“Tell me something,” she says suddenly, eyebrows furrowed as she studies me, “did you really mean it?”
I search my mind, half convinced I missed some important part of the conversation while I was fantasizing about banging her against that desk. “Did I mean what?”
“What you said to me the other night, before we…” She flushes, looking away. “You know.”
I’ve said a lot of shit to a lot of girls to get in their pants. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s just the way the game is played. Gwendolyn, in particular, is quite effective in making my brain melt.
I squint at her. “Yeah, I’m going to need a little bit more to go on.”
She exhales and looks up at the ceiling, as if asking some higher power for the strength. “You said something about me being stronger than other girls. Did you mean that?”
‘You can handle all my bullshit— and if you can handle that, you can handle anything.’
The words echo in my head, the memory crystal clear. She’d been under me, her body hot but soft. My body hard and thrumming. And I just remember thinking ‘nothing about this feels wrong’.
“Yeah, I meant it,” I reply, clasping my hands between my knees with a shrug. “It’s true.”
She studies my face, as if looking to find the truth in my response. I’m not sure what she finds. “What about Reagan?”
I know what she’s asking. What I’m doing with Gwen… it makes me a cheater. A liar. Do I tell her that I haven’t slept with her? That I spend more time avoiding her than anything else? Would that make it any better, make me any less of a dick?
Probably not.
“Look, here’s the truth.” I run my hand through my hair and admit, “Reagan is a nice, sweet, compliant little sheep who doesn’t interest me one fucking bit. Our relationship is purely superficial, but it’s also socially acceptable. She’s too easy for me. She’s predictable. She’s not like—” I stop, but it doesn’t matter.
“Like me?” she snorts and rolls her eyes.
“She’s nothing like you. You’re a pain in my ass. You drive me crazy. All you ever do is argue with me. And as much as I hate it—"
“You like it.”
God, I really, really do.
I love the way it feels, the trouble and the electricity. It’s not like it was with Campbell. With her, it was drama. With Gwen, it’s a struggle. I can’t just have Gwen. I have to fight tooth and fucking nail for it. It makes my balls ache and my heart pound. Gwendolyn Adams is a need more than a want. And I have no fucking idea what to do with that except try to pound her out of my system.
I’m not so sure she’d be keen about that.
Except, she’s here. And we’re talking about it. And everything’s turned upside down.
“One last thing,” she says, arms crossed over those perfect tits.
I nod, curious enough.
“What about the test?”
“Test?” I can’t ever follow her train of thought. See? Struggle.
“You know, the test.” She quirks an eyebrow at me, her eyes darting down to my crotch. “The blow job test.”
Ah, right. The infamous test. The test Campbell made up sophomore year to make herself look bad ass. The test that somehow evolved into a weird, unspoken rule for any girl who wanted to date me. The entire charade propelled us in popularity and power, and yeah, I got a few blow jobs out of it, for sure. As far as sexual rumors went, I’m pretty sure I hit the jackpot on that one.
All this talk of getting my dick sucked makes it a physical battle not to study her mouth too hard.
“You auditioning for my girlfriend, now?”
She laughs, loud and honking. “Yeah, right, Bates. As if being your shady, illicit hook-up isn’t bad enough.”
Her blunt honesty hurts more than expected, like a sharp stab to the middle of my chest. It’s not something I feel often, and I don’t particularly like it. She pushes off the desk and heads toward the door, making it clear that any hopes of a hookup right now are wildly misplaced. It isn’t going to happen. Maybe ever.