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It’s supposed to be my kiss, but Tyler’s fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head as if he can’t stand to sit back. His other hand finds my hip, angling me against the pool table so he can press closer to my center, forcing my legsapart.
He kisses me like he owns me, like he misses me, like he never wants to let mego.
My fingertips trail through his hair, my thighs squeezing as if I can entice him intome.
I want him in me. God, if he shifted me up onto this pool table right now, slid inside me and claimed me in front of this entire room, I wouldn’t sayno.
I don’t know how long our hungry lips hitch and slide, our greedy hands touch and tease, but I tear my mouth away first, leaning my forehead against him while I struggle to catch mybreath.
“Remember that guitar you bought me in high school?” he murmurs against mylips.
I nod, my throat too swollen toanswer.
His hands skim up my sides, thumbs resting under the curve of my breasts as if they have every right to be there, as if I’m the instrument built for hishands.
Tyler’s head turns a fraction of an inch so his lips brush the corner of my mouth. His next four words, whispered against my skin like a brand, stop myheart.
“I want itback.”
11
The rest of the weekend,I’m a bundle of nervous energy—practicing with Tyler andalone.
Because of the tight timeline, we’re all business. Every minute, from dawn until midnight, we write and rewrite, play and sing, go over every section of my vocals and his guitar until the result is real and powerful and moves me from the firstchord.
Monday morning, I can barely listen during Entertainment Management, my stomach flipping over as I stare off into space and go over the arrangement in myhead.
On my way out of class, I notice a missed call from Haley, plus avoicemail.
Annie, we sent you flowers for midterms, but the florist couldn’t deliver them because there was no one with your name at the dorm address you gave us. I told them to try again, but here’s thenumber—
I write down the number, then hang up on thevoicemail.
This isbad.
I call the florist, who’s super confused and asks if there’s another address to deliverto.
I don’t want to give her the Vanier one, so I go down to the shop and get them myself, calling my dad on the wayback.
“Hey,” I say when he answers, panting as I take the steps up from the subway, the big arrangement of purple orchids and roses heavy in my arms. “I got the flowers. Thank you, guys, that was verysweet.”
“The florist said they couldn’t deliver them.” I can hear him frown over thephone.
“It was a mix-up. Everything’s fine. There’s actually something else I wanted you to send me.” I tell him, and hepauses.
“If we send it to the same address, it’llarrive.”
“For sure,” I tellhim.
After hanging up, I text Pen to remind her I gave her dorm as my address and that if someone happens to show up with a package, she should sign forme.
“It’s a little early for congratulations flowers. You haven’t even auditioned,” Rae points out from her desk chair as I push open ourdoor.
“They’re from my dad and stepmom. The card says, ‘Good luck on midterms!’” I set the arrangement on my desk, still wrapped, and Heath swims to the glass to check itout.
I drop onto the bed, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Fuck, I’m anasshole.”
“Not the usual response toflowers.”
