I snort. The way she talks is…smart. Obviously, she’s sharp as a whip. Intimidating as hell. But there’s some wild freedom about her that’s infectious.
“You want to head inside? We can get out of the wind in there?—”
She faces me, and my heart skips a beat at the way she gazes up into my eyes, all heated lust and devilish ideas. “Yeah, I do.”
Holding her balled-up fist in mine, I lead her to the metal door sunk in the side of the crumbling concrete.
The back room has a scratchy plaid sofa, some raggedy chairs, and a stool set up with the game playing on an ancient TV set. A few Marauders lounge around, toking on blunts and sipping their drinks. It’s warmer here. Almost cozy with the dim string lights around the ceiling and the rugs made from flattened cardboard.
Last summer, Wrench and my brother decorated the walls with their graffiti. I’m not talented like that, but they made it look like a place you want to be.
I perch on the edge of the couch, and without warning, Scout sheds the coats, laying them on the cushion beside us. And just plops onto my lap. My brain takes a second to catch up with my body, especially when she tosses her arms around my neck and plants a liquored kiss against my lips.
A war wages inside me between what I want and what I should do.
The guys head toward the door and evaporate as if we detonated a smoke bomb.
“Whoa…” I say, tugging her back by her gathered hair.
She writhes against my dick, her sequined dress hitching up to her hips.
Huffing out a breath, I try to get control of myself. “Slow down. I, uh. I don’t want to take advantage.”
“Take advantage of me,” she whispers breathily, peppering kisses along my jaw. Every press of her lips sends a surge of sparks across my skin. I sip in a sharp inhale to keep from throwing her down and fucking the shit out of her.
“I think… I get that you want revenge. And we can hang out. I…”
How do I say thatI’m not that kind of guy?
While alsoreallywanting to be that guy?
She slides to the side of me, and I think she’s pissed at the rejection. Her eyes won’t meet my gaze, focused instead on the nasty floor.
With righteous passion, she blurts out, “I scored higher than him on the national organic chemistry exam! And he got accepted to my first choice of medical school. His MCAT wasn’t even thatgood! He doesn’t play any sport.”
She jabs a finger at her heart. “Me? I play soccer and tennis. I volunteer at every opportunity I can. I feed the squirrels on campus whenever they look hungry, mainly in front of the administration building, so they’ll see how much I do. Oh! Speaking of! I did work-study with the Dean of Health Sciences last year. Ayan doesnothing.”
Her bottom lip juts out as I reel from her rant. For some reason, she felt it was necessary to give me her academic resume. Her long lashes flutter as she smiles at me. “I’ll bepresident ofOmegamy senior year, though. AndI’llgo to Johns Hopkins. Get a higher rank than him, too, I bet.”
I open my mouth, but don’t even know what to say.
Fortunately, she cuts me off. “Did you know that Lakshmi’s inhospitality management? Hospitality! Management! I bet she doesn’t even know what a compound fraction is. I bet her brain is filled with thoughts like,I wonder what I shouldwearthat will make me look like a dirty whore!”
“Lakshmi—”
“Iota’spresident.”
“Ah.”
Silence passes between us for a minute as she stews, huffing and crossing her arms. There’s a silent conversation going through her brain at a rapid speed. And I’m not part of it.
She spies a blunt laying on the stool, and I marvel that I haven’t even once checked the score of the game.
“Can I have some of that?”
“Y-You want weed?”
She nods emphatically. “Yeah. I’ve never tried it.”