3:AM Kisses (13 page)

“You want to dance?” He nods over to a small clearing between the tables.

“I’ve never seen anyone dance here before.” Heat rises to my cheeks, and I take a breath at the prospect of holding his perfect body to mine.

“I think maybe it’s time people start.” Bryson clasps onto my fingers and gently threads us through the crowd until we’re centered in the tiny clearing. He pulls me in and wraps his arms around my waist, warming me from head to toe with an instant inferno. His knees press against my inner thighs, he intertwines our fingers, and another wave of heat sears through me. Bryson never takes his eyes off mine while his pelvis pushes into me as if giving me the carnal green light.

My throat goes dry. My heart thumps in my ears so loud I swear he can hear it.

I glance up at him starry eyed. Bryson Edwards is the sex god of Whitney Briggs, and he’s dancing with me. In. Public.

A group of girls turn their heads in our direction just as a few other couples meander over and dance alongside us.

“Looks like your evil plan worked.” I bite down over my lower lip to keep from spewing out any additional suggestions that might work, such as reenacting our moves in a horizontal position sans clothing. God knows that the nightmare at Alpha Chi has unleashed word vomit central in my brain.

“I figured if you’re in the market for an Edwards brother, I might as well put my best foot forward—literally.” He gives a lopsided grin, and my stomach pinches.

“Yeah, well, you’re a pretty good kisser so I’d be a fool not to choose you.” What am I saying?
Choose
you? I’m the desperate one, not the other way around. Besides, it was just one kiss—one long, fantastic, mind-blowing lip exchange that will play out in my fantasies until I’m dust and bones, but, nevertheless, he relegated me and my pucker to the buddy rack before the night was through, so there’s that. I’ve practically made a pass at him on three other occasions but he’s declined every offer since that magical night. I guess Laney was right, parking lot magic isn’t a real thing after all.

“You want to blow this place and go have some fun?” His eyes hood over again, and a surge of adrenaline pulsates in that sweet spot between my legs.

Oh God. What the hell is
good time
code for? Am I really going to sleep with Bryson and become some nameless tally mark on his wall?

A tiny voice that creeps from somewhere deep in my vagina screams a loud, demanding,
hell yes
.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. “I’m ready to have all the fun you’re willing to give me.”
Give me?
I glance down at his chest briefly. Who the hell has taken over my mouth? This is exactly what I swore I would never do, meaningless sex with cute frat boys. Even if he’s not a frat boy, the premise is still the same. I want it to mean something. I want Bryson to care about me, to want
me
in more than just a sexual sense—well, ideally anyway. Maybe he feels like the only way to get me off his back is to pin me down with his boy toy and get it over with? And, sadly, he’s probably right.

Laney gives a thumbs-up from over his shoulder, and I try not to break out in a goofy grin.

Bryson swivels his hands up over my back, and my insides give a mean quiver. He leans in with his cheek an inch away from mine, and I can feel the heat emanating off his skin in waves. The song wraps up, and he leads me by the hand to the exit, giving Holt a quick wave on our way out the door.

The crisp night air enlivens my senses, and then it hits me—I’m off to who knows where on a Saturday night with Bryson Edwards. And if that doesn’t qualify as a date then I don’t know what does.

“So where to?” I jump a little at the thought of going anywhere with the god of good times at my side.

“How about we start with dinner?”

Bryson and I hit a Chinese restaurant down the street, and I tell him all about my misadventure at Alpha Chi over dinner and the fact I still sort of wish I could get in. I leave out the “air of mystery” portion of my argument. But now that we’re ditching work for a little alone time, I’m seriously reconsidering that whole air of mystery thing.

His chest thumps with a silent laugh. “You’re a non-conformist. I like that. Most girls would have lied, and you told the truth. That’s what I like about you—you’re so innocent, it’s cute.”

A slight rail of alarm spirals through me.

“I’m not that innocent.” My entire face darkens to the shade of the maroon tablecloth, giving away the fact I totally am. I’m not sure I like the idea of being “cute” either.

“Hey”—he leans over the table and clasps my hand—“there’s nothing wrong with being innocent. I swear, I didn’t mean it like an insult.”

My eyes grow heavy, and I inspect every item on the table because I can’t bring myself to look up at him.

“Yeah, well”—my fingers loosen from his grasp—“I guess I’m ready and willing to find someone to defile me.” Not really. This all feels so achingly desperate that a part of me wants to run all the back to Prescott Hall and ask one of Jeanie’s many bare ass suitors to have their way with me just to take the edge off.

Bryson pulls his sad, pale eyes over me. “Trust me, the last thing you want is for someone to defile you.” His glassy eyes roll over mine. He looks serious as death. “Promise me you’ll hold out for something better.”

Hold out? Sounds like tonight isn’t ending with a private wrestling match like I hoped it would.

“What could be better?” I hold my breath a moment as he considers this. Earlier, on the boat, he said he was hanging up the scoreboard, looking for something better. I was sort of hoping that could be me.

Bryson licks his lips. His eyes widen for a moment as if he were about to say something then aborts the effort.

He clears his throat. “I think you should fall in love, Baya.” His gaze dips to the table then rides back up over my features. “I think you should fall so head over heels you don’t know what’s up and what’s down anymore. You deserve to be worshiped and cared for. The last person on the planet who deserves you is some kid trolling for a quick hookup. Trust me, you’re the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on. You could have your pick of the litter.” He bears into me a moment with his steely gaze. “Any guy would be crazy not to want you.”

Any guy…. And suddenly it’s becoming clear that dinner is just dinner.

A moment thumps by with our eyes never losing their stranglehold on one another. The waiter brings the check and drops a fortune cookie in front of each of us.

“Let’s see what the future holds.” I give an impish grin as I pop the package open and pull out the cookie. “We’re supposed to say ‘underneath the sheets’ after we read our fortunes, that makes it a lot more fun.” And accurate I want to add but don’t.

“You first.” He rubs his leg against mine, nudging me.

“Okay.” I pluck the thin strip of paper out with its tiny red font. “A pleasant surprise is in store for you,
underneath the sheets
.” I hold it up victoriously as a laugh bubbles from my chest. Dear God almighty let this be so. Amen.

“Sounds like a goodtime will be had by all.” His brows tweak as he pulls out his fortune. “Conquer your fears or they will conquer you.” His expression dims as if that tiny piece of paper had been speaking directly to his heart.

“
Underneath the sheets
.” I give his leg a little kick.

He offers a quiet laugh, but his eyes are still throbbing with grief.

“What has you so afraid, Bryson?” I ask below a whisper. It’s becoming painfully obvious that the past is still very much holding him hostage.

His clear eyes dart up to mine. “Maybe it’s you.”

After dinner we hop back in his truck, and Bryson drives us down narrow tree-lined roads as we wind our way up the side of the mountain.

“Witch’s Cauldron, okay?” He darts his eyes to me before firming his stare back over the open highway. The fog settles in, and the headlights illuminate the night, blinding and white.

“Sounds great.” My heart thumps once unnaturally. That’s where we went a few weeks back. It was private and tragically romantic. This time we’re short on donuts and coffee, no beautiful sunrise to admire, with only ourselves to keep each other entertained.

Bryson rounds his hand over the steering wheel as we pull in just beneath the pale blue boulders. We get out, and he helps me climb onto the lowest rock that overlooks the hot spring.

“Looks like we’re all alone.” I scoot into him and take in the night magic that’s brewing around us. The pale glow of the moon highlights the water while the pines hover above like guardians that Cole himself sent to protect my virginity. Little does he know Bryson is pretty interested in me keeping it in tact for that one special guy as well.

A lone wolf howls from somewhere deep in the forest, and a chill runs up my spine.

“Doesn’t sound like we’re alone.” Bryson gives a dark laugh, low and sexy, but despite my passive reaction I’m scared to freaking death.

Screw it. “God, we’re going to get eaten alive.” I bounce over and practically land in his lap. “Sorry,” I say, sliding off his knee. “I’m not a fan of rabid beasts with sharpened canines.” Unless, of course, he were the rabid beast with sharpened canines in question. I have a few delicate places I wouldn’t mind him taking a bite out of. The imagery alone makes me whimper, and my vagina is back on its knees begging to make this happen.

“Don’t be sorry. Come here.” He wraps his arms around my waist and gently slides me over until I’m sitting square between his legs. “I’ll keep you safe.”

My entire body goes rigid.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pulling my shoulders into his chest until I slowly melt into him. His hand grazes my thigh, and a quick pulse of spasms go off deep inside me.

Oh God. I let out a tiny yelp as I break out in a rash of what can only be explained as spontaneous orgasms.

Crap, crap, crap! Stupid,
stupid
body.

“I hope you don’t mind me holding you.” He offers a dimpled grin, and my girl parts give a squeeze of approval. “Plus, I can see you better this way.” He rubs his cheek over the top of my head, and I twist in his arms to look up at him.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to morph into the big bad wolf?” I lower my lashes as the words struggle from my throat. I’m far too close to him to be speaking, let alone breathing, and, God forbid, having multiple O’s between his kneecaps. This is everything I’ve wanted, and, strangely, I’m more than afraid.

“I promise you I’m nothing like the big bad wolf.” He rubs my back with his hand, and I gasp. “Hey, you’re shaking.” Bryson warms me with his oven-heated palms and creates enough friction to spark a thousand mini earthquakes between my legs. “I’ll keep you toasty.”

I give a shy smile. I don’t dare confess that I’m not that cold—that I’m gloriously terrified as to where the night might lead—that my girl parts are just begging to extend an invitation for him to create friction elsewhere and
come
inside.

And, if the night leads in the right direction—he will.

“Back at the restaurant I asked you what you were afraid of.” I let it hang there because he happened to follow that up with “me,” and I’d like for him to expand on the concept. “Tell me what you’re afraid, Bryson.” I snuggle into his chest and look up at him as the moonbeams shine right through his prism-like eyes. I like it like this with Bryson. For the first time, it feels like we’re a couple.

“It’s nothing.” He runs his tongue slowly over his bottom lip while staring off ahead at the steaming hot spring. “I guess at the end of the day I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Hurt anyone?” I pull back to examine him for a second. “You don’t strike me as a monster.”

“Yeah, well, the jury is still out on that one.”

“I don’t believe it for a second.” I tweak his ribs, and he bucks into me with his lips curled.

“Whoa.” Bryson tightens his fingers around my waist as a devilish grin takes over. “You just started a war, princess. You sure you want to go there?”

“Don’t you dare!” My elbows crowd over my sides as I try to push his hands away. “I’m deathly ticklish, and I’ll scream my head off if you even
think
about doing that.”