Page 70 of Pucking Bad Boys

“I’m not going to get bored. You’re beautiful and you’re awesome, Talia. And judging by that kiss the other night, wehave really good chemistry.”Crazy good chemistry. “All you have to do is relax and be honest if what I do doesn’t feel good. We’ll find what works together and we’ll build from there.”

Her eyes are huge when she nods. “Ok.”

I take one step closer. Our chests are almost touching. “Can I kiss you now?”

She nods, and I lower my head slowly, angling my face so that my lips are hovering over hers.

This kiss feels important. Last time, I didn’t ask for her permission. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. This time I know she wants to kiss me too. And I have to make sure she’s never going to forget this kiss. I already know I never will.

My hand goes up to cup her delicate jaw, and we’re so close I can almost taste her.

The ringtone of my phone makes me crawl out of my skin, and I jump away from her. “It’s the pizza. Let me go and answer the door. Don’t leave, please.”

Chapter 21

A Sweet Torture

TALIA

Macklin goes to answer the door, and that gives me the chance to pull myself together.

I’m a mess. He hasn’t even kissed me and I’m so wet that I’m glad I’m not wearing a skirt today. Or I would be worried that my excitement would run down my thighs.

He promised that he isn’t going to get bored, and he isn’t going to give up. I hope he means it.

I’m relieved that he didn’t run for the hills when I told him how inexperienced I am.

A lot of guys these days don’t want to date a virgin. It’s become almost a stigma. It’s like they don’t want to be someone’s first.

Sam and I have been debating this at length. She says men are just as stressed as we are about first times, and sex with someone who has never done it feels like a huge responsibility.

I disagree. I’ve been around my brother and his teammates since high school, and I think they aren’t worried about not measuring up to being someone’s first.

These days, both men and women seem to be more and more reluctant to get into relationships, especially in college. It’s a hookup culture. And while I don’t judge people for wanting to have fun and see what’s out there, I think it’s become the norm that when you sleep with someone it’s a no string attached deal. So hooking up with a virgin is too much pressure, not because men feel nervous about not making it good for her, but because they’re worried she’ll fall for them and become attached.

The thought hits me that maybe Macklin should run for the hills. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and I’m already attached. I already want more than a fake relationship.

Maybe it’s because I was already attached. I was already pining for him even before he noticed in class and asked me to help him study.

And what does it say about me that I’m catching major feelings for my fake boyfriend even before this relationship gets off the ground while I’m also pining for his brother?

Macklin is convinced that seeing me with him will give Becks the push he needs to make the move he didn’t make when he walked me home.

I know I didn’t imagine the vibe between us. Or at least, I think I didn’t.

These intrusive thoughts aren’t helping. I need to quit thinking and see what happens. Trust that Macklin knows whathe’s doing. If anything, I promised to help him with Gen. And I’m someone who keeps her promises.

During my mini meltdown I’ve been wandering around Macklin’s room. Being around his things feels oddly private, and I take in everything. From the big TV in a corner with a console next to it to the dark blue comforter on his bed. I bet the red t-shirt slung over the back of the chair by his desk smells like him, like clean cotton with a vague hint of soap, but I don’t dare smell it to confirm my suspicions. If he walked in on me smelling his stuff like a creep, I’d be mortified.

There’s a framed picture on his desk, and I can’t resist the urge to look at it.

It’s one of those digital frames. The photo must be a few years old. Macklin’s hair is a lot longer than he wears it now, and it has a definite wave to it. He has on a red hockey jersey, not the Cove Knights one; I assume it must be his high school team. He’s skinnier in the photo; he must have worked hard to put on more muscle since then. He’s smiling wide in the photo, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a woman with his same eyes and long blonde hair. His mother.

His father is standing proudly behind them, and I notice how Macklin inherited his dad’s jawline. But Becker, who’s standing next to them in his teenage version, has the older man’s nose and lips.

I press the forward button, and the second photo is of Macklin and Genevieve’s. She’s in a cheerleading outfit and is smiling wide with her arms around his neck. Macklin looks serious, almost uncomfortable. Like he doesn’t want to be there. Or maybe I’m projecting because I hate looking at the possessive way Gen is holding onto him. I press the forward button again, and the next photo is of Macklin and Becks. They’re grinning at whoever took the photo, their arms around each other. I notice that one of Becks’s front teeth is broken. One of the hazardsof playing hockey. Dad always joked about how pleased he was that Tucker was a goalie because fewer brawls and a slightly lower chance of getting a stick to the teeth meant huge savings in dental work. Of course, goalies are prone to a lot of other injuries, but that’s a totally different matter.

I’ve been so engrossed in the photos that I didn’t notice that Macklin came back.