“No, we were just about to study, but thanks.”
She shrugs as the other girls stare in curiosity. Or maybe I should say they’re gawking at Carson. And who can blame them? Even in a navy-colored hoodie and jeans, he looks damn near edible.
“Your loss. I’ll save you an eggroll.”
I need to get out of here before these girls grow bold and attempt to distract him with conversation. Not wanting that to happen, I grab hold of his hand and tow him to my bedroom before closing the door behind us. Even from the other side of the thick wood, a burst of chatter follows in our wake.
A frown settles on his face as he glances around the small space. “We should have met at the library. There’s nowhere to work in here.”
I point to the most obvious place—the twin bed shoved up against the wall—and try not to think about the last time he was here. “Right there is fine.”
He stares at the mattress for a long moment before shifting his gaze to mine and shaking his head. “Forget it.”
I raise a brow and plant a fist on my hip. “What’s the problem? Are you afraid you won’t be able to control yourself around me?”
His expression darkens as the muscle in his jaw tics. My heartbeat picks up tempo, crashing against my ribcage. I’m afraid he’ll swing around and storm out of the room.
And then I’ll have my answer, won’t I?
One tense second passes and then another.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles, stalking to the bed and gingerly taking a seat at one end.
The room is roughly ten by eight feet in size, with just enough space for my bed, a chair, and desk. There’s a dresser shoved in the closet. With Carson here, it shrinks around him, making it feel even smaller. Standing over six feet tall, he’s all rippling muscle. A shiver works its way through my body. One of my favorite things while growing up was watching him play basketball with Brayden in the driveway. After a couple of games, he’d strip off his T-shirt. It was all too easy to sit on my window seat and watch him for hours.
As far back as I can mentally trip, it’s been Carson.
Clearing away those memories, I grab my stats book, notebook, and a pencil from my desk before settling next to him. I’m careful not to sit too close. We get straight to work without any of our normal chitchat to smooth the way. With the thick tension permeating the atmosphere, I don’t even try to make conversation. I know it’ll be met with reluctant one-worded answers. After about fifteen minutes, his broad shoulders gradually loosen as he explains the answer to a problem.
“What’s the heat set at? It’s really warm in here,” he mumbles, rising to his feet before grabbing the edges of his sweatshirt and yanking it over his head. As he does, the gray T-shirt beneath rides up his stomach, revealing a rock-hard six-pack. My mouth turns cottony, and it takes every ounce of self-control to resist reaching out and stroking my fingers over every sculpted ridge. Instead, I squeeze my hand into a tight ball and focus on the questions we’ve been painstakingly working our way through.
When he drops down on the mattress for a second time, I scoot closer. Nothing crazy. Just an inch or two until our thighs touch. With our heads bent together over the notebook, he uses his finger to point out where I went wrong. For a moment, I forget about my plans of seduction as my brow furrows, and I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration.
I really, really hate statistics.
“Come on, it’s not that bad,” he chuckles, voice softening. He sounds more like the Carson from weeks ago before I threw myself at him. “You’re doing great.”
My eyes snap open, only now realizing that I must have muttered my hatred for the subject under my breath. How embarrassing. But then again, that seems to be how everything involving Carson turns out lately.
It’s one humiliation after another.
With our faces scant inches apart, his minty breath feathers across my lips and his gaze searches mine as if he’s just become aware of our proximity and isn’t sure what to do about it. We remain paralyzed, rendered incapable of movement as the moment stretches. Anticipation dances down my spine as sexual tension explodes in the air.
I’m not sure who eats up the distance first. All I know is that I blink, and the warmth of his mouth is ghosting over mine. Barely touching. It feels more like a delicious dream that I don’t ever want to wake from. As I sink into the caress, the pressure becomes firmer. A deep, guttural groan escapes from him as he angles his head until we fit together perfectly. The moment his tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips, I open. Sensation explodes within me as he plunges inside, brushing against my own. He tilts his head a bit, realigning his mouth with mine before deepening the caress. Our lips are the only place where we are completely fused together. There’s the barest scrape of teeth as the kiss continues to unfold. It doesn’t take long to spiral out of control, taking on a life of its own.