Page 20 of Best Things in Life

I turn away. But he reaches out and puts his hand on my cheek, instantly searing me, igniting desire from deep inside like I haven’t felt in so long. He turns my face so I have to meet his eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t wish we could go back.”

“You’re the one who wants to go back, who needs to go back in time to undo all the damage you’ve done, all the destruction of—”

I don’t want to say out loud what I’m thinking, but I don’t have to because he knows.

“Of the way we were.” His words explode in my chest and I can hardly breathe. My heart stutters and fear mixes with excitement at his touch as he slides his hand around the back of my neck. Outrage should move me now. Anger should make me shove him away, but I’m mesmerized, frozen by the war between want and good sense, longing and resentment.

Even as he lowers his head to rest his forehead against mine, brushes his lips across mine, I can’t move, can’t work up the anger that’s been my friend warding off the sadness all this time since he left.

Now with him touching me, kissing me, I can only revel in the flames shooting through my veins, how he makes me feel so alive, so everything. And how I haven’t felt this way since the last time he kissed me. He presses his mouth to mine, runs his tongue along the seam of my trembling lips until I open my mouth to him and he plunges in, taking everything as if it’s all still his.

Fuck.

“No,” I say into his mouth, my soul weeping and my conscience shooting daggers through my gut, and I shove him away. “This is wrong.”

“Because of Bigs?” His voice is derisive.

“No. Because of you,” I say and stand. “I’m leaving.” I run down the steps and then turn at the bottom. He’s standing there watching me, one hand brushing across his lips as if he’s savoring our stolen kiss. “And don’t you dare say a word to Bigs.”

An errant kiss that was practically forced on me isn’t enough for me to need a confession, at least not to Bigs. Whatever conscience I have is satisfied that I didn’t lose my head completely and ended the kiss.

But when I get back to my room and my bed, I wonder what the hell I’m going to do because Bigs never made me feel the way Nate does even still. So alive, lit up like I’m living in the dark without him. Even after his betrayal and three years of getting over him he still has that same electrifying effect on me. And that is so fucked up.

Chapter 8

NATE

In the morning, there’s no other way to explain the gut-sick way I feel except that I have a kiss hangover. I reach down to stroke my morning wood, my eyes shut while the memory of Sarina’s lips tasting like spice and honey plays in my head until I’m rudely interrupted by a bang on my door.

“Get up and wish me good luck,” Bane shouts and then rattles my doorknob. Thank fuck it’s locked.

“Good luck,” I shout.

“Get up and—”

“I am up, you annoying bastard,” I say, though I don’t elaborate that it’s my dick that’s standing. But the moment’s passed so I let it go, throw the covers off my disappointed dick, stomp to the door, and fling it open. Bane’s dressed in a suit with a Wildbeast backpack slung over one shoulder. The football team definitely gets more shit from sponsors and alumni than the hockey team. He’s wearing sunglasses I know he scored from a local company who had him pose for photos recently. I have an agent, but no deals yet—unless you count the poster at Wildbeast Pizza but that was practically free because all we got out of it was a wild night of free pizza and beer at the end of last semester. My agent assures me the deals will come right after the draft.

“Why aren’t you up?” Bane says. “I’m counting on you to make sure the place is cleaned up this morning and—”

“Don’t worry about it. Since when am I your gofer?”

“Since Mr. Bigsby senior is coming by the house to see Bigs today.”

Fuck. I’d forgotten about that.

“Make sure you stay in line,” he continues. “No matter what.” He gives me a narrow glare and I slap him on the back.

“You got it. Go play your game and give us all something to be happy about at tonight’s dance.” I dredge up my long-buried performance skills and grin like I mean it. May as well practice for when Bigs and his old man combine to kill any natural ability to smile I might have. Sarina will probably be with them too for the BMOC House homecoming brunch.

All the guys not on the football team and their dates will be there, some parents too, and we’ll gorge ourselves on Majik's best brunch buffet—which includes her own honey-glazed ham.

Bane punches me in the arm and lowers his voice. “Maybe you ought to think about getting a fucking date for tonight to keep yourself out of trouble. How about—?”

“Shut the fuck up and go play football. You’re starting to sound like my maiden aunt, trying to fix me up.” An image of Zia Rosaria—Sarina’s Aunt Rose—flashes in my mind because she’s the only old aunt I know, though she’s no innocent maiden. Her flashing mischievous eyes wink more than scold and she distributes hugs and advice like a bartender pumps beers. “Get out of here before you’re not an hour early.” He gives me a wary half-smile and I slap his shoulder, shoving him from my doorway, and close the door behind him.

Fuck. He’s right about having a date tonight to take the edge off, but who can I call at the last second? Correct that, because I know of a lot of girls who would jump at the chance but they’d be empty jumps. The real problem is any girl worth her salt would shut me down for calling so late. If I could sweet-talk them into it, who could I call who won’t make too big a deal of it? And to the fucking sharpest point, whose company can I tolerate for the night. I’m not in any fucking mood to entertain a date, to pretend I give a fuck when I don’t and who won’t hang all over me as if… Summer Philbin.

Snatching my phone off my desk, I scroll through to her number and punch it. Good idea or bad, it’s the only one I have. She answers right away because of course she’s up, even though it’s only a shade past eight in the fucking morning on a Saturday. As the sun glares through the window, I put her on speaker and strip down to my boxers.