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I smile and try backing away, but she grips me tighter, her nails digging in.
“Who the hell is Harley? This is my sorority house. I could give you a tour.” She leans toward me, her sweaty body pressing on my arm.
My heart rate picks up at the contact. I’ve never felt a woman’s breast.
“Hey, back off. This one’s mine.” Harley reaches over and literally pries the girl’s fingers off of me.
She yelps in surprise or pain.
“Hey! Who are you? You aren’t allowed to just barge into a party like this!” The blonde’s voice is rising, and she’s drawing attention around us.
“Bite me, bitch,” Harley snaps at her, tugging me along after her to the back of the house.
I don’t have time to process her blatant use of profanity and the unexpected claim on me. My eyes are glued to her flawless, marked skin. Trying not to look at her nearly naked is an Olympic feat I’m inadequately trained for. The shape of her body reminds me of an old Victorian corset I saw on a museum tour once. I’ve never seen anything more enticing in my life. Sweat beads on my lower back from the effort.
We finally emerge through the open back door onto a surprisingly quiet deck. There are a few couples scattered around and a distinct smell of skunk. I’m thankful for the darkness to conceal how unaccustomed to seeing girls in bikinis I am. My physical reaction is unbelievably embarrassing. I have to force my gaze up.
“I can’t believe that girl. What’s wrong with these sororities? Kenna wants to join one, and frankly, it’s embarrassing that…” She trails off, taking in a gulp of air and blowing it out slowly.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
She flips around, her face forming into a frown.
“Why would you ask me that?” Her voice is cautious.
“I just…you look like maybe you’re cold,” I stammer like a moron. “I’m a little cold, and you don’t…have much on. So, I thought maybe you’re cold.” Stop talking about her lack of clothing if you want to be able to rejoin the people in the light, idiot.
She blinks at me silently for several long seconds before nodding her head, piled with thick black hair.
“Yeah, I guess so. We can go back in if you want.” Her raspy voice is not helping the situation below my waist.
“No, no. I was just going to offer you my shirt if you want to…be more comfortable.” I hold my breath, thinking I might have possibly offended her in some way.
The shirt is in my hand, and she looks down at it. Realization crosses her face, and I turn a shade resembling a tomato ripe for picking.
“Um, sure, I’ll wear it. Thanks.” She looks up, biting on her lip.
I hand it over and turn around to give her privacy. She’s putting more clothes on, but it still seems inappropriate to watch her do it.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. Thankfully, my embarrassing state has ceased slightly due to the conscious effort of keeping my eyes up. I turn around to see that my favorite soft green John Deere T-shirt envelops her beautifully, like it was made for her to wear. Anything would probably look that way on her sinful shape, but my chest squeezes a little, seeing her in my clothes.
She’s clutching the bottom of it in her fingers, her head slightly turned away as she peers at me sideways. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy like you.” Her arms cross over her chest.
“What makes you say that?” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
She licks her eyes over me, and I’m feeling warmer under her stare.
“Most guys would rather a girl be cold, so they could see her nipples,” she observes casually.
Heat crawls up my neck as my eyes widen. I don’t know what to say to such a crass statement.
Do all worldly girls talk like this? It seems like something not even a husband and wife would say to each other. I’d love to see them, but she has to know I would wait for marriage to ever look at that part of a woman. I’m frozen, trying to find a suitable response, when she starts to laugh, an attractive, throaty sound.
“Wow, okay! I can’t believe I’m even out here, having this conversation. You seem like a nice guy, really. So, don’t waste your time with me. I promise even the one who tried to maul you would be a better choice.”
She starts to walk back into the party before I stop her with my hand in the velvety crease of her elbow.
“I’m not really looking to pursue a woman. I just came to get my degree in agriculture, so I can use it on the farm. I’d love to study with you for our Horticulture class…if you want.” That’s all I want—to study with her.
