“So let me guess,” he says, finally releasing my hand and pretending to hold an interview sheet to the side of his head like a psychic.
“Ah yes, I have it. Prom queen, cheerleader, dated the quarterback, voted prettiest eyes. Am I close?”
“One. You already told me you read my interview. And Two. Those things weren't even on there.”
“So humor me.”
“Ehh....50-50.” I hold my hand out flat and tilt it back and forth. “No to prom queen, hell no to cheerleader, yes to the quarterback,” I say with a roll of my eyes and then a pointed look. “But Jake turned out to be an asshole. And yes,” I say, batting my eyelashes, “to the eyes.”
Matt leans into me, pushes my long bangs out of the way and gazes straight into my eyes, “Yeah, total bedroom eyes.”
I try not to get flustered, but this guy is kind of unnerving me.
Okay, really unnerving me.
So I go back to being a smart ass, hoping to diffuse this time bomb standing next to me.
“How about you? Have you already picked your victims for tonight?” I lower my voice and whisper huskily, “I heard you're practically a legend around here.”
He shrugs and looks slightly embarrassed.
Figures. If I were a guy, he'd be entertaining me with stories about past victims, but since I'm a girl, the predator has turned into Mr. Shy and Innocent.
“So is there a record for the number of stars given out by one guy?” I say, changing the subject. But then I think and add, “Please don't say my dad.”
He chuckles. “Well, there are 2 records, actually.” He looks around, like he's about to give me top secret information, and then whispers meaningless names, numbers, and dates into my ear.
“And your personal best?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” He squints at me in irritation.
I decide to make him a bit more uncomfortable. I stand closer to him and poke my finger gently on his chest, “Hey, you're the one that wanted me to get to know you.”
He looks me in the eyes, trying to stall, but finally says, “It's private.”
“Okay, so now you've got me curious.”
He shrugs.
“Fine. I'll just have to take a guess.”
“Hmm,” I lick my lips then put my finger to my mouth and rub my bottom lip, supposedly thinking. Really I just want him to look at my mouth. “Practically legendary status, but no records.” I lean into him and whisper a wild guess into his ear.
I can tell immediately that I nailed it, or came pretty darn close. The instant shocked look on his face is a dead giveaway.
My, my.
“Seems like we both tend to get what we want.” I can't help but smirk at him. He is fun to tease.
He is embarrassed and obviously doesn't want to talk about it.
I look around and see that Phillip is kissing a girl with bouncy brown hair. Jeez, when did the boy learn to work so fast? Maybe this fraternity thing will be good for him. I mean, I'm very impressed.
I'm also half tempted to go check in with him right now, just to make a point, but I don't.
He should have some fun.
“So how am I going to get a kiss from you,” he whines, “if you won't kiss anyone?”
“Look, I promise, pinky swear,” I say, holding up my pinkie. “I owe you a kiss.”
“You know, I haven't quite figured out if I should attack you or go into businesses with you,” he says, as he grabs my pinkie with his.
I grin at that.
He laughs, and for the first time, I see a wonderful, genuine smile on his face. I like it. “Come to my room,” he says, in a silky voice, “I have some really good tequila. We'll do a quick shot or two.”
Sure we will, and what else will we do?
I am contemplating my next move, when a really great song starts playing. “Come on, dance with me first.” I pull his arm toward the dance floor.
He stands firm, pulls me back and says, “I don't dance until I've had a minimum of two shots. Sorry, it's a rule.”
“Well, rules were meant to be broken.”
But he shakes his head no.
So I take a different approach and purr innocently, “You mean you can't wrap your arms around me,” I gently run my fingers down the sides of his arms, “put your body close to mine and sway slowly,” I smile, close my eyes and sway slightly in front of him, “until you've had two shots?”
“It's not a slow song,” he says, but he is weakening, I can tell.
“Close enough,” I reply and drag him out there.
We dance slowly to the fast music and he takes full advantage of the closeness by letting his hands do a lot of roaming.
I don't mind it though. There's something about him that I really like. He's like, challenging. This isn't your typical, no brain, stupid game playing, but more like a chess match.
Your move, my move, your move.
I actually have to think about this.
I find it intriguing, and let's face it, most of the guys I've dated weren't exactly brain surgeons. This mental sparring is very stimulating.
In many ways.
After a few songs, I excuse myself to use the restroom and run some lipgloss across my lips. When I get back out, I don't see Matt anywhere. Maybe I scared him away. I'm half hoping that's the case.
I reach down and grab a beer from a cooler on the floor next to me. Just as I stand back up, I realize Matt has snuck up on me and is standing very close to my side.
I laugh and shake my head at his persistence, “Don't you have somewhere you need to be?”
“Yeah,” he whispers in my ear and holds his mouth there.
“Where?”
“In you.”
His voice is low and silky. I hadn't realized two simple words could sound so damn sexy.
But then my eyes get big at that comment when I realize what he meant.
Whew, is it hot in here all of a sudden?
Shit. I think I may be speechless.
That never happens.
I know.
I know what you're thinking. I am too.
It's a total line.
But I have to admit, it's given me goose bumps and made my stomach flutter. Plus, I love having my ear whispered into. Something so hot about that.
I recover from the blatantly suggestive comment, back up, and nod my head in appraisal. “A quick and a dirty mind. I like that.”
He swings around to face me, very much invading my personal space again and pinning me up against the wall.
“So am I ever gonna get this kiss you promised me?” He's practically begging.
“Jeez, you are so obsessed with a stupid kiss.” I roll my eyes at him. “Can't you just relax?”
He doesn't say anything, just looks at me with smoldering eyes. Eyes that leave me no doubt what the answer to the question is.
It's no.
Unequivocally, no. He can't.
Sweet.
“Fine,” I say diplomatically, as I reach into his pocket to retrieve the marker.
He is looking both surprised and happy at where my hand is, but then looks disappointed when I pull out the marker and hold it in front of him. I make a grand gesture of taking the lid off. I grab his hand, write I O U A on his palm, then bring my mouth down to his hand.
I am being so bad, I almost shock myself.
I close my eyes and press my lips slowly into his palm.
I swear, I think I hear him groan.
Ha! Who knew practicing kissing your hand would ever pay off.
I open my eyes slowly, look at him through lidded eyes and hold his gaze for a few seconds. I assess the pink kiss mark on his hand and then drop it very unceremoniously. “There. You have it in writing. I owe you. Now, how about that shot?”
Yes, I do go to his room. Breaking one of Phillip's Rules.
But what the hell, right?
His room is decorated in typical guy. Crap tossed most everywhere. He walks over to a mini frig and pulls out a chilled bottle of some supposedly expensive tequila and a lime. He grabs two shot glasses, salt, a knife, and here we go.