"I know." He steps closer, his smirk diabolical. "Genius, isn't it?"
He's so close I can feel the heat of his body. The scent of his cologne—rich, smoky, a little dangerous—seeps into my pores, doing unspeakable things to my brain chemistry. I can't think, which is why my next question comes out all breathless and stupid. "Why? You could have anyone."
He lowers his head until his lips are right by my ear, his whisper a deep rumble. "Maybe I don't want just anyone," he murmurs. "Maybe I just want you."
I hate that my heart stutters at that. I hate that my body reacts, heat pooling low in my belly, when it absolutely should not.
"No," I say, but my voice sounds weak, like I'm bartering with myself more than him.
He lifts my chin with one finger, tilting my face up until our gazes lock. His green eyes are molten, mischievous, and more than a little challenging. "Come on, Serena," he murmurs. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Did he miss the part where my ass is going to be on the internet come morning? Surely I wasn't ranting to myself about that, right?
"You're basically Satan, and you're hellbent on my destruction. That's the worst that could happen."
He grins. "And yet, you can't stop looking at me."
I wonder for a split second what it would feel like to just…give in. To see what would happen if I said yes. To fall into him like an idiot.
But I'm not an idiot. My parents are walking, talking proof that some things just should not happen. Austin Hawkes is definitely one of those things. This will only lead to disaster, and I've had more than enough of that in my life.
I duck under his arm and throw the door open, marching out into the hallway with my chin up. My knees are only a little wobbly. "I am not dating you," I vow over my shoulder. "Never, ever, ever."
He laughs behind me, the sound so satisfied it makes me shiver. I swear, if the devil has ever gained a soul, he's never been this happy about it.
"We'll see about that, princess."
I don't answer him. I do the smart thing. I scurry away as fast as my wobbly legs and tattered dignity will take me.
I make it as far as the end of the hallway before I have to stop and press my back to the wall, breathing hard. The din from the party below floats up the stairs—conversation, laughter, the clink of glasses—which only reminds me that somewhere in that mess is a photographer compiling my humiliation for posterity.
This is, literally, a nightmare. Except…none of my nightmares ever looked like Austin Hawkes before.
"Jesus, take the wheel," I whisper, but I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed. The wheel is in the devil's hands now. And the devil is the most infuriating man I've ever met.
Chapter Three
Austin
"Hawkes!" Coach shouts, his hands on his hips and a thunderous scowl on his face. "Get your head out of your ass before I lodge my boot up there with it!"
I blink, doing a quick glance around to realize the whole fucking team is in formation on the practice field, waiting on me to get my shit together.
Shit. I spaced again.
"Sorry, Coach!" I yell, jogging over to take my place in front of Killian, who chuckles, amused by the clusterfuck that is now my life.
Even after calling the play, my mind isn't with it. It's on the goddamn photos currently plastered all over the internet. If Serena has seen them, she's probably losing her mind, and I'm sure she's seen them. Everyone and their fucking dog has seen them by now.
If it weren't so concerning, it'd be almost funny, but there's no room for humor when I'm positive Serena may actually murder me.
I was pulled into a meeting first thing yesterday morning, forced to explain that, no, I wasn't getting sucked off in the hallway at Stu Mancini's, despite how it looked. It was a case of bad timing and shitty angles. I think management believed me.
I'm not so sure about the rest of the world, however.
Serena is legitimately going to kill me.
In her defense, I don't blame her.
