Be with Me (Wait for You #2)(30)

He nodded as his lips curled up on one corner. “Yep. What I say goes.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The grin grew as he tugged gently on my arm. His eyes lightened to a soft gray. “Do not doubt my authority.”

I laughed and was surprised that I could do so after such a serious and sad conversation. “You have absolutely no authority.”

He smirked. “Oh, my authority is there. All the time. It’s just stealth authority. You don’t even know it’s happening.”

I rolled my eyes, but as the initial burn of the awkward conversation faded, I recognized his words for what they were worth. Even if I had trouble accepting no fault in the mess, I knew that Jase firmly believed in what he said. And that did mean something. Heck, it meant a lot.

“So what did you think about the meet and greet?” he said, and it was like a thick cloud had passed. We were officially back in safe territory. “Wasn’t bad?”

“No.” I smiled up at him. “It wasn’t bad at all.”

“Then next time, maybe you’ll ride one of them? Lightning?”

My stomach tumbled a bit. “Ah . . .”

“I’ll be with you,” he added, dipping his chin. “The whole time.”

I pictured me practically sitting in his lap, his arm around my waist, holding me close, and . . . I felt hot. I needed to throw the brakes on the porn train before my mind veered into triple X land.

He chuckled, the sound deep and sexy, as he moved closer. His sneakers brushed mine, and I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. “I can tell you like that idea.”

“What?” I scowled, hopefully fiercely and not stupidly. “No. I was thinking about music class tomorrow. Aren’t we covering the baroque period? Stimulating stuff right there. I’m all kinds of excited.”

A smirk formed on his lips. “I don’t think that’s what you are all excited about or what gets you excited.”

“It’s not you.”

“Whatever.” The teasing glint grew in his gaze. “You were thinking about me.”

I snorted. Like a pig. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t think about you at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you have a terrible ego. Worse than my brother and that’s saying something.”

“You can say whatever you want. I know better.” He dipped his head and his lips grazed my cheek, blazing a small fire across my cheeks. “See? You’re flushing and I haven’t even done anything.”

“It’s the sun,” I replied, straining back before I did something stupid. Like grabbing his face in a death grip and molesting him. “I’m getting a heatstroke.”

He choked out a laugh. “The sun isn’t even out.”

I huffed. “Like that makes a difference.”

“You know what?”

Cocking my head to the side, I waited.

That infuriating grin seemed permanently etched into his face. “It’s cute.”

“What is?” I hoped he wasn’t thinking that about me because I’d like to be seen as more than “cute” when it came to him.

“You.” He caught a piece of my hair in his other hand and tickled the edges along my neck while I fought the urge to stick my tongue out. “This whole act—-you pretending that you don’t sit and think about me all the time. You probably sit in your dorm and write my name all over your dry--erase board.”

“Oh my God.” I laughed.

“And then you dream about me, right? You stay awake and—-”

My laugh cut him off as I swung at him with my free hand, aiming for his chest. What he was saying was beyond ridiculous. Okay—-maybe not the dreaming part. He did star in quite a few of them. My hand never landed though. He snatched it out of the air with his other hand with startling reflexes and hauled me against his chest in one quick, smooth move.

Impressive.

“Hitting is not nice,” he said, grinning. “And neither is deluding yourself.”

My chest flush with his made this conversation all the more difficult. The tips of my breasts tingled sharply. “You should listen to what you’re saying. You said you regretted kissing me, so why would I sit around and think about you? I moved on, bud.”

The moment those words left my mouth and my gaze locked with his, I realized that I’d made a mistake. I don’t know what he was thinking, but the intensity in his silvery eyes consumed me. Somehow we’d gone from harmless teasing and talking smack—-because the stuff I’d been spouting off at him were some pretty bad lies—-to this . . . and I didn’t even know what this was.

The humor vanished from his striking face. “I never said I regretted kissing you.”

“I’m pretty sure you did.”

His eyes burned like quicksilver. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

Slowly, I shook my head. Confusion poured in and I didn’t know what to say.

“And I don’t regret kissing you.”

In my chest, my heart tripled its beats at those words. “You don’t?”

“No.” He looked away for a brief moment, jaw working, before his gaze latched onto mine again. “I should. I wish I did.”

“I don’t,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I don’t regret it at all.”