Give Me You (6 page)

“N
ot that I’m not enjoying this five-mile sprint after practicing my ass off, but you about done yet?” My shirt is fucking drenched with sweat so I pull it away from my skin. “Because I’m damn sure done.”

Landen doesn’t even slow down. “You can go back to the dorm if you want. Bake some cookies or some shit.”

I pull my arms over my head in hopes the stabbing pain my side will ease up. “Fuck you, dude. Seriously. You need to get laid something fierce.”

“You volunteering?”

I’m so happy his uptight ass made a joke, I could run another few miles. “Naw, but I’ll take an ad out in the school paper if you want. Uptight motherfucker, needs a release, preferably of the vagina kind.”

Finally, dude laughs and stops to put his hands on top of his head. He did seem to patch things up with Taite at practice so that’s a bonus. Might even be able to take him out in public again after all.

I stretch my calves and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the bottom of my shirt. Two girls running by glance over and smile so I smile back. As usual, O’Brien doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Your Georgia peach not giving it up or what?” I lean over to clutch my knees. I’m pretty sure we’ve gone at least five miles from the dorms. “If you love something, sometimes you just gotta set it free, or some bullshit.”

“I can hardly believe you don’t have a girlfriend,” Landen deadpans.

I shrug like I can’t believe it either. “Yeah, well, your girl’s redheaded friend was pretty damn fine looking. Hook a brother up.”

“She’s not my girl.” Landen rubs his side a little harder. I knew I wasn’t the only one getting a cramp.

“So I noticed, and by the way, your pussy lips are showing. You gonna do anything about it or what?” He doesn’t answer so I continue with my motivational speech. “I got Red’s number last night,” I tell him casually even though I didn’t. I can get it if need be. “I could call and see if they want to hit a club or two with us tonight. And while I’m nailing Red, you and Peaches could knit some sweaters together or something. Maybe a nice little satchel for her to put your balls in.”

He actually appears to contemplate my offer for a minute. Then he nods.

“Yeah, you do that. And maybe don’t mention to Red that you plan to “nail” her. She seems pretty lethal. Probably mess you up pretty good if she heard you say that.”

I chuckle lightly. “Don’t worry about my game, O’Brien. I got this.”

Or I’m going to have it anyway—tonight if I play my cards right, which I always do.

Thanks to the modern miracle that is social media, I’m able to find SoCal student Corin Connelly from Brooklyn, New York online. I send her a friend request and then a message mentioning a few clubs Landen and I are considering hitting up later.

Just when I think I’m screwed and may have to tell O’Brien it’s a no go, a message window pops up on my phone and she tells me they may or may not be going to Shortie’s. Which means they are.

After an hour of convincing Landen to get his shit together and come the fuck on already, we head to Shortie’s. It’s a trendy off-campus spot in walking distance. The moment we walk through the doors we’re assaulted by the smells of alcohol and sweat. And sex. Yes, please. Maybe I’ll learn to love college after all.

Landen is tense—rigid as a corpse with a laser beam stare directed at the center of the room.

“It’s not the senior prom, man. Relax.”

But my words don’t help.

We take a seat at a high-rise table beside the dance floor and I flag down a waitress. She doesn’t ask for ID when I order us two beers and I pray that’s a good sign for how this night will go.

The moment Blondie sees Landen watching her like a hawk, she goes all deer in head lights and spins away from Red before disappearing into the crowd.

Landen mumbles something about being right back and dips out on me as soon as the waitress drops off our beers. More for me, I suppose.

I keep an eye out on my roommate in case he rockets off into another rage-filled fit, but so far he’s just talking with his blonde blast from the past at the bar. Close talking. Her body language says she’s into it, so I return my attention to my drink. “Here we go again,” I mutter under my breath. If the scene taking place at the bar is any indication, I’m in for another night of angst-filled insanity when all I want to do is drink, dance, and get laid. I never intended to be the sidekick to the craziest motherfucker on campus and yet, apparently that has become my lot in life. Clearly the universe is punishing me for getting more than my share of ass in high school. Greed is a sin, after all. So is lust. And gluttony and…whatever. I’m probably going to Hell regardless. My dad’s half Jewish and my mom’s Catholic. Not sure what that makes me but we only attended any kind of services on rare holidays so I’m probably screwed already.

“You saving this one for someone special?”

The voice is feminine and familiar. It warms my blood and turns me on all at once.

Red.
Her crimson nails trail the neck of the Bud Light bottle before she lifts it to her similarly stained lips. My cock twitches hard in her direction.

“I was, but I guess he got a better offer.” I nod toward the bar where our roommates are practically taking body shots off one another. “So glad the kids are playing nice this evening.”

“And what about you, Skylar? Do you play nice?”

Her silvery cobalt blue dress reminds me of smoke blown into the dark and hugs her curves in all the right places. I want to lick every inch of her. Twice.

I stand to join her on the dance floor, grabbing my beer as I go. “No, sweetheart. I don’t.”

The tiniest hint of a smile lifts one corner of her mouth. “Then how do you play?”

I lead her onto the floor, pulling her backside close to my front so I can whisper my answer in her ear loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Dirty, Red. I play dirty.”

S
kylar’s voice lingers in my ear, the damp heat sending shivers down my spine. His hands stay in the appropriate zones while we dance but his fingers graze the edge of the danger zone when I let them.

I want him.

I hate myself for wanting him.

He’s the exact brand of asshole I promised myself I’d never get involved with again. Self-centered, arrogant, and probably has the attention span of a gold fish.

I’m the shiny new toy that has his attention at the moment but I know the next short skirt that comes along will probably distract him so I decide to enjoy the heady sensation of being bathed in male attention while it lasts.

My ass grinds against what I can tell is an impressive erection and a small moan escapes my throat.

He’s an athlete, one hell of a dancer, and probably has enough stamina to do this—and more—all night.

Don’t go there, Corin.

I step a little further away and he backs off. A wave of disappointment rushes over me but when I see the apologetic grin on his lips, I smile back. He took the hint and is being respectful. So maybe not the
exact
brand of asshole I thought then.

Skylar twists and dips me old-fashioned Hollywood style and it effectively eases the tension between us. Somewhat. I let out a small laugh and he pulls me close.

“You’re good at this,” he says easily.

“You’re not so bad. Haven’t stepped on my feet at least.”

Skylar wraps an arm around my waist and we sway to the beat of whatever song is playing. I feel it, the intensity radiating off of him. The want. The physical attraction. And that’s why this is dangerous. Because the old me would’ve given in, would’ve taken him up on any and all offers he made.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Corin,” he says over the music but I can’t be sure I heard him right.

“What?”

“I wouldn’t hurt you—by stepping on your feet. I’ve been going to clubs in LA since I was fifteen.” His hands slides just below the small of my back sending a zing of awareness up my spine.

I attempt to force a smile.
Oh you’d hurt me plenty, Skylar Martin.
I know his type. Smooth—too smooth. In love with the thrill of the chase but loses interest in the prey once it’s caught. Been there, screwed that, got the battle wounds to prove it.

“Well I’ve been going to New York clubs since I was thirteen and I will hurt you if that hand ventures any lower.”

Skylar grins then glances over to where Landen and Layla are now dancing beside us. Landen is a solid dancer and even though I haven’t made my mind up about it him yet, I see it. The undeniable chemistry between him and my roommate. The way several other girls are checking him out but he only has eyes for one. Something twinges low in my stomach but I don’t think it’s jealously. Layla is a sweet girl—she definitely deserves to have a guy swooning all over her. Envy, I guess. I’m a little envious that Landen’s universe seems to center around where she stands. But I can’t help remembering her words and the hurt so heavy in them when she told me what happened back in high school.

“Spin me,” I say, just to have an excuse to check on Layla. “That direction.” I jerk my head toward where they’re swaying intimately to the slower song that just began. I hip check my roommate and she smiles to let me know she’s okay. She also flushes like she’s embarrassed and I wonder what dirty thoughts were playing in her pretty head before I interrupted.

“You good?”

She smiles and nods before looking back at Landen like…I don’t even know. Like he’s some golden Greek god sent here from the heavens.