extremely sweaty, I can’t. I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe, because he’s moving closer. And closer. And closer.
When he’s a half inch away, he whispers, “Brat.” Which makes me smile. A smile that drops the second I realize that Lucky Ganetti is kissing me.Me. Becklyn Morrissey.
His lips are soft. The kiss is gentle. And slow. I get the distinct feeling I need to let Lucky take the lead. Since I really have no idea what to do anyway, that’s A-OK with me. I mean, my only real experience kissing happened at Y-camp in seventh grade. His name was Lloyd. After the kiss, he proceeded to tell everyone that I was “experienced.”
Not good, because in seventh grade Y-camp terms, he was telling everyone I was a hussy. Ridiculous, since the only kissing I’d even seen was on television. Soap operas in particular.
I never spoke to Lloyd again.
Good thing he lived in a town far, far away from mine. I would have hated to get a reputation.
When Lucky presses closer to me, I feel his other hand wrap around my back. Since I want to do something, I raise my arms and wrap them around his neck, pulling him even closer. His groan causes chills to run over my entire body. My nipples especially. His tongue enters my mouth, and my instinct tells me I need to do the same. When my tongue touches his, Lucky’s soft, sweet kiss suddenly turns into something else. Something more.
He presses closer, if that’s possible. He turns his head enough for his mouth to take mine in a heated, open-mouthed, passionate kiss. I’m sort of overwhelmed with it. I can’t ignore his palm on my butt. I squeak when he squeezes one of my cheeks. Lucky’s mouth moves from mine to my cheek, then down the side of my neck. He sounds breathless as he says “Foxy” in my ear.
“Lucky,” I say back.
I’m not sure if that’s the thing that did it, the thing that ruined it, but at my utterance of his name, he suddenly pulls away. His hands go up to my shoulders as he steps back, essentially pushing me away.
Running a hand through his hair, he mutters, “Fuck.”
“Lucky?” I reach out toward him, but he moves away from me, taking several steps back.
