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I don’t care. I’m a girl on a mission, and I’m not leaving until I can successfully say “mission accomplished.”
I want to get Ian out of my system, because the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Or on top of someone else. I’m not picky.
“I’ve been once or twice,” I say, scooting closer to him. The leather is already sticky against my skin, but I try to make the transition as smooth as possible. “But I can’t believe I haven’t noticedyoubefore. Surely if I’d met you, I’d remember.”
I bat my eyelashes and cross my arms, pushing my cleavage up even higher out of my corset top. Looking between his lipsand his eyes, I hope he picks up what I’m putting down, but Muscles doesn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Does it matter?” I say and finish what he won’t start.
We kiss, but it’s not a satisfying kiss. It’s too much tongue and not enough coordination. We can’t seem to find a rhythm, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. It probably wouldn’t have bothered me before Ian.
Just one more thing that green bean ruined.
I shove Ian out of my mind and grab the fabric of this guy’s shirt, pulling him against me. He reaches around me, aggressively taking my ass in his hands. I’m practically on top of him, and it feels so awkward that it’s all I can do to kiss him for another few seconds before pulling away.
He looks ravenous and goes in for another kiss, but my hand is on his chest faster than his lips can get to mine. I try to play it off like I’m teasing him, like I’m the one in control, and I lean in, my lips next to his ear.
“Let’s go somewhere more private.” I try to sound as sexy as I can, like I actually want to do this with him and I’m not thinking about another pair of hands or another person I’d rather be doing this with.
And even if there was, it wouldn’t matter because my heart doesn’t know what’s best for me, and what’s best for me is not being in a relationship with someone like Ian. Right now, what’s best for me is escaping reality.
Muscles nods enthusiastically at my suggestion and takes me by the hand, leading me up two flights of stairs to one of the bedrooms in the frat house.
“You live here?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says.
“Without a roommate?” I ask, skeptical that we’re actually going to get some private space.
“He’s out of town this weekend.”
Convenient.
Muscles locks the door and wastes no time in stripping off his shirt. Strictly speaking, he’s hot. He’s got an eight- or twelve-pack of abs that a few months ago might have gotten me excited for the activities we’re about to engage in. But tonight, I wish he were a little leaner, a little sharper at the joints . . .
Knock it off, Jade.
I grab Muscles by his wrist and plant his hands firmly on my ass, wrapping my arms around his neck for another kiss.
It’s just as average as the last one, all tongue and teeth in a bad way with no cadence. Definitely no chemistry. It takes every bit of my concentration not to focus on the taste of the gin we’ve both been drinking, the intoxicating fumes of Axe body spray, and the stench of laundry that’s long overdue for washing. I tell myself I’m enjoying this. I’mnotkissing Muscles because I’m avoiding Ian. I’mnotrunning away from my feelings. I’mnottrying to fuck away the memory of someone else’s hands on my body.
Muscles and I stumble our way over to his futon-couch-thing, which I’m not sold on the cleanliness of, but it can’t be any more offensive than the beds in the room—neither of which has sheets attached. He sits, pulling me onto his lap, and we kiss this way for what feels like an eternity, except it’s in The Bad Place. He squeezes my breasts through my shirt like they’re stress toys, and I can only take so much of that.
“Why don’t we . . . do something else?” I suggest, fighting to keep my tone kind of sexy as I gently push on his biceps to get his paws away from my chest. My skin is crawling, and I know I should leave, but there’s just enough alcohol in me to convince me to see this out.
“Hell yeah,” he practically growls, and he goes for the zipper on his pants. “You wanna get me first?”
Before I can blink, Muscles has his dick out and is holding it, waiting for me to do something. There’s an eagerness in his eyes, and my stomach turns, acid burning the back of my throat. I bolt from the room, covering my mouth so I don’t turn out my insides on anyone, and make it to a communal bathroom just in time to get rid of all the gin I consumed to make this evening tolerable.
“You spend so much energy taking care of yourself, and now it’s my turn.”
I press my cold, damp hands to my cheeks after I wash them and exhale a sigh straight from my soul, steeling myself for whatever awaits me in the hallway. But Muscles isn’t anywhere to be seen, and thank god, because I have no interest in explaining why the sight of his . . . face might send me back to the bathroom.
Missionnotaccomplished.
The cold November air hits me like a slap in the face as I leave the frat house, which is actually what I need—to be slapped in the face. I start the walk back to my apartment only to remember that I drove over here, and it’s too cold to walk in my leather miniskirt and corset top. I head to my car, rubbing my arms to warm myself and kicking myself for acting so ridiculous tonight.
