Not So Nice Guy(36)

She has to work at it for a few seconds. It’s up covering her eyes now, and she’s a toddler trying to dress herself for the first time. She jerks this way and that, knocking my bottles of shampoo and conditioner to the ground and nearly wiping out when she trips on one of them. I reach out and steady her hips. With a heavy sigh, she finally gets it off and flings it over the top of the shower door. I smirk at her newly disheveled appearance. Her hair is a tangled mess. Water droplets collect on the ends of her dark lashes. Her bra is creamy blue and see-through thanks to the steady stream of water hitting her.

“Come on, Ian! Man up! Just kiss me!”

She’s got herself so worked up, her skin is flushed everywhere.

“No. Get out of my shower.”

I turn my back to her and dip my head under the water. That really pisses her off. Her angry fists pound into my back.

“I’m telling you I want you and suddenly you’re no longer interested?!”

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, so I decide to show her. I turn back around and my hand drops. I step forward and push right up against her body, tipping my head down to meet her eyes. She wasn’t kidding—she’s a fuming little ball of molten lava. I think she wants to destroy me for doing this to us, for changing our friendship forever.

My hands grip her biceps, which are like two popsicle sticks. My hardness digs into her stomach and her mouth goes wide with wonder.

“Still want to have this conversation right now, Hot Lips?”

She doesn’t answer me. She’s in a daze. I’ve hypnotized her.

“Still think this is a good idea?”

“Everyone at school wants you,” she whispers, eyes wide. “You’re mine and you don’t even know it. I’ve never told you.”

Her admission fucks with my self-control. I want to hitch her legs around my waist so I can burrow myself deep inside her. I’m going to write on her forehead with a Sharpie while she’s sleeping: Property of Mr. Fletcher. Hands off.

“I don’t like the version of Ian you’ve been the last few days,” she says quietly before nibbling on the edge of her bottom lip. She’s refusing to meet my gaze. Instead, she’s roving the contours of my chest.

“What version is that?”

The edge of her mouth tips up. “The nice guy—or rather, the not so nice guy. You walked right by me in the hallway yesterday. You skipped out on lunch in the teachers’ lounge. You know I overslept on Monday because you didn’t call me?”

I can’t resist a small smile. “They make these devices called alarm clocks. Great invention, think they had them back in the Stone Ages.”

“I already have one of those and he goes by Ian. Not to be confused with…”

I don’t laugh. Not even a little.

“You see, there’s our problem: I don’t want to be your alarm clock anymore.”

Her face falls and she stops charting a course across my chest.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, call me crazy, but I’m standing here completely nude and we’re chatting—not exactly my idea of a good time. I want to take a shower with you and…”

I shake my head. There’s no point in finishing that thought. Instead, I release her and step back so she has enough space to leave. She’s going to tug on the glass door and walk away. There will be sad puddles of water left in her wake. I’ll probably slip on one and eat shit on my way out of the shower.

She’s not moving though.

Her blue eyes are cartoonishly large as she stares up at me. There are so many thoughts flickering through her brain at once, I think she’s going to overheat.

“Sam?”

“Just be quiet for a second,” she snaps.

Slowly, painfully, her gaze drips down my face, across my neck and chest and abs, and then…lower. It’s the first time she’s really taken me in and, Jesus, I swear her jaw drops. Those rosy cheeks make me even harder, and now I think I’m scaring the poor girl.

I chuckle under my breath and reach over to open the glass door, giving her an easy out.

She yanks it closed again.

“I said be quiet!”

I haven’t said a word.

“What are you—”

I begin to ask a question I already know the answer to, but Sam is bending down on her knees in front of me. The glass fogs up. Steam rises. She sits back on her heels and I know the tile is probably digging into her knees, but she doesn’t care. In this new position, I block the shower spray from pelting her. She’s drenched and beautiful and licking her goddamn lips.

“I want to…” she begins on a whisper.

Now I’m the one overheating.

We’ve talked about blowjobs before and I know they aren’t usually Sam’s thing, but she’s looking at my dick like it’s an ice cream cone melting before her eyes.

“Step closer,” she begs.

I obey. Her hands hit my thighs immediately. Her fingers grip hard.

“God, you have the best legs.”

She’s staring straight at my penis and that’s what she says.

“Thanks? Is that what you needed a closer look for?”

“I mean obviously your…that is good too. I mean, it’s way bigger than I remember it being that one time I got a good peek, but I’ve always put your legs and your butt on a pedestal. That’s why I went comatose at the gym the other day.”