Scared of Beautiful (Scared #1)(7)

“Any better ideas?” I retort. “I just assumed that two people who don’t know each other from a bar of soap might find it useful.” Yep, there’s no doubt that my stint in the library has created a little awkwardness between us.

“You ask first,” he says. I square my shoulders off and tie my hair into a knot. “Whoa!” He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “You look like you getting ready for war. Should I be scared?”

“Definitely!” I nod with mock seriousness. As much as I’m trying to keep up the hard ass front, I have to say the edges are cracking slightly as I find myself becoming comfortable with Jackson.





Chapter 4




Jackson

I’m not going to lie, I am nervous as hell sitting here opposite Maia. And the idea of the two of us playing a game of twenty questions is a bad one. Although, it has to be better for my self-control than a game of truth of dare. I’d be forced by my hormones to dare something completely wicked. She seemed shaken after that envelope was pushed under the door, and I’m tempted to ask why, but I really don’t know her like that. Not yet, anyway. I rub my hands together in typical villain style. The question I’m searching for is supposed to be witty, cocky. But after racking my brain for almost a minute to think of the perfect question, I give up and go for the easy option. “Where you from?”

“Manhattan. Not far,” she answers without lifting her eyes from the bed.

Okay then, this game is going to last all of five minutes at this rate. Not what I had in mind.

“Same question to you,” she challenges, this time raising her eyes to meet mine.

“Suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia,” I answer matter-of-factly. I now realize that she’s just being polite, to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. She knows where I’m from because it’s the same place Jade is from.

Her lips spread into a wide grin then, and a mischievous glint appears in her eyes. For a moment, I just stare. She has f-ucking hot eyes. If ever there were a way to describe bedroom eyes, this would be it. And I may have figured her out all wrong

Because she’s looking at me now like I’m dessert.

“I changed my mind. I’m hungry. Let’s go down to the Bean,” and before I can protest, she’s up and in the closet, changing.

“Okay,” I shrug, mainly to myself.

Walking out of dorm building, I automatically veer towards the Mustang, but then realize that maybe she wants to drive. “Your car or mine?” I ask casually.

“What makes you think I have a car?” she asks innocently.

I roll my eyes. “Please, you come from Manhattan; no way you came here without a ride.” I’m guessing here, but trying to sound as cock sure as possible when I do it.

“I do,” she nods in reply. “But I’d rather go in yours, just as long as I sit in the front seat this time. Last time I had to contort my body into shapes it doesn’t normally go in.”

She says this innocently, but my mind floods with images of her body in various compromising positions and my body reacts accordingly. f-uck! I walk purposely ahead of her as I desperately attempt to get my shit together.

A few times on the way there, she looks as though she wants to speak, but then loses her nerve. By the time we’re turning onto the street where the Bean is located, I can’t help but to ask. “What? Spit it out.” I grin.

She’s taken aback by my question. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“I mean, why do you keep opening your mouth to say something and then stopping? You’ve been doing it for ten minutes now. You’re starting to look like a fish,” I tease.

She rounds her mouth off in an “o” formation and narrows her eyes teasingly at me, feigning offense. And she looks crazy hot. Because that, gentlemen, that look is what dreams are made of, right there. And men who find a chick that hot can think of at least ten things to do with that look. I try to fill my mind with visuals of the century-old nude sunbathers I’m used to seeing on Atlanta’s beaches, to stop myself from thinking what I’m actually thinking. On the plus side, she seems comfortable now, and maybe, just maybe she’ll let go enough to have a little fun this evening. f-uck, stranger things have happened.

Maia leads us straight to the second floor, where the beanbags and bookshelves are, after we order our lattes. It’s pretty empty, because I assume on a Friday night, most people have traded up to the party scene. Truthfully, the old me would have been right there with them. Now, with Maia, I’m starting to appreciate my new, boring self.

“New game,” she turns towards me and places her coffee on the floor before flopping onto a beanbag. “It’s called truth or dare or bullshit.”

“What!” I choke back a laugh. “I’m thinking you’re making this up, but okay, I’ll play. What are the rules?”

“Simple,” she replies flippantly. “No rules. Ask anything. But, if the other person thinks you’re not being completely honest, they call bullshit. That’s where the dare comes in, and you can’t refuse.”

This sounds confusing as shit, not to mention dangerous as hell. Because underneath the studious, quiet girl in front of me, I think there may be a touch of crazy freaky hidden. I’d have chosen strip poker, personally, just to find out.