Boyfriend Material (Hawthorne University, #2)(51)

He’s championed me. With Connor. With Parker.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

I push thoughts of my mom aside as I slide my hands up his chest and rise up on my tiptoes. “Will it hurt your face if we kiss?”

His mouth parts in surprise. “No. Maybe. I don’t care. Can I? Kiss you?”

I nod and meet him halfway, his mouth taking mine with excruciating gentleness.

Time pauses.

The world rights itself as his lips brush against mine like a sacred whisper.

I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, the hardness of his shoulders under my hands.

The scent of him, masculine and virile, makes sparks zip along my skin.

For the first time in years, we’re kissing, only it isn’t like it was in prep school. Those kisses were hurried and rushed, full of angst and lust. This is different. We have a history, a backstory that craves to be rewritten, and maybe this is how we do it.

This kiss is sweet. Poignant. Tender.

His lips change direction and slant against mine as his tongue dips into my mouth.

I feel light-headed as a buzz goes through me.

This. Yes, this.

There’s true, honest emotion between us, the kind that’s layered with meaning and knowledge. It’s in the air, crackling and sizzling, yearning to be set free.

“Julia . . .” he gasps, and I melt into him.





22





Eric





I break apart from her and hold her at arm’s length. “That was, um . . .” I sigh, not having the words.

A blush rises up her cheeks, illuminated by their porch light. “I-I was at the hospital. My mom is there . . .” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I need to rest or decompress or something. Come inside and let me get that blood off you.”

We go inside and she motions to the staircase. “I have Band-Aids and antiseptic in my room. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

“I had a shower, so yeah.” I stood under a cold one for half an hour trying to get the swelling down. I pause at the shadows in her eyes. “Do you want to talk about your mom?”

She lets out a little sigh. “Soon. Right now? I just don’t want to be alone.”

We walk in a bedroom at the top of the stairs, and she flicks on the light. It looks like somewhere she’d live. There’s butterfly wallpaper, sketches on the walls above her iron bed, books scattered around, clothes on the floor. She’s kind of a slob.

“Nice lighting,” I say, gazing up at a wonky gold light fixture with sparkly rhinestones.

“Hasn’t fallen yet. I like it. The house has character. Sit on the bed,” she says as she disappears for a minute, then comes back with a white washcloth, antiseptic, and Band-Aids.

She soaks the cloth with the liquid, then dabs it on my temple and my jaw. Her lips compress in a tight line. “Tell me about this fight.”

My nose flares. “The usual. They mouthed off and I snapped.”

She pauses as she dabs at the broken skin on my knuckles. “Was this about me?”

“Some. They fucked with Boone, left him in a field all night in the cold while he was trashed.” Anger digs into my gut. “You don’t mess with our family.”

“Is he okay?”

“They took him to the ER. He’s already been released and is in a hotel with his parents.”

She finishes applying a Band-Aid to a cut on my head.

I catch her arm. “Hey. Tell me about your mom.”

She sits next to me. “You know about her issues.” She plucks at the quilt on her bed. “She hasn’t been taking care of herself, obviously, and now she has a bleed on her brain.”

Shit. “I’m so sorry.”

Exhaustion seems to ripple over her as she pushes at the hair in her face. “I need to wake up early and get to the hospital.”

Is that my cue to leave?

Fuck. Don’t make it my cue to leave. “All right, I can—”

She takes my hand. “Would you just be with me tonight?”

I study her face. “Yeah, sure, whatever you need.”

“Good.” She smiles as she gets up to turn off the lights. Moonlight streams in the window as she turns her back and pulls her sweater over her head. No bra, but I knew that already. She grabs a roomy shirt out of a drawer and slips it on. Her hands loosen her jeans and they fall to the ground.

Her panties are blue and demure, but my cock thickens to a steel pipe. I keep my groan inside.

She pauses in front of me and brushes her hand over my hoodie. Her words are hushed and soft. “I want to feel your skin. Is that weird? Is it okay?”

Not weird. “Um, yeah.”

I slide off my joggers, then my shirt. I stand in my boxers as she takes me in, her eyes drifting over my body.

She takes in the bruise on my chest.

On my side.

On my outer thigh.

A frown forms on her forehead and her voice is strained. “Oh. Eric . . .”

“I’m okay. I’m tough.”

She bites her lip as if she wants to argue, then pulls back the sheet and gets in.

I climb in and turn on my side towards her as I wrap her in my arms, burying my nose in her hair.

Something inside me that was hard and razor sharp, loosens.