Page 37 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
I’m just about finished entering the grades when I hear footsteps behind me. I’d heard Carla’s voice earlier so I expect to see her when I turn around.
Boy am I wrong.
Hawkin’s hips are resting on the empty desk behind me, arms folded across his chest so that once again I’m afforded a glimpse of the tattoos that call to my curiosity. His head is angled to the side, black boots crossed at the ankles and the smirk pursed on his lips also lights up the gray of his eyes.
“Can I help you?” I ask in a terse tone. He raises one eyebrow in response and that’s about as nice as I’m going to get so he better take what I give him or he needs to turn around and walk right out.
“Well, good day to you too.” His eyes narrow as he appraises me, trying to get a feel for my mood although he should clearly know why I’m upset. He unfolds his arms and toys with the wrapper on the Tootsie Pop in his hand.
“It was until you walked in.”
“Oh! That’s cold!” He laughs with a shake of his head and a lick of his bottom lip that has my eyes darting down to watch it, and my mind drifting to other thoughts about tongues and licking and … I have to make a conscious effort to look back up and meet his eyes.
“Well, you know all about being cold, now, don’t you?” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest.
Something flashes in his eyes that I don’t quite catch before it clears. “C’mon, Quin … don’t be that way. Just do me a solid and let’s forget about it. Why don’t you come with me to an event I have this Saturday? Yeah?” He flashes a disarming grin that I’m sure would have most women’s panties falling to their ankles, but not mine. I’ve experienced how quickly he can flip the switch from being interested to uninterested. I can’t imagine how it feels when he’s yanking the sheets off you, when his interest is gone, after just having had sex.
“Sorry, I have plans,” I tell him knowing full well I told myself that I was going to accept the next offer that came my way that might possibly result in mind-blowing sex. Little did I know it would come from him.
And so goes my life.
“You have something better to do than hang out with me?” That cocky smirk is back, the one that makes me want to fist my hands in his shirt and do dirty things to him, but I just shake my head, holding fast to my slowly weakening resolve.
“I know that’s hard to believe but on Saturday I need to watch my paint dry,” I deadpan.
His laugh fills the air, rich and deep, and even it sounds melodic. He points the sucker at me and just shakes his head and a part of me caves that he finds humor and not offense in my comment. “Friday then?”
“Paint drying.”
“Sunday, then?”
“Paint will still be drying.” I fight the urge to crack a smile at his playfulness and the way he’s angling his head and staring at me with a boyish smile on those sculpted lips of his.
“Damn, I would have never guessed you led such a fascinating life.”
“Yep. So you see, I don’t have time to go out. Sorry.” We hold each other’s gaze and I know he sees my interest. And as much as I want to consent to going with him, I need to do this for me—say no so that I can look in the mirror when I go home and know I’m thinking with my head and not my Bermuda triangle—the place where my thoughts go to die and lust acts without recourse.
“C’mon, you know you want to see if the rumors are true.” That lopsided smirk appears again and I hate the feeling it evokes in me—giddy schoolgirl begging for attention comes to mind and I just want to brush the thoughts off my shoulders. Too bad the only place they’ll fall from there is in my lap and that in itself is the crux of this problem.
“Rumors?” There are probably too many for me to guess so I’ll let him tell me what I need to worry about.
“Yeah.” He nods his head, lopsided smirk now a full-blown panty-dropping smile. “If I play a woman like a guitar.” He wiggles his fingers in front of him and raises his eyebrows.
Thoughts flicker through my mind that I don’t want there. His fingers running over me, manipulating me into rapturous oblivion. Damn. “You really need to get some better lines. The women that fall for those are ones you need to steer clear of … like Delta Sig girl. I’m sure she’d love to spend some more time with you after you beguile her with witty one-liners like that.”
I raise my eyebrows in a silent Yes, I saw you but then realize that in that one little sentence, I gave him the upper hand. I let him know that I was paying attention to him and his actions and by the derisive tone in my voice that it bugs me.
We both toy with the silence between us, him waiting to see if I’ll say more and me wondering if he’s going to call me on the carpet as to why I won’t go with him on Friday but I’m pissed that Delta Sig just might.
“I’m sure she would,” he finally says, “but perception can often be misleading.”
What? Please talk female here because I’m not following your cryptic answers. “Yes, it can. Like when a guy kisses you senseless one minute and then pushes you off the porch the next. Something like that, right?”
I notice him register my hurt and his expression falters as he figures out how to respond. “Exactly like that. What could have been perceived as pushing off a porch may have really just been a guy trying to prevent a mistake from happening.”
And the minute the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widen and my back straightens in incredulity that he really just went there. His comment stings in ways I never expected—and that tells me I’m way too inv
ested already. I can tell myself till I’m blue in the face that I won’t date a player like him, will date only casually, but the spear of disappointment that shoots through me tells me I want more.
