Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(63)

“They live in large groups too, so it’s easy to get separated, but the paired male and female always find each other, like a sixth sense for their mate.” I study her. I know this story is…stupid, but this is my way of telling her…shit, I don’t know.

She laces our hands together. “I get tingles when you walk in a room.”

“Me too.” I kiss her again. Softly. Easy. I want her so bad.

By the time eleven rolls around, she’s asleep in my arms, and the credits are rolling on yet another episode. Frankly, it’s been one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.

My arms tighten around her, and I lean down and whisper in her ear. “Just wrapped up the last episode in season one. Those dragons are kickass.”

She murmurs my name, still half asleep, and I grin, leaning down to kiss her. I can’t stop myself. She responds, her arms curling around my neck, her mouth pressing harder into mine.

“You need to go,” she murmurs after a few minutes of our lips clinging to each other.

My head rests against hers. “My cock is hard, like Super Dick. It would be a shame to waste all that potential for the orgasm of your dreams.”

“Super Dick? Stop.” She pokes me in the ribs, and I pop out a laugh then roll off her.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I’m ticklish.”

“Now I know your secrets,” she says, poking me again until I’m scrambling across the bed to get away from her.

“Help!” I’m gasping, and she’s laughing and straddling me, and fuck I can smell her skin. I bite back a moan and freeze, cupping her face.

“What?” she asks, her gaze searching mine, looking for something, but I don’t know how to do things like this.

I just want her.

“I want to fuck you forever,” I say without thinking.

“Romance at its best.” She huffs out a laugh and moves away to grab a pop.

I exhale and sit up. “I don’t know how to say shit.”

She gives me a smile, and I stand up and look at her wall of Post-it notes, moving over the colors. She put a shitload of thought into it, working through her breakup.

I think about Willow, and all the letters I’ve written her.

“I had a girlfriend once, you know. Willow. She died in a car wreck right after my mom passed away.” The words just come out, and I feel a profound sense of relief.

Sugar freezes, her pop halfway to her mouth. I can feel her rapt attention, the heavy silence.

I hold myself taut. “She left a party because she was angry with me.”

“God, Z, that’s terrible.”

Emotion clogs at my throat and I blink rapidly. “I blame myself.” I rub my chest, touching the ache that’s building. “She was my first…” I stop and my hands clench. I look around the room, purposely not looking at her. “I ruined her life and look how good mine is. Look at…everything I have.” My voice is weird, and I clear my throat to cover it up.

Sugar moves and is standing behind me, her arms around my middle. “Accidents happen, Z.”

I drag my hands briskly over my face. I don’t know where this is coming from, because I never talk to girls like this and tell them about Willow, but my insides feel like I’m ripping them out. I have to get this out—or at least part of it. “She was a year younger than me, and I wanted us to work, but I was going off to college. We were going through some relationship stuff, and that night I was late to the party because I was out running in the park, just working shit out in my head, trying to figure out how to tell her—tell her parents—” My voice breaks, my scalp tingling. “She…she was pregnant.” I’ve never told anyone that but my family and hers. A cold sweat breaks out and the room spins. The oxygen is gone and I can’t breathe.

I tear at my neck, ripping off my T-shirt and throwing it on the floor.

“Z?”

Her voice is far away and my heart pounds, heavy and loud like a sledgehammer, and I’m sitting on her bed, holding my head in my hands. I breathe slowly in and out, and she’s next to me, her hand on my arm, fingers tracing the outline of my dragon.

“I’m sorry.” I push the words out on a gasp.

Her eyes widen. “Don’t be. What’s going on?”

“Panic attack. Not a bad one.”

“What do I do?” She frowns. “Tell me.”

“Just keep touching me, please,” I say. “Don’t…stop.” I need her next to me and I don’t even know why, but if she were to get up and walk away from me right now, I might flip out.

She leans in and does as I asked, continuing to trace the shape of my tattoo, across my left shoulder and down my back. I close my lids.

In and out. In and out.

I think about teaching her to skate, about her in my arms and how good it was. I told her to not be afraid to fall…because I’m falling for her…so hard.

Several minutes pass and gradually, my heart slows to a pace that’s halfway normal.

“Do you want some water?”

I take her hand. “Don’t get up.”

“Want to tell me about these attacks?” She touches my face, tracing my jawline, so sweet and gentle.

I exhale and tell her about the episode when we played Minnesota-Duluth. I explain how I lied to the media. “I’m worried Nashville will figure it out and ditch me. Can you imagine how they’re going to feel when they find out their number one pick has mental issues?”