MERCEDES BROWN IS BORING. Thoughtless. Borderline brain-dead. She prattles on about the most nonsensical things, like what she says matters. As if she believes I’ll be interested in what she says, hanging on her every word.
I’m not. I hate listening to her. Her voice is irritating. The way she constantly gestures with her hands and drops constant slang as if she’s creating a social media post and trying to seem relatable.
She’s intolerable. My biggest regret is agreeing to take her out on a date. We’re at an Italian restaurant downtown, not too far from campus, and Mercedes is shoveling fettucine alfredo into her mouth like her life depends on it.
“God, I love carbs.” She moans, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head. Has she watched porn recently? Does she believe this sort of behavior will make me find her attractive? “But they’re so bad for me. They make my ass big.”
Her ass is big. So are her tits, which are practically sitting on top of the table, thanks to the low-cut neckline of her dress. Normally, I like this sort of thing. I’d pick up the vibe she was trying to send me, and respond positively.
Not with Mercedes. Not tonight. I didn’t agree to this date because I want her. I agreed to this fucking date because I wanted to get under someone else’s skin. I wanted to make Carolina Lancaster positively green with envy. I wanted her spitting nails and shooting fire from her eyes when she glared at me.
Instead, she barely reacted, simply lifted that delicate little nose in the air like the true snob she is and never said a damn word to me.
We still haven’t spoken.
And it’s driving me fucking crazy.
“Stop eating so many carbs then,” I say calmly, taking a sip of my water.
Her fork falls to her plate with a clatter, her mouth popping open. “That was rude.”
“Not really. I’m just trying to be logical. You said carbs make your ass fat, so stop eating them.” I shrug, glancing around the crowded restaurant, envious of the tables where it appears that they’re having a good time.
I’m not. This date is awful. I’ve just completely led Mercedes on and it’s going to be hell trying to get rid of her, but what’s done is done. I can’t change anything about the situation.
She pushes her plate away and bats her fake eyelashes at me, smiling prettily. “What do you want to do after dinner?”
“Go back to campus.”
“And do what?”
“Tell you goodnight after I walk you back to your dorm building.”
Her smile falters. “What about—”
“What about what?” I interrupt her, wanting to see if she’ll just flat out ask for it.
I’m not the first guy from our friend group to take Mercedes out. TJ has fucked her a handful of times, and also complains that she’s boring.
More like vapid, but I have a more descriptive vocabulary than he does so boring still fits.
“I don’t know.” Something nudges at the hem of my black trousers and I realize it’s Mercedes’ toes brushing against my calf. “I thought we could spend a little alone time together.”
“I don’t fuck on the first date.”
She snatches those toes back. I can even hear her shove her foot back into her shoe. “That’s not what I heard.”
An irritated sigh escapes me and I don’t even care. “I don’t think you’re my type, Mercedes.”
She blinks again and again, like she’s got something in her eye. “And you’re telling me this now? While we’re mid-date?”
“Better than asking for a blow job and abandoning you completely after I convince you to swallow.”
We stare at each other from across the tiny round table, and I can feel her anger rise. The server magically appears with the tab and I hand him my credit card without hesitation, grateful I pulled it out of my wallet a few minutes ago in preparation for this.
“Why did you ask me out then?” She sounds hurt, but there’s something about her tone that rings false.
“You basically goaded me into it, don’t forget.” I shrug. I’m doing that a lot tonight. “I’ve heard some things about you from my friends and I wanted to see if they were true.”
Her gaze warms. Does she actually like the idea of us gossiping about her? I’ve seen her nudes. TJ shared them, and while I can’t deny she has a nice curvy body, that’s not my thing. Not lately.
I like mean, skinny blondes with shitty attitudes.
“What did TJ say?” Mercedes asks.
Love how she just name drops him. Why pretend she doesn’t know who I’m talking about?
“He said you gave good head.” That’s not a lie. He did mention that a time or two.
“It’s true.” Her eyelids grow heavy and she leans across the table, her tits blatantly on display. “Want me to show you out in the parking lot?”
I make a face. “No, thank you.”
She sits up straighter and crosses her arms, covering her chest. “God, you’re no fun.”
“You’re right.” I pick up the steak knife sitting beside my plate, tapping the edge of the blade against the table over and over. “I’m in a mood.”
I almost said I was sorry to Mercedes, but I’m not. I am in a mood. It’s all Carolina Lancaster’s fault. I can still feel her slender thighs clutching around me. Can still catch a faint whiff of her delectable pussy.
Clearly, I have issues. I’m not one to become obsessed, but I’m aware enough of the fact that I have a problem.
“Yeah, you are.” Mercedes pastes her smile back on her face, her gaze flashing with hope. “I can help you relieve that.”
“Yeah, no you can’t.” The server reappears and I take the bill from him, opening it up and signing the receipt with a flourish before I shove my credit card back into my wallet. “Ready to go?”
The drive back to Lancaster Prep is filled mostly with Mercedes trying to tempt me with sex, while I do my best to discourage her. I’m not interested. I don’t know how else to make that abundantly clear, since she doesn’t seem to be getting the message.
“Are you sure you won’t come to my room? I don’t have a roommate.”
Even the comfort and privacy of her single dorm room doesn’t entice me. I can see it now. Me sitting on the edge of her narrow bed, my dick out, her lips wrapped tight around it, tits hanging out of the front of her dress, her big eyes locked on mine.
No fucking thank you.
“Maybe you should hit up TJ instead,” I tell her before I climb out of the car and slam the door.
She’s scrambling out of the car quickly, huffing and puffing as she shuts the door, her eyes blazing with fury as she glares at me. “You’re a prick, Fontaine.”
“Tell me all about it.” I shove my hands in my pockets, watching her fume, enjoying myself despite my lack of interest in her.
“Thanks for the dinner, asshole.” She flips me off before she stalks toward campus, heading straight for her dorm building, which is right next to mine.
I watch her go, hands still in my pockets, fingers clutched tight around my key fob. I hit the button, locking my car, and I wonder what the fuck I’m going to do for the rest of the evening.
My gaze catches on a flash of blonde hair. A tall, lithe figure running along the walkway on the opposite side of campus. She’s clad in a dark green bra top and matching booty shorts.
Carolina.
Without thinking, I head toward the building she was just running in front of, my gaze tracking her as she disappears through the double doors. The building where she stays. Where all Lancasters stay when they attend this school. No one else should be in that building.
Just her.
Trying one of the double doors with a gentle tug, it opens easily, and I stride inside, careful that the door doesn’t slam and announce my entrance. There’s a hushed silence as I make my way down the wide corridor, and I pause when I hear music. The tinkling of a piano.
My steps slow, then stop completely, just outside the open door of the room where the piano sounds the loudest. I carefully peek around the edge of the doorway to find that the cavernous room has been turned into some sort of dance studio. The floors are smooth and bare, and one wall is mirrored from the floor to the ceiling. There’s a barre attached to the wall and Carolina currently stands beside it, her fingers curved around it as she shifts her body into different positions.
Her hair is in a high ponytail, the ends swinging as she dips and moves, her arm going out, curved elegantly in front of her. The piano music comes from a small speaker sitting on a chair, her phone hooked up to it, and when the song ends, her heels settle flat on the ground, her arms dropping at her sides.
The next song starts, this one dramatic. A full orchestra plays and she makes her way to the center of the room, her back to me, her gaze on the mirror as she gets into position and holds it for a few beats.
And then she begins to dance.
I watch, mesmerized by the way she glides across the floor so effortlessly, her feet barely touching the ground. She flings her body into the air, doing a couple of spins before she lands in a matter of seconds, again and again. She completes every jump perfectly, twirling over and over, lost in the music. I enter the room fully, leaning against the wall, watching her, but she still doesn’t notice me.
Her body is a work of art, fluid and purposeful. Her dancing? Some of the best I’ve ever seen. I’m not an expert, not even close. I don’t even particularly enjoy watching ballet, and it’s something I’ve been exposed to here and there throughout my life.
But I could watch Carolina dance for hours.
The tempo rises, the drums heavy, the strings insistent, and I’m breathless, caught up in the story her body is trying to tell. She spins in a circle, her arms coming up, her fingers tangling in the hair of her ponytail and her gaze goes to the mirror, clashing with mine. A jolt runs through me the moment our eyes lock, and I stare at her, unable to look away.
She comes to a complete stop, her breathing heavy, her chest rising and falling. Sweat gleams on her skin, all of those slender muscles defined. She whirls around, so she’s facing me, her gaze narrowed.
“What are you doing?” She’s completely out of breath, her chest heaving, wild strands of hair sticking to her pink cheeks.
“Watching you.”
The music continues to play and she presses her lips together, as if she’s trying to control her breathing. Or control herself from saying something more to me. My gaze roams all over her body, noting the long length of her legs. How the shorts mold to her skin. Her slender hips. The gentle flare of her ass.
She is perfection.
“Go away.” Her tone is dismissive, like I’m an annoying bug she wants to swat at.
“No.”
She turns her back on me and marches over to the chair with the speaker on it, picking up the phone and stopping the music. The silence that follows is deafening, and then I hear her rapid breaths. How the air seems to shudder in her lungs.
“West …” Her voice is a warning, her back still to me. “You should leave.”
I push away from the wall and stalk toward her, stopping just behind her. Her entire body is still, as if she’s waiting for me, and the temptation to touch her is strong. I clench my hands into fists and dip my head, my mouth level with the delicate shell of her ear as I repeat the very words she said to me not too long ago.
“Make me.”
She keeps her head bent, the slender column of her neck beckoning me, and it takes all the strength I can muster not to press my mouth to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. To feel her pulse flutter beneath my lips, rapid and insistent. Her skin shines with sweat, and fuck, I can smell her. Clean and salty, with a hint of her unique ocean scent.
“How was your date?” Her tone is snide, with an underline of disgust, and I get a sick sort of pleasure from hearing it.
“Love that you remembered,” I whisper against her skin, noting the goose bumps that dot her nape.
I back away from her and she straightens her shoulders, turning around to face me once again. My gaze drops to her chest, lingering on her hard nipples that brush against the front of her sports bra, and yet again, I’m tempted. Mercedes put her tits on blatant display during dinner and I could give a shit.
I see Carolina’s little nipples poking against fabric and all I can think about is how they might feel on my tongue.
“How could I forget? Mercedes was practically salivating over the chance to suck your dick.”
Her anger only fuels my amusement.
A chuckle escapes me. “Jealous much? Wish it was you instead?”
“Absolutely not,” she retorts. “Why would I want to go on a date with someone like you?”
I’m not even offended by her remark. “Someone like me? You have gone on a date with someone like me.”
“That didn’t count.” There goes the nose in the air.
“Right. It didn’t count.” I smile at her.
She scowls.
“It didn’t count that you grinded on me in a nightclub. That you had me chasing you all over a goddamn opera house in the middle of Paris. That I made you come with my fingers and you almost fell off a balcony. None of that mattered, am I right?”
Her gaze flickers with annoyance, her lush lips formed into a frown. I hate that I just said all of that, like it mattered, like she mattered when, apparently, I didn’t.
I don’t do relationships. I don’t allow women to hurt me like this, and I sound like a stupid little baby, even to my own ears. I clamp my lips shut, not wanting to say anymore.
We both remain silent until she finally murmurs, “At least I’m not a liar.”
I’m taken aback by her accusation. “You’re calling me a liar?”
“Yes. You told me you already graduated from Lancaster Prep. You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about us.” She glances down her nose at me, which I don’t even know how it’s possible since I’m taller than she is. “Lies.”
“And you said you didn’t go here, so who’s the one lying now?” I forgot I even said that. It didn’t matter then. I was never going to see her again.
“I never told you that. My showing up at Lancaster Prep happened at the very last—” She presses her lips together, as if she realized she’s revealing information she doesn’t want me to know. “You’ve been mean to me from the moment I started here.”
“You were the one who ignored me from the moment I saw you in class.” I approach her and she takes a step backward, creating distance I don’t want. I keep walking toward her and she keeps stepping back, until she’s pressed against the mirrored wall and I’ve got her blocked so she can’t escape. “You started all of this.”
“I was in shock over your obvious lies.” She glares at me. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
An irritated sound leaves her. “Lie to me!”
“What does it matter? I thought it was for only one night. I could say whatever I wanted and you’d believe me.” If she only knew how truthful I’m being in this moment.
“I hate liars. They can’t be trusted.” She reaches out, her fingertips barely touching me, as if the mere thought might disgust her. “Move.”
“No.”
“Move!” She shoves me with both hands, surprisingly strong, and I crowd her, slapping my hands against the glass on either side of her head, glaring at her as my breaths come hot and heavy.
She tilts her head back, falling onto the mirror, her lips parted. Her eyes dilated. The air between us becomes electric, making every part of my body tingle, and on pure instinct, I lean in, settling my mouth on her neck.
A low moan sounds in her throat when I lick her there. Kiss her there.
Suck her there.
“I hate you,” she murmurs when I lick at her pulse, moving my hands so they settle on her slender hips. “You’re an asshole.”
“I hate you too.” I nip at her neck, scraping it with my teeth. “You’re a shitty dancer.”
Her hands press into my chest, pushing with all of her might, and I stumble away from her, startled once more by her strength.
“Lying again.” Her smile is smug, her confidence ringing clear. “I’m probably the best dancer you’ll ever see in your life.”
Exuding confidence that reminds me of the night we first met, she glides toward the chair, picking up her phone and turning on the music before she begins to dance. I turn so I can lean against the wall, watching as she twirls across the floor, the small speaker practically vibrating with how loud the music is.
Damn it, I can’t take my eyes off of her and she knows it. I see the triumphant smile on her face. Hear it in her joyous laughter as she passes by me. She gets off on proving me wrong, and deciding to take my life in my hands, I approach her slowly, careful not to get in her way, until I’m standing in the middle of the floor and she’s dancing around me.
When she draws close enough, I snake my arm out and grab her waist, pulling her into me. A gasp escapes her, her breaths coming quickly once again, her skin shining with the faintest sheen of sweat. I bend my head, licking her shoulder, and the shock in her voice is obvious.
“What are you doing?”
“Tasting you.” I push my face into hers, her wide blue eyes filled with unfamiliar emotion. “I want to taste every inch of you.”
Her face hardens, and without warning, she slaps my face. Hard.
My hands fall away from her and she takes a step back. Then another, horror written all over her pretty face.
“What the hell was that for?” I touch my cheek, hissing in a breath.
“You’re disgusting.” She wraps her arms around her middle, her gaze dropping from mine. Like she can’t look at me. “You hate me.”
I remain quiet.
“I hate you,” she continues. “You don’t want to—taste me.”
I’m still silent and she lifts her head, her eyes filled with confusion.
“I don’t understand you.”
“I can still hate you and want you at the same time,” I admit, curious as to her answer.
“When I look at you, I feel nothing.” She marches over to that damn chair yet again, turning off the music and clutching her phone in her hand. “You’re nothing to me.”
The finality in her tone has me fuming. Fuck this girl.
Fuck her.
