CHAPTER 11

And pretend I'm some college freshman out late on a school night and I shaved my legs for a good reason."

"Fine. Don't move." She wants to play grown-up, I can do that.







I turn back to the table, rounding the felt and making quick work of the two ball before returning to exactly my previous position, inches away from her. I can smell her shampoo or body wash, something simple and floral, and I want to drop my face to her neck so I can figure out which it is.







She lifts her brow in amusement, as if she notices how close I am, too.







"What happened with Chris Saturday night?" I ask. "Until you stumbled into my pool house, you looked like you wanted his hands on you."







She swallows, her full lips parting. The vulnerability on her face slices through me. "I was never into Chris. I thought you saw me?"







Fuck.







No matter what I promised to Eddie, if I'd met her tonight, looking like this? I'd lead her into one of these shadowy corners and show her I see her.







In the dark, I see this girl.







Laughter drags my attention toward a couple a few years older who've been flirting at the bar. They shift off the stools, him wrapping an arm around her as they make out on the way past us to the door.







By the time I turn back, Emily's gone. Slipped past me to plan her next attack on the table.







We trade shots back and forth, careful not to tread on anything too personal, as if we both recognize we got too close.







Best new band you've found this year.







Most embarrassing moment at Oakwood.







Vacation you dream of taking after graduation.







Book you were forced to read for English class that you secretly love.







Even though we're steering clear of dangerous territory, we're getting to know each other again, and it feels good.







Finally, there's one shot left. The angle's terrible. There's almost no way to catch the three without sinking the eight.







"You got a plan for that?" I ask, coming up behind her.







"Working on it."







"I can already taste my cheese fries." I say solemnly.







She bends over the table, her dress inching up the backs of her thighs. "Better grab your wallet then."







More than one interested pair of male eyes finds her, and my protectiveness kicks in.







"Let me help you." I say, surprising both of us.







I swore I wouldn't let myself get caught up in her, but in this darkened dive bar where no one knows her or me, that decision feels a million miles away.







I shift closer, shielding Emily's body from the rest of the bar with mine. "Get your angle."







"Oh, I've got mine." Her voice is low and teasing. The flat of her back brushes my chest, her ass pressing lightly against my groin, and I have to bite my cheek to hold in the groan. "Do you?"







Who is this creature, and what has she done with the girl I used to be friends with?







The floral scent is definitely her hair.







I want to know how the rest of her smells.







"You think you know how to do everything." she murmurs, and her smug tone chafes my ego.







"I do know how to do everything."







Emily turns her head, catches me staring. Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted, and she's trying to figure out what I'm playing at.







That makes two of us.







My hands tighten on her as if now that I've felt her against me, I can't stand the thought of her anywhere else.







I won't kiss her. A thousand paths that lead to my destruction begin with kissing this girl.







But I want to.







I want more of her, closer. To spin her and lift her up on this pool table, to make her see how fucking awesome she is.







To have some of that awesomeness rub on me.







"Timothy..." Emily turns back to the table, loosing the cue in a smooth, practiced motion that has my brows shooting up. The final two balls sink neatly into the pockets, eight last.







Admiration and pure fucking lust coil at the base of my spine.







I can handle both of those until she utters five words that crash like a battering ram against the wall around my heart.







"You owe me cheese fries."



"Bitch! I missed the hell out of you." Avery bounces at my front door Thursday right before noon, her lime-green Mini in the driveway. She holds out a gold rectangular box. "This is for your Dad and your Stepmom from my parents. It's some fancy booze."







I take it from her and lead the way through the house. "Perfect. Dad, Haley and Sophia are out, but I'll put it with the fancy booze collection."







I head for the wine storage room off the kitchen and drop off the box.







"One for them, one for us. I'm so ready for this PA day."







I grab a bottle of champagne at random out of one of the coolers.







Surprise crosses Avery's face. "I thought we were studying."







"Later, I want to hear all about your trip."







Soon, we're in bathing suits by the pool, the sun baking us. She's telling me about Tuscany, the house and rolling hills.







"And your books were on point." she adds. "I made it through two rom-coms, plus the one about the refugee who started a business in her new country and got all the local women involved. So good."







"I'm glad. Any guys on this trip?" I prod.







"The winery next door had a son."







She pulls out her phone and shows me pictures of a guy with dark eyes and curly hair,.







"Avery. Did you...?"







"Second base. Which I think is only first base in Italian." She sighs. "I forgot how much I love your pool."







"You may be seeing more of it. I'm grounded." I lift my glass in a toast.







"Wait, what?" Avery's screech echoes off the house as she grabs my arm.







"I decided to drop AP calculus. My Dad was not a fan."







"You can't drop calculus."







I explain my reasoning, and she finally concedes. "So, is this grounding thing the reason you went out and bought that fuck-hot bikini? To give your Dad a heart attack?"







I look down at my bathing suit. That's not how I would've described it, but now that she says it, I can see where she's coming from. It's red and cut high on my legs, makes my ass look great, and the magic top pushes everything up enough that it looks as if I have real, live boobs. Cleavage and everything. "I just felt like it."







"What about the pool party?"







The memory has me shivering despite the sunshine. "Chris hit on me, but when I passed, he turned pissy fast."







Her face turns thunderous. "I'm going to shove his balls down his throat."







"Too late. He had a black eye the whole week." I nod toward the pool house.







She picks up the bottle of wine and fills her glass halfway. "Timothy Adams hit him. I should go away more often."







I nearly drop my glass as Timothy and Brandon come around the side of the house. My throat goes dry, and it's not from the champagne.







They're both wearing shorts and nothing else, but it's Timothy's body that has me sitting up straighter.







His shoulders are broad and deliciously rounded, his pecs defined. Suddenly, I'm remembering how he looked playing at the party. How he smelled. How he felt, that body pressed against mine.







I hate how girls trip over themselves for musicians as if the fact that a guy can play a chord progression magically predicts his ability to get you off.







But from the second I walked in the door of the fraternity house and saw Timothy on that stage, I was lost.







They didn't deserve him, didn't even appreciate what he was giving them.







I did.







Thank goodness for padding because it's way too hot out for my nipples to be getting hard under this bathing suit.







"Timothy hit who over who?" Brandon asks.







"Chris Albright." Avery pulls her sunglasses down her nose, then reaches for the sunscreen.







"That's how I heard it." Brandon cocks his head at my friend. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of tanning?"







"If I was trying to tan, yes. If I'm studying, no."







Brandon smirks. "Doesn't look like studying."







"Do you want me to prove the fundamental theorem of calculus on this patio with my lipstick? Because bitch, I'll do it." His jaw goes slack, and she turns her attention to Timothy. "You've been looking out for my girl."







"Someone's got to." Timothy answers.







Avery smirks. "Gasp, Adams."







"Your girl knows exactly what she's doing," Brandon weighs in. "Lil' sis was a serious cock block last night."







He grins at Timothy, who's shooting him a death glare, before returning to Avery.







"It's obvious the whole come play our party thing was Tricia's excuse to get our boy on campus for a little extra-credit homework. Then you show up." he nods at me. "and Tim's gone all night."







I take a sip of my drink. "Sorry."







"Like fuck you are." Brandon cackles.







It's true. Learning that girl is Timothy's tutor made me feel like he didn't bail on me for someone else not in January, not even this week.







Has Timothy slept with anyone since he moved here?







Maybe that's why he's so broody and repressed. The guy needs to get laid.







"You girls going to use the pool or just gawk at it?" Brandon grabs Avery's glass, drains it despite her squeak of protest, then jumps, cup still in hand, into the pool.







I stare at Timothy over the rim of my glass, and his gaze warms on mine.







"Brandon's right." I rise, adjusting my swimsuit, then toss my hat on the patio and yank my hair up into a messy top knot. I brush past Timothy and cannonball into the water.







When I come up, I hear cheering from Brandon and squealing from Avery, who carefully steps over the edge into the shallow end.







Timothy's the last one in, but I can't take my eyes off him when he disappears below the surface or when emerges once more, tossing his wet hair back with a grin that makes my stomach flip.







Last night with Timothy felt exhilarating.







We both have reasons to be weighed down, but hanging with him, like it was us against the world, was a rush I didn't expect.







The news of his Dad's blackmail, or whatever you want to call it, made me angrier than anything I can remember.







My Dad's never made me feel like I owed him. Even the shock of my birth mom showing up, the secret I've been carrying around about the letter that lives in my desk upstairs, feels small and less dramatic by comparison.







I want to track Timothy's Dad down and chew him out. I want to tell him he doesn't deserve to have a son who's talented and capable, one who's resourceful enough to fend for himself when his parents don't.







I want...







God, I want so many things with Timothy.







I shouldn't, but I can't seem to stop.