Page 71 of Intrepid

I’d pretty much given up on Ty, when he hadn’t bothered to call since the weekend, or show up at Mama D’s on Tuesday. Much as it hurt and embarrassed the shit out of me, I’d resigned myself to the idea that maybe he just wasn’t as into me as I’d thought. So I couldn’t help but frown when a text popped up in the middle of my Research Methods class.

TY: What are you doing right now?

ME: Trying to pay attention in class

TY: Have you thought about me, Sera?

I glanced around at the other students, whose heads remained buried in notebooks as they scribbled away, and I lowered the phone to my lap, tucking it beneath the opened book in front of me.

ME: Does it matter?

ME: You apparently haven’t thought about me much

TY: You’re wrong

TY: I haven’t stopped thinking about you

TY: Sprawled out on my bike

TY: The look on your face when you came

A shiver spiraled down my spine, but I’d already told myself not to get roped in again. I’d already convinced myself the guy had a thing for games, and I had no time for that.

ME: Well, I hope you took a picture

TY: You don’t want to see me again?

Of course I did. The slippery glide of my satin panties couldn’t hide that fact. The truth was, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, either, but being with him was like riding a roller coaster in pitch-blackness. Sure, it was exciting, as long as it didn’t throw me off somewhere along the way.

TY: Tell me.

TY: I won’t bother you again

Which was probably for the best—so why did my hands shake as they hovered over the keyboard? Why did my thighs clench with urgency at the thought of not seeing him again?

Because I was a masochist, plain and simple.

I had an affinity for pain. Not the physical variety, but the deep-seated emotional shit that left a person a sobbing pile of self-destruction afterward. My mother’d called it passion, and she would’ve known, as many men as she’d brought into our home. She’d told me it was the curse of being an artist, always seeking inspiration, absorbing heartache and tragedy like a lovesick sponge in order to create beauty. Through her, I learned that, with love came pain and sacrifice, which effectively kept me from forming any Cinderella complexes when it came to men.

I’d tried to deny my attraction to Ty, to hold tight to what little self-control I could muster around him, but something about the guy drew me in. Like a suicidal moth to a wildfire, he kept pulling me into his heat. Luring me with the promise of something exquisite. Both frightening and exhilarating.

ME: What do you want from me?

TY: Do I get to pick more than one thing?

I captured a quiet chuckle in the palm of my hand and looked around again to see that no one had heard it.

TY: I’ll pick you up tonight.

ME: For what?

After a minute of waiting for him to text again, I sent another.

ME: Hello?

No answer. I shoved the pen into my mouth and chewed on the already gnawed plastic, wishing I could slingshot every butterfly in my stomach.

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