Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(32)
My na?ve host is wearing a sweatshirt and leggings, and she’s already kicked her feet out of the boots she was wearing which means she’s comfortable with me being here in her space. She’s cute—short hair, cut to her shoulders, kind of brown, kind of blonde. She’s small, like the sort of girl I could pick up easily over my shoulder, and what I can see of her body, looks pretty tight.
“Yeah, just Emma and me,” she smirks, sliding an unopened can of cola toward me when she turns back. I pull the tab up, and the carbonation sprays over the counter. Pulling my sleeve forward on my hand, I wipe it away before peering back up at her to catch her lip in her teeth while she watches.
“And you are?” I tilt my head to the side, and I know the second her lip slides loose from her teeth that I’ve got her. She blushes—hard.
“Oh, right. Hi, I’m Lindsey.” Her voice comes out in a nervous giggle. I stand and wipe the moisture of the soda from my hand, reaching across the counter to her.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Drew.”
Her hand is cold when I shake it, so I bring my other hand up to cup it completely, rubbing them together to warm her up. She likes it. I can tell. Her entire hand is swallowed up between both of mine. It’s almost sweet. Yet…I feel nothing.
“Thanks,” she sighs, the smile she’s been trying to manage growing a little more out of control. She’s into me.
“So…I’ve gotta go, Lindsey…game tonight and all. But I was wondering if maybe you’d let me come back here sometime, say around dinnertime, so I could take you out?”
Her eyes grow wider, and I get the feeling she’s not used to guys being so blunt. That’s fine, because I’m not used to hitting on girls without some sort of pretense—like a missing phone or wallet. There just happens to be a bigger thirst I’m trying to quench right now, and Lindsey’s really the only safe way for me to get at it.
Lindsey isn’t really safe at all.
But I can’t stop. Whatever I’m doing has my belly warm, and I feel more energized about the next minute, the next hour and the next day than I have in years.
This isn’t flirting; it’s strategy.
“I’d like that,” she says, her eyes flitting once more. I could kiss her right now, and she’d let me. I think about it, letting my tongue lick my bottom lip at the thought. Oh how great it would be if Emma walked in right now, and my lips were on her roommate. My eyes haze a little, and her breath hitches, which gives me a satisfied grin. I don’t give her what I know she wants, instead stepping back and watching her smile falter, replaced by disappointment. She stammers to get me to stay longer.
“Here…uhm…what’s your number? I’ll text you.” She’s opening her contacts screen on her phone when I take the device from her, letting my hands run into hers during the exchange. She giggles.
“There,” I say, handing it back after I’ve typed my number in and sent myself a message with her name. “How about Wednesday at seven?”
“That’s good,” she says, following me back to the front door. My pulse is racing with adrenaline. I have no idea if Emma is coming upstairs, or if she’s doing laundry too. I know that she’s worried about her ID, and I know Lindsey will text her about it the minute I’m gone. She’ll tell her all about the guy who brought it here then asked her out. I’ll be this cute story they’ll share. Then on Wednesday, I’ll find out exactly what Emma’s doing here, how long she plans to stay, and how long I have to think about her.
“Good. I’ll text you, and we’ll meet somewhere nearby,” I say, stepping through her door, relief washing over me when I find the hallway still empty. There’s a slight exhilaration that flies through my veins too. I’m playing with fire, and I like how it feels.
I wink at her before I turn to leave. When her door shuts, I take big strides toward the stairwell, deciding this is probably the best route to be sure I don’t run into Emma. There’s a part of me that feels lighter now that I don’t have her license on me, like I’ve gotten rid of this massive obligation. Adding the roommate into the equation was a bigger risk—the entire thing completely happening on impulse—but it also excites me. I need to know more about Emma. It’s curiosity, probably driven by the desire that she’s suffering…in some way.
One date. With a cute girl. Harmless.
I’ll learn secrets, get enough to satisfy things, enough to move on. Then, I’ll let Lindsey down easy.
I rush by the front desk when I make it to the first floor, but I’m careful enough not to draw any more attention from the doorman, who’s still talking with the group of girls from earlier. Once I’ve made it safely a block or two away, I pull my phone from my pocket and send Lindsey a text.
I’m really glad I found that license and ran into you.
I know exactly what my words are going to do to her. And when she sends me back a gushy smiley-faced emoticon, I know it worked. I send her one more message, just to cement everything in place.
Can’t wait for Wednesday.
She writes back quickly that she can’t either. Satisfied, and feeling a little proud of myself, I put my phone back in my pocket and decide to jog the rest of the way back to my apartment. I spend those few miles thinking about the perfect way to work in my questions about Emma. I think about that, and I think about how she looked on that dance floor last night, and in that picture on her ID.