“Huh?” The abrupt change of subject jars me. Now it’s my turn to be confused. I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
“The night we met,” he repeats, removing his shirt and leaning back, strong, sinewy arms crossed behind his head. He probably figures the less clothes he’s wearing, the less likely I’ll be able to resist jumping his bones. Smart man. “Freshman year. At that epic musical theater club keg party.”
“I’m pretty sure I noticed you before that,” I say, finding it hard to tear my gaze from his bare chest. His evil plan is clearly working. “At mass on Sundays.”
I went every week. Not out of some great religious devotion, despite what my parents wanted to think. I went to ogle the cute seminarians. And Chris. Sinful, I know. Guaranteed it’s earned me a special place in hell.
He shakes his head, and his lips curve into a youthful, mischievous grin that’s reminiscent of the boy I lusted after from my favorite pew in the back of St. Cecilia’s. “That doesn’t count. I’m talking about when we actually met. As in exchanged words. Had a conversation.”
“The keg party.” It’s all coming back to me now. Truth is, it never left. If I close my eyes, I can almost see him back then, a little younger, a little lankier, a little more awkward in the way of an adolescent male just getting used to his developing body, skinny jeans and tight T-shirt practically painted onto his slender frame and a red Solo cup filled with whatever cheap beer was on tap clutched in one hand.
But I don’t close my eyes for more than a few seconds because that means depriving myself of the sight of him now. Half naked. “Right. That crazy violinist wouldn’t leave you alone.”
“Renee.” He rolls his eyes and grimaces. “With the grabby hands.”
“She was all over you,” I say on a laugh. “And a terrible violinist. To this day, I don’t understand how she ever got past the audition.”
He sits up and puts both hands flat on my chest, his eyes laser beams, boring into mine. “I didn’t bring up that night so we could reminisce about Crazy Renee.”
My breath hitches and I’m pretty sure he can feel my heart jumping around in my rib cage like it’s trying to escape. “Then why did you bring it up?”
“Because I wanted you to kiss me,” he says, nervously toying with the top button of my shirt. “After you rescued me from Renee and we brought that bottle of Boone’s Farm we found in the fridge up to the roof of the dancers’ dorm. I was too scared to make the first move. But that didn’t stop me from hoping you would.”
“I almost did,” I admit, a little stunned by his revelation. And by the way he’s slipping my button out of its hole. “But I didn’t want to take advantage of you when you were drunk. Then when I did finally kiss you—”
“Years later,” he interrupts, his trembling fingers moving down to the next button.
“You freaked out and ran back to your girlfriend.”
Button number two pops free. “A lot had changed by then.”
“Yeah.” His fingers graze the trail of hair that bisects my chest as they move lower, and my breath catches again. “You were dating Sonja.”
“And you’d stuck me permanently in the friend zone. Or so I thought.”
I let my head fall back against the couch. “We wasted so much time.”
“Let’s not waste any more.” The last button gives way and he drops his hands. “Take off your shirt. I promise I won’t run away this time.”
“Very funny.”
“There’s nothing funny about this.” He palms the noticeable bulge in his pants.
Holy mandingo.That’s got to be at least eight inches he’s packing. My body hums with anticipation as I whip off my shirt and toss it behind me, not even caring where it lands.
Chris reaches for me, tentatively at first then a bit more forcefully, pulling me in. Then he’s kissing me and oh my God he’s good at this. I kiss him back, making soft, encouraging noises as I open up to him. His tongue darts inside and I suck on it greedily, loving the taste, the feel of him.
Unlike both our prior encounters, we’re in this kiss together from the start. That alone makes it ten thousand times better than anything in my admittedly limited sexual experience.
“Fuck.” The word comes out on a gasp as his hands explore my shoulders, my spine, the small of my back. I wrap my arms around him and yank him closer to me, bringing us bare chest to bare chest.
The contact makes my dick do a little happy dance. Chris must feel it because he grinds against me like a stripper, rubbing his throbbing cock against mine. The friction has me seconds away from coming in my goddamn pants.
“Someone’s impatient tonight,” I rasp. “Pretty bold for a first-timer.”
His hands freeze on my ass. “Is that a problem?”
A randy shiver races through me and another rush of blood floods my already engorged cock. “No. No problem. Be as bold as you like.”
