But somehow he’s different. I can’t deny it. Just an unexpected combination of geek and cocky that I don’t understand. Hot and awkward. Shy and sexy.
I put Sassy back outside with sadness in my heart about it.
But is Crosby really shy or were those just words to catch me off guard? Ugh, why am I spending so much time analyzing this, I think as I stalk back to my room and shut the door.
I look at my phone and see Hadley’s message. Something about hooking up with some movie star in Vail.
I hate you so much, I reply.
Hadley replies back with heart emojis.
I distractedly text her back about having to play babysitter to my future stepbrother.
I swear, if Roland had ever kissed me like that, we might still be together. Instead he spent all of our junior prom getting completely drunk before throwing up on my designer dress.
For the sake of our friend group stability, we didn’t tell anyone over the summer that we’d broken up. We’d agreed we needed to keep it quiet and be celibate for a few months to prevent any unfortunate and ill-advised rebounds. Well, I agreed to it and Roland didn’t have a choice but to go along with my plan. I have ways of making people’s lives miserable if they don’t do what I say.
Last year, when one of the swim team members swam better than I did in the butterfly and got me bumped from my signature event, I told her to back off. When she didn’t, I made sure everyone in school knew about her secret crush. It wasn’t hard to guess at who it was; I read people quicker than I burn through trashy magazines by the pool.
And I very nearly blurted out another teammate’s secret this past semester, when she dared question me. It’s so obvious she has a crush on our rude swim coach, and she acted like such a goody two shoes when she judged me for scratching my heat in protest to his arrogance. She’s lucky the coach is still at that school.
Fortunately, Crosby knows nothing about me or Roland or the swim team…or even that I’m still in high school. And I do not plan on telling him. No reason to. He and I aren’t an item. Nope. Never going to happen.
5
Crosby
Lounging in a leather wingback chair in the library, I leaf through a volume of Proust distractedly. But I’m frustrated for several reasons. One of them being the pages are partially blurred, faded, and barely legible. The other reason is that I can’t get Ridley out of my head. She’s stoked a fire in my veins, hotter than the one that crackles in the fireplace in front of me.
That kiss, her scent, the feel of her graceful body in my arms—the sensory memories of all of her won’t leave my mind. I love that she takes in stray cats and finds a way to work around her mother’s harshness.
Everything I had learned about her before I came here today was wrong. No surprise, since everything told to me by my father was hearsay through Bianca. Dad had never even met Ridley until today. Both of them have everything wrong. She’s not a spoiled child at all. She’s shy, chooses her words carefully, carries herself like a queen.
What some people might call a resting bitch face is simply her studying, thinking, and considering.
One thing is for certain, I’m not going back to California without laying the groundwork for the two of us as a couple. In just a few hours of getting to know her, I want Ridley. Not just in my bed, but in my DMs, in my top five contacts, in my life.
Frustrated and wondering when she’s going to be finished texting with her friends, I pace the luxurious rug of the library.
It’s not long before she finds me.
I hear her before I see her and I breathe a sigh of relief. The book goes back on the shelf and I turn
to grab her up in my arms again. Something between mischief and reproach glints in her eyes. I get it. She’s mad at herself for liking me, but she wants this as much as I do.
“Where are the parentals right now?” I say.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” she replies, her eyelids fluttering open.
“You should.”
The way her eyes play on my mouth is so damn sexy, she doesn’t even know. Or maybe she does. She is the quintessential queen bee. She has to know the effect she has on men.
“Don't tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. You’re the one kissing your stepsister.”
“Girl, you ain’t my stepsister yet.”
Her eyes flash and her cheeks turn pink. I slide my hand up her back and down again, relishing the dip between her hips and her waist, the strong muscles of her back. Our mouths connect again in a heated kiss, and I pull her up so her feet leave the ground. She gasps, and then moans into my mouth. Her breasts press against my chest as our tongues explore and tease. Things begin to heat up quickly.