Текст книги "Seth"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Chapter Nine

Seth

Goddammit. I had a buzz going on, but it’s fading fast.

Can’t take this any longer. Scraps, okay. I said I’ll take them. Fucking said so. Take whatever I’m allowed to take, but this… Watching her with her boyfriend, watch as they hold each other and banter and make plans… No fucking way.

That’s pure masochism and dammit, I’ve got enough aches to go around without hurting myself on purpose, too.

Hurting inside my chest. Feels like there’s a band of steel tightening around my heart, pressing deep. Which is stupid. Makes no sense. I just want her, her tits, her ass, her long legs, her tight pussy. Her mouth wrapped around my dick. That’s all there is to my desire for her.

Okay, Seffers? We good? All clear?

Fuck, yeah. Just waiting for the ache in my chest to ease, for my lungs to expand and let in some air. For the urge to bash her boyfriend’s face in to pass.

Shit. I’ve left my walking stick somewhere in my rush to put distance between them and myself and now I’m staggering like a drunkard, my knee shooting warning twinges up my leg as I head toward the exit.

Too many people. As I push between them, a guy shoves back. I stumble, almost lose my footing and faceplant, catching myself in the last second. Pain shoots up my legs, both of them, and my head throbs just as badly as my chest.

It infuriates me even more. It’s the last straw to this evening from hell. I’m drowning, can’t take any more. I need a goddamn break.

Fuck it.

I barrel into the guy, grab him as much for balance as for anything else, and he crashes into the couple behind him. We both crash, ’cuz he takes me down with him, flailing, and I land on top of him.

More pain. More fucking pain, and I can’t take it any longer. I draw my fist back to punch his face, and I’m vaguely aware I’ve totally lost it. Given in to the craziness holding my whole existence in its grip, as it all comes crashing down on top of me—my mother returning from the dead, my injuries old and new, and Manon… Manon.

My moment of hesitation proves a mistake. The guy ain’t amused. He throws me off him and I land awkwardly, rolling on my side. He’s instantly on top of me, but I manage to catch his fist before it rearranges my face. He leans in, panting and glaring, and chaos erupts around us as the guests finally realize there’s a fist fight happening.

Right in the middle of the Damage Control Expansion party. Rafe and Zane will have my balls on a fucking plate for this.

The guy manages to land in a weak punch with his other hand, and I twist my hips, throwing him off me. Guess Rafe’s self-defense lessons are paying off, I think, and swing my fist into his face, landing a good one.

“Stop! Seth, stop.” A hand on my shoulder, tugging me backward, a voice that hooks right into my brain and eases the strange ache in my chest. “What are you doing?”

I let her pull me back, still hooked on the sound of her voice, unable to answer, ’cuz there is no real answer. I’m not sure what I’m doing—haven’t been sure since ever. Just coasting along, trying to keep afloat. To keep from sinking.

Nobody is keeping the other guy from coming after me, though, and he scrambles up and after me.

Someone stops him, inserting himself between us, a solid wall of a man, and I stare at Asher’s back in shock. He’s been working out all right. He barely flexes a muscle as he keeps the enraged guy in check and calmly turns toward me.

“You okay, buddy?” He gives me a quick once-over, pale wolf-eyes dark with anger. “What the hell was this about?”

Fucking embarrassing, it’s what this is, so distracted that I need rescuing.

“Nothing,” I mutter, the warmth of Manon’s small hand searing through the thin cotton of my T-shirt, branding my shoulder. Why is she still here? I thought her long gone by now, with her boyfriend.

The word is like a splinter in my mind.

Ash nods, turns back to the guy who’s being dragged back by his own friends and stares until they back away.

Need to practice a glare like Ash’s.

Also need to fix my knee, manage to walk without a limp and regain some of my strength, because frankly this is ridiculous. Need to turn things about, find a job, finish my training, get well… get over her.

Get a goddamn life.

Ash reaches for me. “Let’s get you up.”

I jerk away, knocking back into Manon who’s knelt down behind me. “I’m okay.”

He’s not fooled. His eyes darken and nostrils flare, and he sucks in a sharp breath, but he lets it go, thank God. “Fine.”

I’m held back by a thread—by a small hand on my shoulder, a touch that shouldn’t fucking happen, that means nothing to her and everything to me.

“The guys will be going on to Halo for drinks,” Ash is saying. “You two,” his gaze flicks over me to Manon, “should come along.”

“Oh, I can’t—” she begins.

“Not tonight,” I say with finality. My muscles are twitching, my hands are shaking, my head hurts and I can’t think straight with her so close. “I’m gonna hit the sack, I think.”

“Need help—?”

“No.” A pang of remorse hits me at cutting him off like this, ’cuz Ash and the brotherhood has always looked out for me, like he just did, and he doesn’t deserve my rudeness—but hell, I hope he can cut me some slack tonight before I fall apart completely. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

“Sure, man.” He shrugs, cuts another look at Manon and backs away. “Call me if you need anything. Take care.”

“I’ll make sure he gets home safe,” Manon says, and I’m too tired to argue with her.

Too exhausted to fight fate, even if tonight for the first time in years I would.

***

Finding my walking stick in the chaos that is the party is an impossible mission, so I end up with my arm around Manon’s slender shoulders as I hobble out of the shop. She insists she can take it, and it really seems she can. I keep forgetting how much strength is hidden in that slender frame.

The fresh evening air slaps my face, takes off the edge. Lets me breathe more freely and let go of my helpless anger—for now. Hard to be angry when I’m pressed to her, her sweet curves melting into my harsh angles. Easier to forget myself for a while, imagine I deserve this, deserve her, and that she wants me back.

Easier not to think at all, to let her guide me to her car, help me inside and drive me home. I stare blindly out the window as we enter Saturday night traffic, thinking how perspective is everything. A year ago, recently released from prison, living on the street, I’d have given everything for what I have now. I’ve have given anything for Shane to be spared the pain, to find a home. Even if it meant I had to stay behind.

Now here I am, with an apartment to return to at night, with a dream of becoming a tattoo artist—if I ever manage to stay long enough out of the hospital to fucking finish my training—and friends. Brothers. Shane is fine, or seems fine on the outside at least, we are both healthy—mostly—and here’s a pretty girl driving me home.

I should be grateful. Optimistic. Full of hope. Fucking happy.

Instead I find myself drowning in the dark. Reliving my past every night in nightmares. And wishing for what I can’t have.

“Will you tell me what happened at the party?” she asks.

We stall at a traffic light, and I glance her way, catching her gaze on me. Her eyes look black in the dimness, the greens and golds lost in the night.

I turn back to the uninteresting view outside. “He shoved me. I lost it.”

I feel her gaze linger on me, a warm touch. “This isn’t like you.”

“What isn’t?” Losing it? Because yeah, it’s been a while since I lost control like that.

The traffic light changes, and she puts the car into gear. “It isn’t like you to look so sad.”

I start, shocked. Try to hide it. Try not to turn to look at her, read her face. “I’m not sad.”

“You’re not smiling, either.”

“I can’t.” I’m not even sure what I’m telling her. I can’t smile? Can’t talk about it? Can’t be here with her?

“I hate seeing you sad,” she says, and fuck, this is too much for me tonight.

Why is she pretending to care? She didn’t call since the morning she left my apartment, didn’t visit. I need… something. My eyes ache, blurring my vision, and I can’t breathe. I lift my hand, rub my chest. What the hell’s happening to me?

Thank God we’ve arrived. I throw the car door open before the car even comes to a halt and lever myself up and out. Out of there, far from her where I feel things I don’t understand, where I want her in every possible way and can’t have her at all.

“Seth!” I hear her climbing out of the car and coming after me as I make my way to the building, but damn, I need five seconds to pull myself together before I thank her for the ride.

Just five seconds. Just a moment to catch my breath.

But before I can, her hand is on my arm and my lungs lock up again. My breath hitches. I turn, slip my hand around her waist, pull her to me. I feel like I’ll fucking die if I don’t get to kiss her, to hold her.

If she turns around now and leaves.

She doesn’t. Instead she leans into me, sighing softly, and time stops. Her soft breasts press into my chest, her head rests on my shoulder, and the night fades around us—the buildings, the street, the cars, the stars. I inhale the scent of her hair and my chest loosens, my heart calms.

But it’s over too soon.

“Let’s get you upstairs.” She pulls away, avoiding my gaze, breaking the fragile illusion.

***

Anger helps me climb the stairs with less trouble than usual. Of course my knee is better now, too. Less swollen and painful.

If she’d had to help me, I’d be fucking mortified. She’s helped me enough. I can do this on my own.

Can you, now? Goddamn liar.

I grind my teeth and fish in the pocket of my jeans for the door keys. The brief moment I held her against me only serves to haunt me. To mock me with all the possibilities even if I know they aren’t fucking real.

Focus on what’s real, Seffers.

Monday I got an interview for a job at a fast food joint. The odds are good. Plus, now my leg’s better, I should go back to training at Damage. Maybe take Rafe up on his offer to help me exercise, strengthen the muscles above my bad knee.

This is good. This is what I need.

I push the door open and hobble into the dimness of my apartment. It’s cold. Empty. I stop by the worn couch and turn toward her. She’s standing right inside the door, her expression unreadable. She glances back at the stairwell.

She’s leaving. I know it. I see it. Of course she is.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say, and I don’t think I can even walk to the bed, the last of my energy zapped. I walk around the sofa and sink in it, plonk my keys and wallet on the scratched coffee table. Maybe I’ll sleep here tonight. Or try to, at least. “You should go back to your friends. Your boyfriend must be looking for you.”

“Nah, I doubt that.”

I look up, narrow my eyes. “Didn’t you leave him at the party?”

“No, he went off to meet his friends.”

“And he didn’t invite you along?”

“He did. I didn’t want to join him.”

She’s still standing at the open door, as if undecided what to do.

“Is everything okay between you two?”

Yeah, I can’t stop myself from asking. It’s like scratching at scabs, opening the wound. Letting the blood flow.

Strangely, my question seems to make up her mind, and she steps all the way inside. Closing the door with a soft click, she approaches me, her steps small, her hips swaying lightly. I watch her, hypnotized, breath caught, as she makes her way to me and sits down beside me.

“Mind if I ask you something?” she whispers.

I lick my dry lips. “Anything.”

Jesus, Seffers.

“It’s only a question.” Her small hands twist in her lap and she bites her lip. “I just don’t know who else to ask.”

I swallow, my throat closing up. “Shoot. Aim for the heart. It’s quicker that way.”

She sends me a quick smile and relaxes against the cushions, her hands smoothing out on her legs. She’s wearing a dress again, old-fashioned and classy like last time. I don’t think many chicks could pull this look off and not look ridiculous.

In her black heels and that flared skirt framing her long legs, the cleavage dipping just enough to show me the pale swell of her tits, she looks hot. Sexy as all hell.

Fuck. Curling my hands into fists, I rest them casually on top of my crotch and hope she won’t notice how hard I am for her.

She hasn’t asked anything yet. Her gaze flicks to the door and back.

I reach over, take her hand. “You can ask me whatever you want. I won’t laugh. I promise.”

She nods jerkily and squeezes my fingers. “Thank you. Do you…” She struggles with it. “If things were different,” she starts again, “between us, if we weren’t just friends… would you have kissed me if I asked you to?”

My mind blanks out at the thought of kissing her, running my tongue over those soft lips, thrusting my tongue into that hot mouth as I touch her all over, as I make her moan in pleasure.

Then I realize what she’s really saying, why she’s here and not with her boyfriend. Why she looks sad.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she blurts before I fully connect the dots, pulls her hand free and gets up. “This is so stupid. I should never have asked you that. I should be going.”

“Whoa, wait!” I stand up so fast my knee buckles before I straighten, but I manage to grab her wrist and pull her back down with me. She cries out but I cushion her fall, and we’re back where we were two seconds ago.

Only not quite.

“Bastard hasn’t kissed you? Why the fuck not?”

“He’s not…” She scrambles off me, curls up at the other end of the sofa. She looks tiny like that—a porcelain doll, fragile and beautiful. “Fred is a good guy. He’s trying to protect me.”

“From what?”

“My own inexperience. Wants to take it slow.”

“I’d have kissed you,” I say. “Fuck slow. I’d have kissed you fast and hard.”

Her eyes are fixed on me, wide. I love it when she blushes, and the color rising to her cheeks right now is deep. “You would?”

“Fuck yeah.”

I’m so hard it hurts, and she’s asking me if I’d kiss her? I’d eat up her mouth, then move down to her tits, her belly, her pussy. I’d kiss her everywhere, and then I’d fuck her—slow and then hard. So hard she forgot about the asshole who’s dating her.

“I’m a terrible kisser,” she whispers.

The hell? “Says who?”

She shakes her head and a dark curl escapes the hair-tie, stark and shiny like bronze against the white of her cheek. “I just never dated much, you know? Dance took up all of my time. I only went out with a guy in France, but we rarely kissed.”

Hot jealousy flares inside my head at the thought of anyone but me kissing her—the mysterious guy in France who convinced her she doesn’t know how to kiss, the asshole boyfriend here who won’t kiss her.

“Fuck them,” I mutter. “I bet you’re an amazing kisser. Don’t let any guy make you feel you’re not worth it, or too fragile to handle.”

She’s still looking at me all wide-eyed and shit, and I scrub a hand over my face.

Fuck this. What am I doing—keeping her from going, talking about her kissing other guys? Next I’ll offer a shoulder to cry on and watch chick movies with her. Help her fix her relationship with another man, when I want her for myself.

“Listen, I’m gonna hit the shower and then the sack. I’m beat.” And pissed at myself, and hanging onto my sanity by a thread, but who the fuck cares about that, right? Hanging onto self-control with all I have.

“Okay.” Her voice is small. She doesn’t move, though. I expected her to grab the chance to go. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” God, she’s sweet. She shouldn’t. Can’t take her kindness. It reminds me of all I’ve ever wished for and never had. “Unless you wanna stay and watch crappy TV with me, maybe you should go and…” I wave a hand as I push myself upright, this time slow and careful, making sure my knee holds. “Do something more fun.”

“Okay,” she says again, turning her face away, and Christ, is she about to cry? Did I upset her again? I seem to be doing this a lot lately.

“Manon…” Dammit. I look around for my walking stick, then remember I left it at Damage, lost somewhere. Like my brain. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.” She doesn’t look at me. “I’ll show myself out.”

What the fuck. I honestly don’t get chicks sometimes. Not that I’ve had much experience with them anyway—except for fucking quick and dirty, but that hardly counts as interaction. The girls of the Brotherhood are nice, but I don’t see them all so often.

And even if I did, this… thing between me and Manon beats me. Are we buddies now? Should we shoot pool together and have beers? What is it about her that draws my gaze and tangles up my fucking thoughts? And let’s not talk about my constant hard-on when she’s near.

Man, trying to convince myself I can do this, stop wanting her, stop needing her, is an uphill battle, and I’m not sure I can win.

So I nod, turn around and leave the room.

Chapter Ten

Manon

The moment he’s out of the room, I bury my face in my hands. Stupid to feel so down because Fred wouldn’t kiss me, but it has been a sucky week. I’ve a right to feel low, right? I feel… confused. Sad.

Torn.

I don’t want to leave. Hard to deny my heart beats faster every time I’m near Seth.

Why do I like how strong he is, so much stronger than Fred? I shouldn’t be comparing them. Shouldn’t be thinking that Fred’s shoulders suddenly seem too narrow, his jaw too slender, that he seems too soft compared to the toughness radiating off Seth.

I shouldn’t wonder how Seth kisses, if sweet and slow, or hard and demanding. If he’d have kissed me, pushed me against the wall and held me there, pressed his body to mine if he’d been the one with me at the party.

Doesn’t matter. He wasn’t.

He’s not the one I want. I’m not picturing him in the shower, naked and—

No, I’m not.

Clenching my hands, I get up. I want Fred. I like the fact he’s slender and sweet, that I’m not afraid of him overpowering me, taking me against my will. That he’s so sensitive and careful. The confusion will clear when I’m out of here, far from Seth.

Can’t see my purse. I turn in a circle and spot it on the floor under the low table. I squat down to grab it and notice a crumbled piece of paper. I lift it, straighten it out on the table for Seth to find later.

It’s a photo, and the sight of it stops me as I prepare to stand up and go. The ink has faded to brown and yellow. It’s old and spent a long time folded, the creases so deep they’re about to tear open.

It’s the photo of two women and two boys. The women look like sisters, light-skinned and fair, and the boys look like brothers—dark hair and dark, exotic eyes. I’m pretty sure I know who they are. I smooth my fingertip over a small, smiling face, over familiar broad cheekbones and thick-lashed eyes.

A mother he’d thought dead for—how long? I wonder. How long was she missing? And what happened to him while she was gone? It’s hard to smooth out the wrinkles in the paper. The anger that made him crumble up something he’d obviously kept for a long time, a kind of talisman, a memory, makes my eyes sting.

Before I know it, I’m on my feet and looking for him. Can’t hear the shower running yet. I step into a tiny hallway. The bathroom door is open, and I halt before he sees me, my breath hitching.

Whoa.

He’s standing at the sink, a hand on his chest between his hard pecs, head bowed, dark hair hiding his eyes. But God, his back… Broad and muscular, covered in intricate ink—snakes, feathers, ladders, claws, demons—and matching ink on his chest, reflected in the mirror, spreading down his pecs, stretching over his padded shoulders.

A snake, mouth open, fangs dripping. I know this tattoo. It’s the photo I saw hanging inside Damage Control.

He’s so frigging hot my body ignites, my blood burns, thumping heavily in the base of my throat, deep inside my belly, between my legs.

Jesus. This can’t be happening. I should go.

He lifts his head, and our gazes meet in the mirror. I’m caught, unable to move, helplessly looking on as his eyes darken to black. His hand, still pressed against his chest, curls into a tight fist. His mouth is beautiful, wide and full, his jaw dark with stubble. I want to touch it, run my fingers against it, let it scrape my skin.

He turns around before I run and this close up, with his chest bared, his ink revealed, I’m rapidly forgetting my reasons for needing to go. His beauty hits me full-force—extraordinary, fierce, striking.

Crap, crap, crap.

“You should go, Manon,” he whispers, and I swallow hard, hurt.

“Okay.”

“You should go now, before I decide to teach you how to kiss. How a boyfriend should treat you.”

His words go through me like lightning. Suddenly I’m hot all over.

Not sure I can speak, I lift my hands, place them on his bare skin. His flesh is warm, hot and smooth, his muscles firm, his heart beating fast under my palms. His musk rises around me, and he puts his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the wall.

Oh God. The contact is scorching—just the press of his muscled body to mine, even though I am fully dressed, and he isn’t touching any part of me. His hands are flat on the wall, his mouth so close his breath feathers over mine, warm, smelling of mint. His lashes are lowered, his gaze intent.

He doesn’t move or speak. He’s made his move, though I’m not sure what it means.

He’s waiting for me to make mine.

I lick my lips, and his eyes zero in on my mouth. He exhales, his chest rising and falling under my hands. The muscles in his taut abdomen contract deliciously.

“I want…” My voice cracks, and I start again. “I want you to show me. Teach me how to kiss.”

A shadow passes over his handsome face, and his dark brows draw together over his eyes. His slightly crooked nose and a whitish scar on his jaw give him a rakish air, dangerous and wild—but his mouth looks soft.

I hope what I’m asking for is clear, despite the fuzziness in my head and the ache of need in my body. I’m doing this so I can convince Fred I’m not some inexperienced chick, that I have been kissed and know my way about a man’s mouth and body.

And God, what a body.

“Oh, I will,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “I will teach you. Are you ready?”

I think I am, and I start to nod—when he grips my chin and crushes his mouth to mine.

Boy I was wrong. Never felt anything like it, I think, dazed, as he parts my lips with his tongue and thrusts inside my mouth, a delicious friction. He tastes of mint and something dark and rich like a rare brandy, driving me drunk and dizzy.

I slide my hands up his hard pecs, and he groans in my mouth, pressing up against me, his grip on my chin so tight it hurts. His chest molds to mine, crushing my breasts on his harsh planes, and something long and thick digs into my hip.

No time to process all this, though, because he moves again, changing the angle of the kiss, delving deeper, his hand slipping round to the back of my head, his strong body shifting so that his thigh is now between my legs—pressing, making me see stars.

Feels so good alarms go off inside my head.

What am I doing? I push on his chest—to no effect. It’s like pushing on a brick wall.

Something does happen, though. He draws back, breaking the kiss, breathing hard. “You okay?”

He licks his lips, and God help me, that’s so sexy I can’t help myself. My turn to kiss him, and he makes a small, startled sound before he surrenders to it, keeping still as I explore his mouth with my tongue, licking into it, mimicking what he did to me a moment ago.

The sensation of his lips, his tongue, his stubble scratching my face, all that strength in his body, kept in check as he lets me have my way with him, it’s burning me alive. Can’t remember ever needing… needing release so much. I’m teetering on a brink, my pussy clenching, the pressure rising, sparks shooting up my belly.

Oh God, so this is what it’s really like, I think, before he moans in my mouth, trembling, his thigh presses harder between my legs, and I come undone. I try to break the kiss, but he keeps our mouths fused, swallowing my cries as pleasure tears through my body, shattering me.

He finally breaks the kiss and stares down at me, panting, a flush on his cheeks. He’s diamond hard where he’s pressed to me, the heat of his erection leaking through his jeans and my dress to mark my skin.

Holy crap…

The reality of what I’ve just done hits me square in the chest. Oh God. I kissed Seth. Kissed him, and let him kiss me—and get me off—in his bathroom, while Fred is somewhere else, thinking I’m at the party, talking and having harmless fun.

“I have to go,” I say, my voice barely making it past my lips. He’s still cradling my head, his leg is still between mine. I can still smell his delicious scent, still feel every inch of his body. “Seth.”

He blinks as if waking from a dream. Then his eyes narrow, his mouth flattens, and I can almost hear the shields dropping back into place with a clank, the defenses descending over his face, hiding any emotion he might feel.

“Of course you do,” he mutters and pulls away, turns his back to me. “Hell. Hope I helped with your question.”

I stare at the beautiful ink decorating the flare of his ribs, the line of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades, and Jesus, what do I do now?

“Yes,” I croak, feeling ashamed and more confused than ever. “Thank you.”

I don’t know if he answers back, because this time I flee as if the devil’s at my heels.

***

“Physical therapy, huh?” Cassie’s reaction is much milder than Fred’s and makes me feel a little bit better about myself. “Why not?”

“Won’t you tell me I should stick to the arts? That I have to fight for dance?”

She shrugs. “It’s your life. Do you want to fight?”

Good question. “I want to keep dancing,” I say truthfully. “Can’t imagine life without dance.”

“Can you dance on the side?”

“Maybe? Depends on how much time I’ll have for it, I guess. I could also give classes to pay for college, at least partly. Pilates, ballet, belly dancing, modern dance.”

She gives me a faint smile. “You were always so full of energy. You make me feel old with everything you’re about to do.”

I sit back and take a good look at her. She looks terrible, thinner, with bags under eyes a bit too bright. Even worse: she’s dressed as if she’s heading for the gym—not something Cassie might do—in a café, for chrissakes.

So out of character.

“You okay, Cass?”

She stares into her mug of tea. “Been better.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing new.” She takes a sip and before I press her for a real answer, she says, “So I heard you left Saturday night's party with Seth?”

Oh crap. Stifling a groan, I lean back in my chair. “Who told you that?”

“Ha, gotcha.” A real smile this time. “You did, just now.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Devious.”

“I’m a bitch, I know.” She sniffs. “Everyone knows.”

“Hey…” I shouldn’t feel bad. She earned that title, and yet I’m pretty sure that’s why she’s like this. Like she’s really depressed. Sinking.

“So did you have wild sex in your car? In the stairwell? On his sofa? In the shower?”

“Cass!”

“Why do you look so shocked? People do that, you know.”

They do? “In the movies only,” I decide.

“I’m sure you believe that.”

My face warms, and I try to hide it behind my cup of coffee. “I do.”

Cassie of course sees right through me. Well, you’d have to be blind not to see my blush. “He kissed you, at least?”

“Fred?”

“Fred?” She makes a face. “You still hung up on him? Guy isn’t interested, girl.”

“What are you talking about? Fred wants me.”

“Because he goes out for coffee with you? Do tell. Has he kissed you?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah-huh. My point exactly. Whereas Seth…?”

I almost choke on my coffee. I want to lie. I try. My mouth won’t cooperate. “Seth did.”

“He kissed you. I knew it.” She grins, eyes twinkling. “The boy wants you.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

But even as I say it the memory of the way he held me and kissed me, the sounds he made, the feel of his hard-on branding my hip, it rushes back and makes me throb inside.

Crap.

“He wants into your pants.”

“He’s just being a good friend.”

She lifts a sandy brow. “By kissing you?”

I open my mouth. Close it. “It’s not like that.”

“Right.”

“I don’t want Seth.”

Okay, by now my excuses sound lame even to me. So I’m attracted to Seth. He’s an attractive guy. Nothing strange about that, right? Doesn’t mean anything.

But Cassie isn’t done with me yet. “Why do you want this guy anyway? This Fred?”

“We fit. We are similar.”

“That’s what I thought about Jesse. And see how wrong I was.”

I wince at the bitterness in her voice. “Yes, you were, Cass.”

“And if you are, too?”

“The difference is, I haven’t forced myself on him.”

“Fred or Seth?”

“Neither!”

Cassie nods, and I start when a tear rolls down her cheek, glittering like a crystal. She pushes back her chair and wipes at her eyes quickly. “Gotta go.”

“Cass…” Now why do I feel like a heel? “Wait.”

“What for? You’ve judged me, and won’t even think about taking another look at my case.”

“This isn’t a trial, Cass.”

“Then why does it feel like one?”

People at the surrounding tables are openly staring at us.

“Please sit down.” I sigh, rub my eyes. “I’m sorry. I believe what you told me, that you thought Jesse wasn’t serious about Amber. That he was only looking for a hook-up. I get it. I’m just stressed right now. Give me some time, Cass.”

She sits back down, a wary look on her face. “Okay. Is it because of Seth? And Fred?”

“I’m attracted to Seth, okay? But it’s Fred I want.”

“I see.” She toys with a strand of her blond hair. “So, this Fred. Must be really handsome, huh?”

“Yeah. He is.”

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

“I am.”

“And you like it when you kiss, right? When you fuck. You want to touch him, taste him, put your hands all over him? You want him to possess you and make you his.”

Oh God, yes. But the one on my mind right now isn’t Fred. Not at all.

It’s Seth.

***

The next days pass in a flurry of activity—running between college and the dance academy, gathering signed documents and stamps. Putting off the inevitable.

Which is talking to my parents about my plans.

First I need to make sure I can do this. It seems I can jump into the middle of the sports kinesiology degree program without any difficulty, given I get some help with certain classes I never took—and special care will be taken not to aggravate my weak ankle. I can focus on sports like swimming, yoga, aqua aerobics and a bunch of other stuff.