Call It What You Want(68)

I barely have time to identify our surroundings before he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. He’s more sure of himself than last night—if that’s even possible. But there’s no hesitation today, no uncertainty. He’s gentle and warm and his mouth is so addictive. I’m dizzy with the taste of his breath, and I’m glad for his hands at my waist when he draws back.

“Sorry,” he says pragmatically. “He might not know what I’m doing, but I still don’t want to kiss you in front of Dad.”

I give a soft little laugh, and he catches my lips with his. The house is so quiet, and we’re not exactly alone, but I’ve never felt more sure. It’s like we’ve carved out a space beside reality, where we can hide from the real world for a little while. When his hands slide under the edge of my shirt, my insides seem to melt.

He leaves my mouth to kiss his way down my neck, his slender fingers tickling the bottom of my rib cage. I gasp and giggle, but he holds me in place.

“Who—who spontaneously hugged you first?” I ask him.

“Owen Goettler.” He barely stops kissing my neck long enough to answer.

“Did you make out with him too?” I tease.

“No.” Rob’s hands go still, and he draws back far enough for moonlight to spark in his eyes. We’re in a bedroom. His bedroom, I realize, as I spot lacrosse gear piled in a corner and school books scattered across a desk under the window. “Do you want to go back downstairs to watch a movie?”

I have no idea how to answer. “Do you?”

His mouth quirks. “I asked you first.”

I blush and look down, studying the ribbed pattern of the sweater he’s wearing. “I’m okay with whatever you want to do.” My blush deepens as I consider what that means in his bedroom, of all places. “Mostly whatever,” I amend.

“Mostly whatever.” He kisses me again, more slowly this time. His body presses into mine, his hands stronger suddenly, holding me against him. He’s so sure of himself that he steals my breath with every kiss.

When his hand slips under my shirt again, I pull back. “I feel like—I feel like I need to define mostly whatever.”

He smiles and pauses, his hands going still, his forehead resting against mine. “Go ahead.”

There’s no urgency in his voice, no disappointment. No expectation. Of all the things about Rob that take me by surprise, this must top the list: he’s respectful. Chivalrous. Thoughtful. Patient. There’s no entitled pawing at my chest, no fumbling to get my jeans unbuttoned.

Some of that is intrinsically Rob, I’m sure. But some of it had to come from his parents. It’s bizarre to think of a man stealing from half the county but also teaching his son to be respectful of women.

I’ve been quiet too long, because a line appears between Rob’s eyebrows, and he pulls back an inch. “Maegan, we don’t have to do anything. We really can go watch a movie.”

I blush and look away. “No. It’s not that. I was thinking about how you’re very respectful.”

I expect him to take that as a compliment, but he freezes—then frowns.

“What?” I say softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid. It’s—” He makes a disgusted noise, then turns away from me to drop onto the side of the bed and run his hands through his hair. “Sometimes I think of these things my father used to say, and it was completely the opposite of what he did. So then I wonder what’s wrong with me, that I’d listen to anything he’d say.”

I join him on the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress. “What did he say?”

“It’s not—it’s not like that.” He hesitates.

I wait.

Finally, he turns and looks at me. “Okay, like this. One time, we were all at a party at the club, and Connor saw a girl he wanted to talk to. His dad said something like, ‘You want her, go get ’er.’ ” He rolls his eyes.

“That sounds about right,” I say.

He looks startled. “What?”

“That sounds like the kind of thing a guy like Connor would hear from his dad.” I pause. “He sits on the quad every morning and girls fawn all over him. They used to fawn all over you, too.”

Rob looks abashed. “Well. I couldn’t help that.”

“You poor thing,” I tease.

I expect it to make him smile, but he doesn’t. “Go on,” I say. “I interrupted. Your dad wasn’t all ‘Go get ’er, Tiger,’ like Connor’s?”

“No.” His entire frame is tense. “Connor went to talk to her, and she wasn’t into him. It got really awkward, because she tried to walk away, and he kept going after her. He’s not usually like that, but his dad was right there, watching. When he finally gave up, his dad said something like, ‘A real man would have gotten her number.’ And my dad said, ‘A real man has no right to take what’s not offered.’ ”

The words drop like a rock. Rob turns and looks at me. “I’m sorry. I got too heavy. I ruined the moment.”

“No, Rob—”

“How am I supposed to reconcile that?” he demands. “Am I supposed to hate him? Love him? Does he get a pass because he wasn’t a womanizing asshole? Or could I turn out like him because I’m not one, either? Was he some kind of psychopath? Like, is that how he got people to trust him? I don’t get it.”