I save every single photo of us together and choose a silly shot of us posing like Bond Girls by the pool at my parents’ house for my desktop background. I stare at it until my vision begins to blur, and finally, the tears start flowing freely down my cheeks.
I miss her. And I would give anything to change things, to change how I treated her.
***
In the days after that, things slowly start to creep back to normal. My suitemates and Corinne all come back to school on Tuesday along with everyone else returning from fall break. Although I miss her arrival thanks to being with Rhys at his apartment, as soon as I step into our room a little after ten, Corinne hops up from her bed with her curly hair flying all around her face. Her embrace knocks the wind out of me, and I stagger back.
“I got your messages,” she says breathlessly against my shoulder, “but things were so crazy I didn’t have a chance to call you back. I’m sorry.”
I lean away from her to find that she’s wearing a tiny smile. Still, the pain of the last week and a half is clearly visible in her green eyes. My chest is tight as I shake my head. “Don’t even worry about it.” Releasing her, I sit on the edge of my bed, and she follows suit. “How are your mom and sisters doing?”
Swallowing hard, she tilts her head to the side. “A little better. My mom is going to stay with my oldest sister and her family for a few weeks so she can get her head on straight. She asked me if I wanted to take a little time off school.” Letting out a choked sound, she shakes her head like she’s still trying to convince herself it’s a bad idea. “I think that would just make things worse for me. I’d rather be around other people who can take my mind off things.”
“Sounds smart.”
“What about you—what did you do during break?”
Aside from that one day I spent alone, my break was full of Rhys Delane—so much that my body is still feeling the effect of him. In an attempt to hide the flush that stains my skin, I glance down at my lap. “I played catch-up on some school work.”
Corinne doesn’t look the least bit convinced, and she inhales deeply. “You smell like cologne,” she points out.
“So.” I give her a piercing look. “Do you go around randomly sniffing cologne?”
Granting me the first genuine grin I’ve seen from her since before the break, she rests her forearms on her thighs and laughs. “No, but I do sniff good-smelling guys when they come to my room asking me to give my roommate a message.” Before I can get in a single word, she holds up her hand and squeezes her eyes shut. “You don’t even have to tell me. As long as your break was amazing—that’s all that matters.”
For the most part, it was, and I nod swiftly.
Stretching out on her bed, she stares up at the ceiling. “My boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend, whatever you want to call him—came over while he was in town for break. We talked for hours, and I told him about Daniel and Elliot and he gave me his ... list. I think we’re going to try to make the long distance thing work.”
“Really?”
“Mmm hmm. The way I see it, it’s kind of silly to care about someone—genuinely care about them—and force yourselves apart just because you don’t think you can handle things.”
Stunned, I shake my head. “You leave for ten days and come back all philosophical.”
She’s quiet for a few moments but then she finally props herself up on her elbows and smiles sheepishly at me. “Actually ... he said that, I’m only paraphrasing.”
***
After Professor Cameron introduces me to the music she’s expecting me to sing for finals at the end of the semester—two pieces that are significantly more challenging than what I performed for my midterm—I finally get a taste of what Mac’s been warning me about.
“I’m terrified of this one,” I tell Rhys nearly three weeks after fall break is over. I try like hell not to start banging my forehead against the metal music stand in front of me. “I sound like a dying animal,” I add, and he chuckles from his spot behind the piano.
“You’re dramatic.” His lips move into a slow grin at the pointed look I give him. “You aced your performance midterm, so what makes you think you won’t do it again?”
Swiping up the sheet music, I wave it around. “Oh, I don’t know. The fact I can’t even hit half the notes.”
His thick eyebrows arch. “You did just fine a minute ago.” He spreads his fingers apart and plays a few notes, which I instantly recognize as Sia’s “I Go To Sleep”—one of the songs that had been playing on the iPod in my car just a few days ago when we somehow managed to turn the backseat, and part of the front, into a makeshift bed. It had taken some extreme acrobatics on my part, and the thought makes the back of my throat go dry.
“You will do fine,” he promises, his blue-green eyes hot against my skin as he continues to run his fingers over the keys.
I clench my thighs together, trying to deny that he’s made me wet just by banging on a few keys. “Do you have to play that song?” I demand pleadingly. He nods, changing the tempo. Each stroke of his fingers speeds my pulse up a notch. Turning away from him, I start to pace the tiny room, from where he sits to the time log hanging beside the door and then back again. Finally, I rest my elbow on the piano and slide my knee onto the bench until it bumps his leg.
He’s grinning.
Wickedly.
“I don’t think about practicing with you playing that song,” I warn him. “We should get back to work before I end up jumping you right here and now.”
He responds by playing something different. I hear the first few chords of “Everlong” which only makes the need coursing through me so much stronger. He tilts his head to the side, gazing at me. It starts at the ripped denim at my left thigh, drifts past the soft slope of my hips, and, finally, lingers on the swell of my breasts beneath my fitted black tee.
I draw in a deep, impatient breath. “Dammit, Rhys.”
“Want me to play something else?” he asks in a low voice as our eyes meet. When I shake my head, he gives me a wounded look and nods to the sheet music I’m gripping. “I guess you’re right. We should get back to work.”
“Screw work,” I mutter and drop the sheet music. I’m on him before he can protest, straddling him on the piano bench and wrapping my long legs tightly around him. I close my eyes and let him take my breath away with his mouth.
“You. Are. Killing. Me,” he grinds out. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“Please don’t,” I whisper breathlessly as he scoots the bench back in one swift motion. I give his zipper a hard jerk. Rolling myself off his body, I drag his pants down just enough for his erection to spring free and sink down on my knees in front of him. “I don’t want you to get enough of me,” I say as I lower my face and place a demure kiss on the head of his erection.
“You drive me crazy,” he swears. He fists my hair in his hands and draws my head back, so I use my hand instead—wrapping my fingers around him tightly and jerking hard. He draws in a breath, and a little wave of pleasure crashes through me. Never blinking, I stare into his eyes and move my hand up and down his shaft.
Finally, letting out a deep sound of frustration, he pushes my head down so that my lips skim his flesh. “Suck,” he says simply.
I push him into my mouth until he’s pressed against the back of my throat. Gripping the pockets of his jeans for support, I bob my head up and down. There’s something about doing this to him—listening to his thick moans of gratification and belligerent words of desire—that does it for me. I get off on feeling his hands in my hair and his eyes staring down on me, as I taste him.