We just kissed, and talked, and then kissed a little more, and it got a little heated, and then he jumped up and left. It doesn’t matter if he was using me to forget. I understand that urge. For me, it’s been over a year since losing a parent, and I still do it. For him, it had just happened. He has an excuse—a much better excuse than I do. So why do I feel so used?
seven
Now Playing:
“Something In the Way”—Nirvana
I’m spending a thrilling Saturday evening listening to music and trying to figure out an algebra problem when my phone buzzes with a text. I find it under the cushion of my couch, and my heart surges into my throat.
It’s him.
ChaseLondonSuperStar: I’m coming over.
I race around my room trying to tidy up a bit, but before I can even finish throwing my Converses in the closet, the doorbell rings. A minute later, his footsteps come springing up the stairs.
“Hey, New Girl,” he says, entering without knocking.
“Hi.” I shut off the CD player, wracking my brain for something brilliant and witty to say. “What’s up?”
“Leave that on,” he says. “What are you listening to?”
“Nothing.Screaming Trees.”
He plops down on my couch. “Never heard of them. Ready for some research?”
“Chase London, doing homework on a Saturday night?” I say, smiling. “Who would have thought you were such a nerd.”
“Is that our algebra assignment?” he asks, pointing to the papers on the table.
“I don’t have a reputation to uphold.”
He shakes his head, laying an arm along the back of my couch. I try not to stare at his forearms, the tiny golden hairs threaded over golden skin and lean muscle. “You think I care about my reputation?”
I snort. “Um, yes. You’re the freaking king of our school.”
He quirks an eyebrow in an infuriatingly sexy way. “The king? Does that mean you worship me?”
“I said king, not god,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He laughs and picks up my paper. “I can help you with these,” he says, taking my pencil. “Since I’m such a nerd and everything. Come ‘ere, I’ll show you.”
And, surprisingly, he does. He explains things much better than Ms. Michaelson, and I actually understand when he explains it. After I get the hang of it, it only takes a few minutes to do each one, and we’re done in half an hour. I even concentrate on them enough to stop jerking every time Chase accidentally brushes against me.
“Wow, you’re really good at this,” I say when we’re finished.
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m good at lots of things.” He fixes me with a suggestive smile. I get up to hide my blush, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back down beside him. Suddenly my heart is beating overtime again.
“Hey,” Chase says softly, tipping my chin up. I cast my eyes to the side, not wanting to look right into his eyes, afraid I’ll get lost if I do.
“Look at me.” He whispers it this time, his warm breath soft against my lips.
I can’t look. I close my eyes.
His soft lips skim over mine, and I melt. I swoon into him, pressing my mouth to his, desperate for the connection I felt that night. I pull him closer, feeling the hesitance in his body, the stiffness in his shoulders. I want to ask what’s wrong, but I don’t want to pull away. I never want to stop kissing him.
His hands move up my back, careful and haltingly, nothing like his frantic kiss this summer, when he was drowning, and I was his life raft. This time, his kiss lingers, sweeter and warmer, until I can feel a tingling current run from my lips all the way down to my toes, curling under my belly in a tight coil of pleasure.
I run my hands up his back, exploring his tight muscles, and he sucks in a sharp breath, burying his hand in my hair. My whole body is sparking with electricity, my scalp is tingling, and I feel hot and alive all over. I can’t stop kissing him, can’t get enough.