“It’ll have to wait. What was your name again?”
Whitney looks startled. Shocked, really. Isn’t every male on the planet supposed to know her name?
“Um, it’s Whitney. Whitney Clarke. I’m on the Social Committee. We have an appointment.”
Cooper flashes a smirk at her and looks down at his hand, which is still firmly wrapped around my arm. “As you can see, Miss Clarke, I’ve got my hands full.”
He drags me into his office, shuts the door on Whitney’s face, and then turns the blinds on the door’s windows.
I try not to giggle.
“Sit up here on the desk,” he tells me loudly. When I don’t move, he picks me up and sets me on the desk.
I am almost positive that Whitney is still outside his door. I can only imagine what she’s thinking.
Of course, I’m totally thinking the same thing.
I so should have asked for a hot bodyguard sooner.
He paces and speaks. “Did Garrett teach you self defense?”
“Um, not really.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t he brief you on the situation?”
Cooper takes a step back, like I just offended him. “Of course, I’ve been fully briefed on the situation.”
“But you don’t understand how fast it all happened, maybe?”
“Tell me,” he says as he takes a seat.
I tell him the story. The whole drawn-out story. He just keeps nodding.
“Basically, we talked about safety and fear. He gave me some pepper spray, which I try to keep in my purse. I wear my locket most of the time. And I’ve gotten away from Vincent three times now. So, you know, I must be doing something right.”
“Stand up,” he commands.
What is it with him and the two-word sentences? I stay sitting on the desk. I’ll show him. “Make me.”
Cooper strikes faster than a cobra. He grabs me, twists my arms behind my back, and pushes my face down into the desk. I’m horrified by how quickly I was overcome.
“Is this what you want? Is this the position you want to be in?”
There’s a knock on his door. “Mr. Steele,” Whitney says. “I really need to confer with you.”
“Just a moment,” he says, still holding me down on the desk. “Is this the position you want to be in?” he asks again.
“No,” I whimper.
“Then you need to do what I say.”
“Yes,” I say as he pushes harder.
“Get to class. I’ll go through the school’s security and figure out a plan for you.”
“Um, okay.”
I walk out of his office door, suddenly feeling like I can’t breathe.
I run outside and down to the track, where I sprint until I can’t sprint anymore.
Then I sit down on the ground and cry.
Because I just realized that next time I probably won’t get away.
Are you effing kidding me?
6:10pm
“So, we’re alone. Out on the highway. Anything come to mind?”
I’m in the car with Dawson. He’s got the radio turned up and his hand on my knee.
I think for a second. And, well, no. Nothing comes to mind. “Uh?”
“I’m driving. You maybe wanna do something a little naughty?”
Then I get it.
He wants road head. Are you effing kidding me?
“That sounds very romantic.”
But I don’t do anything to him. Instead, I look out the passenger-side window and fight back tears.
I don’t win the fight.
I turn to face him. “Hey, I’m not feeling well. Will you take me back to school, please?”
He sees my tears. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Oh, wait. Did you think I was serious? I was just joking.”
“No, you weren’t. You didn’t open the car door for me. You didn’t make any plans for tonight. And your idea of romance is asking me to blow you while you drive. This isn’t gonna work.”
He lets out a big sigh, pulls off the side of the road, and turns to me. “Keatie, I was just joking. Can we not joke and have fun anymore? We had sex the other night. It was amazing, like always.”
“I’m sorry. But I shouldn’t have. It’s not fair to you.”
“How is it not fair to me?”
“Because it’s giving you the wrong impression. It makes you think things are okay with our relationship when they’re not.”
“I’ve done stuff for you. Homecoming. The key necklace.”
“I know you have. We just never dated. And that’s not your fault. I never gave you the chance to woo me. We slept together fast. Then thought we were in love. Then . . . Well, then it was over. I know we complicated things by sleeping together the other night. I just wanted to feel close to you again. But I also want to feel close to you in ways other than sex. Maybe we shouldn’t sleep together until we figure this out.”
“You’re right. We probably shouldn’t. Keatie, I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you either.”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. They are sweet
I’m sorry
kisses.
Kisses that get all mixed up with my tears.
As usual with our kisses, they quickly turn from sweet to full of desire.
He pushes his seat back and pulls me over, so I’m on his lap, straddling him.
Pretty soon we’re doing exactly what we just decided we shouldn’t do.
And it feels amazing.
“Just so you know, I’m taking you to a cool little place for dinner tonight. I am planning to woo you, and not just with sex.”
“Really?” I say and start crying again.
“Why does that make you cry?”
I sniffle, crying through the words. “Because it means I don’t have to feel bad about what we just did.”
“You feel bad? How can you feel bad about something that felt so good?”
“Because it’s not that simple.”
“How much simpler can it get, Keatie? We have sex. Amazing, mind-blowingly good sex. I’m sorry if I haven’t made a big deal of going out on dates. I did ask you to Homecoming in a big way. I planned stuff. You had fun, didn’t you?”
I nod, dry my tears, and feel so much better.
He drives a bit farther and takes me to a hole in the wall. The outside is rundown, needs painting and needs a new sign. But I notice the parking lot is packed.
It’s a casual Mexican restaurant and there’s a long line of people waiting to get in, but Dawson walks up to the front, shakes a guy’s hand, and motions for me to follow him.
The guy leads us through the restaurant and then out a sliding glass door.
Now I see why the place is so packed.
There is a huge courtyard under a glass roof. The glass roof is sparkling clean, and you can see the clouds floating by as the sun turns them various shades of pink. There are little twinkle lights everywhere, across the beams on the glass ceiling and in the huge potted trees.
We are seated at a table that is set between a couple trees and has a feeling of seclusion.
Dawson pulls out my chair for me and grins at me as I sit down.
“This place is very cool. How did you ever find it?”
“I wanted to take you somewhere special. I’ve been looking up restaurants all afternoon.”
I lean over and kiss him. “Thank you.”
A Mariachi band strolls up to our table and start serenading us.
Dawson looks irritated, hands one of the dudes a wad of cash, and shoos them away.
We get to the game a bit late.
The scoreboard shows that the second quarter has just started and we’re down by a touchdown.
It starts to sprinkle rain.
The rain gets harder, the field gets muddier, and Dawson holds me tighter.
Pretty soon, it’s the end of the game.
The score is tied.
Only a few ticks left on the clock.
Aiden walks onto the field to kick the winning field goal. His uniform is wet. Molded tightly to his pads and body.
He looks at the goal post. Lines up the kick. Then he stops and looks dead at me.
He does a complicated-looking thing with his hands. His thumbs and pointer fingers form touching double O’s. Then the rest of his fingers form sort of a bridge above the O’s.
Sort of like you would make a heart with your hands. But I have no idea what it’s supposed to be.
The ball is snapped. Logan lines up the laces and Aiden kicks the ball straight through the goal posts.
The guys rush out on the field to congratulate him as the crowd cheers.
At midnight, I’m lying in bed, trying to mimic what he did with his hands.
When all of a sudden, I see it.
My phone buzzes, startling me.
Hottie God: You need to sneak out tonight to congratulate me.
Me: That thing you did, before you kicked it. Was it supposed to be a four-leaf clover?
Hottie God: The Cave. One hour.
This is crazy. I really shouldn’t go.
But I’m going to.
Take off your pants.
1am
It’s stopped raining, but is still cloudy, damp, and chilly. I trudge back through the trees, getting my boots all covered with mud.
Aiden isn’t here yet, so I sit down on a stump, realizing too late that it’s very wet. And now, so are the back of my sweats and even my underwear.
Is there anything worse, really, than a damp ass?
This is not very romantic.
I hear the brush moving and get a momentary rush of worry about getting caught out here after curfew.
But the tree limbs part, and Aiden walks into the clearing carrying a Burberry sleeping bag.
“No way I’m sleeping outside in this weather,” I tease.
“The backing is waterproof, so we won’t get wet when we sit down.”
“Too late for that.” I turn around and show him my wet backside.
“There’s nothing worse than a damp ass,” he says. Which are the exact words I just thought a few seconds ago.
Oh, the fates are so toying with me.
He spreads out the sleeping bag with the shiny side down, kicks his shoes off, then stands on top of it and starts taking off his sweatpants.
Uh, holy shit.
What is this?
I watch though.
He has
the
best legs at school. They have just enough light blond hair to be masculine, but not enough to be hairy.
“What are you doing?”
“Take off your pants,” he commands.
“Isn’t this moving a little fast? I mean, we haven’t even made out yet.”
He laughs and shakes his head at me. “Silly Boots. I’m going to let you wear my sweats. I have athletic shorts underneath.”
“Oh, um, I . . .”
“What? It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Except that my underwear got wet too.”
He runs his tongue across his bottom lip and grins at me. He’s never made this facial gesture in front of me. And the combination of his mouth and tongue both looking at me at the same time.
I can’t even tell you what it does.
It makes my stomach flip, like I was on a roller coaster and we just flipped upside down doing 75 miles per hour.
You had sex with Dawson tonight, you idiot.
What is wrong with me?
I need off this ride and fast.
Have you ever been on a roller coaster, upside down, and all of a sudden it feels like maybe your seatbelt—that little piece of webbed material—isn’t quite as tight as it should be? You feel yourself slide a fraction of an inch and mentally prepare to fall to your death before it tightens up again?
I feel like I’m ready to fall out of the roller coaster.
Plummet to my death.
And I briefly think,
What would my heaven be like
?
When my dad died, Mom explained heaven as this amazing place where Daddy was living his best days over and over. Like the day we got ice cream and rode the Ferris wheel then walked along the beach holding hands.
And my mind flashes to Aiden gliding a feather all over me. That is my idea of heaven.
“You can take them off too. I won’t look,” Aiden says, referring to my wet undies as he hands me his warm sweats.
And, sadly, he doesn’t even attempt to peek as I slide them on.
I say what’s on my mind before I think better. “Have you ever been naked in these?”
He pulls me onto the sleeping bag with him and kisses me in response.
And his hands. His talented hands are finally moving across my body.
For the first time, he seems like a normal boy.
Like a normal, horny boy.
He stops and leans up on one arm. “So you figured it out, huh?”
And I want to say,
That you are a god? Yes, I know.
He makes half the symbol with his fingers. It looks incomplete, so I mirror it with my fingers and hold them up to his.
And when our fingers touch, I swear to god, a spark shoots from my hand to his.
“A four-leaf clover,” I say breathlessly.
He rolls on top of me, straddling me and pinning me under his weight. It’s an effortless move.
I look at him, my eyes wide.
“Use both your hands to make the double O’s,” he tells me.
So I do.
Then he puts one hand on each side of mine, forming two more O’s.
“That does look like a clover.”
“It’s going to take both of us to make this work,” he says. “I heard Dawson took you on a date tonight.”
“He says he’s going to start wooing me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Aiden says, still forming the clover. “I’m going to win.”
“It sorta looks like our hands are having sex,” I laugh. “Like, the way they’re joined together, kinda . . . uh, never mind.”
“Let’s talk about sex.”
Just Aiden saying the word sex almost leaves me more breathless than actual sex with Dawson.
“Uh, okay.”
He leans down, his mouth about twelve inches from mine. “We’re going to take things slow.”
“I wanna take things slow. Like, if you were just hoping for sex from me, you should probably halt the wooing process.”
“Does that mean you won’t be having sex with anyone else during the wooing process?”
“Um . . .”
“So that’s why I’m not winning? If we had sex, would I win?”