I stared at him.
“What?”
“Everyone’s watching.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“Committed to the role.”
“I’m mad at you.”
“I know.”
“You do not get to kiss your way out of this.”
“Wasn’t planning to kiss my way out.” His voice dipped. “Just through.”
A laugh burst out of me because if I didn’t laugh, I was going to combust.
Then I hit his chest.
Not hard.
Not gently either.
My fist landed against solid muscle, and he barely moved. Of course he didn’t. He was built like a wall with dimples. I hit him again because I was embarrassed, furious, confused, and dangerously close to wanting exactly what he had offered.
“You are such an ass,” I said.
His hand closed around my wrist.
Everything stopped.
Drew looked down at my hand against his chest, then back at my face. “I know,” he said again.
This time, his voice was rougher.
I should have pulled away.
I didn’t.
He tugged once.
Just once.
And I went.
He caught me against him, careful of my leg but not careful of anything else. One hand slid to the back of my neck. The other cupped my jaw, fingers spread wide, thumb beneath my cheekbone like he needed to hold my face still so I couldn’t hide from him.
“Drew—”
His mouth covered mine.
The word disappeared.
So did the beach.
For one suspended second, I froze. Pure pride. Pure punishment. Pure reminder that I was angry and he did not getto melt me just because his hands were big and his mouth was unfair and half the athletic department was probably pretending not to watch.
