Page 48 of Scoring Lessons

The smile he gave me was different. He was typically aloof and throwing lopsided smiles that made him look handsome in a next-door-neighbor kind of way. This one held a dangerous edge. His eyes raked over me with sudden heat and interest. I squirmed in my seat as a zing of electricity settled in my lower belly, like tiny explosions were detonating just for him. I was having a hard time remembering this wasn’t real.

He leaned forward and casually brushed my hair aside, leaving my neck exposed to him. He took a sharp inhale, and his throat made a deliberate bob that had me wanting to run my tongue across it to get a taste of his skin. “I like a woman who has no problem putting men in their place.” His voice was thick; it glided over me like a slow pour of warm whiskey. The hairs on the back of my neck rose with sudden awareness.

My laugh came out strained. “I’m afraid that isn’t me.”

He hummed, thoughtful, then took a slow sip of his beer. His bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, and when a trace of beer lingered there, he dragged the pad of his thumb across it, never breaking eye contact. “You’re stronger than you think, Olivia.”

The words were delivered casually. Almost carelessly.

But games be damned, I knew it hadn’t been the character speaking.

It had been Wesley.

Every part of my body fizzled like a soda pop about to explode, followed by little fireworks going off underneath my skin.

In my weakened state, I wished he’d grab me by the neck and own my mouth so I could find out what he tasted like.

I bet he tasted like a heady cocktail. Like something I could take a single sip of and be dizzied by. Warm, too. With enough of a kick to get me hooked.

The room quieted down when the lights dimmed and a band took over the stage. When the bassist started playing the notes I knew all too well, my eyes snapped to the stage in awe as my hands gripped Wesley’s bicep in excitement.

“Their covers are mostly of Fleetwood Mac,” he said. “I found out they only play here once a month.”

My eyes suddenly felt heavy as I tried to hold back a set of tears. This was so fucking thoughtful for a guy who, by all accounts, couldn’t stand me most of the time.

And my heart didn’t know what to think of it anymore.

THIRTEEN

WESLEY

FANTASIZING ABOUT IT WOULDN’T HURT, RIGHT?

The night passed in a blur of good music, drinks, and good conversation.

I’d refused to break character all night, even though she tried her best to make me do so. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that playing the role of the guy she was supposed to be casually dating was more fun than I thought it would be.

“I can’t believe you’re actually good at dating,” she said as she kept rummaging through her purse, trying to find the keys to our apartment. “I think you’d make a decent boyfriend if you wanted to give it a try, Wesley.”

“Do you have a crush on your roommate?” I asked, my lip twitching with a knowing grin. “Because this is like the fourth time you’ve mentioned him.” My voice dripped with amusement.

Her knowing blue eyes flicked to mine, followed by a soft laugh that broke my skin out in goosebumps. “We’re still role-playing?”

I thinned my lips and gave her a one-shoulder shrug.

“Okay, then.” She turned to face me, squared her shoulders, and cleared her throat.

My eyes followed the way her throat bobbed, and for the briefest second, I wondered how’d it feel to wrap my hand around it. Fuck. What was the matter with me?

“Thank you for making sure I got home safe.”

“Of course.” My hand reached for a piece of her hair and placed it behind her ear. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Yeah. It was…fun,” she whispered through a shaky exhale, followed by a nip of her plush, bottom lip that was painted an inviting shade of burgundy red.

Her lips looked impossibly irresistible. It was killing me not to kiss her. But the deal was to teach her how to flirt, to get her comfortable with getting to know a guy. Kissing was definitely not part of this plan, even though I’d give just about anything for a chance.

Every part of my body came alive at the thought of colliding our lips in a fierce, exploratory kiss, like fire meeting gasoline—every bit as dangerous and inevitable.