Seth & Greyson (The Coincidence #7)(19)

“No, it’s not you at all,” I cut him off, feeling like the biggest *. “It’s me.” He looks befuddled, so I add, “Some stuff happened to me in my past that makes me…” The scars on my hand throb. I feel so vulnerable standing there in front of him, trying to explain the secret I’ve kept locked inside me. “Hesitate.”

His gaze flicks to the scars on my arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe in the future.” Once I say it, I realize how much I mean it. One day, I hope I can tell him what happened without being terrified out of my mind. “But tonight was supposed to be about fun.”

“So, you want to have fun, then?” he asks with a dare in his eyes.

I feel like I might be getting in over my head, but I’m too drunk to back down. “That all depends. What did you have in mind?”

Lust fills his eyes and the look instantly fills my thoughts with lots and lots of dirty images of the fun things we could do. He stands up straight and motions for me to follow him through the dancing crowd. I trail at his heels and note every single person that so much as glances in our direction, wondering what they’re thinking or if they’re thinking anything. I really wish my mind was calm, but it’s racing a zillion miles a minute.

My adrenaline goes up a thousand notches when Greyson makes a right and turns down a hallway lined with a few open doors, all of which lead to bedrooms. I start to get so turned on just thinking about going in one of them. But the last time I was with someone intimately was with Braiden. Since I can’t even talk about what happened yet, I don’t think I’m ready to go down that road, despite how much my body wants to.

I open my mouth to tell Greyson I need to leave, but close my trap when he enters a room with a heavy game of poker going on.

“You’re into cards?” I question, staring at the table covered with poker chips and cards.

“It’s okay. It can be really fun when you’re drunk.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Are you?”

I mentally try to calculate a problem using the quadratic formula I learned in Pre-Cal, but then realize I couldn’t even figure out the answer sober.

“What are you thinking about?” Greyson's gaze zeros in on my lips and desire fills his eyes.

“You really want to know?” I ask and he nods. “The quadratic formula.”

The desire deflates like a balloon. “What?”

“Never mind.” I nod at the table five guys and three girls are seated around. “So, are we going to play?”

“Do you know how?”

“Of course.”

A thoughtful look crosses his face. “Okay, good, because I want to make a wager.”

“A wager?”

“Yeah, if I win more than you, you have to go to this art show with me.”

I hesitate. “And if I win?”

He shrugs. “You can have anything you want.”

My skin warms as thousands of very vivid images of what I want flash through my mind.

“All right, you have a deal.” I stick out my hand to shake on it.

He wraps his hand around mine, grips tightly and slides his finger along the inside of my wrist as he pulls away.

“Can I just say again that I seriously don’t understand why you think you’re awkward,” I tell him. “You’re kind of the exact opposite.”

“Well, I’m kind of a little drunk right now, so the alcohol puts the weirdo inside me to sleep.”

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

“Wait, aren’t you going to tell me what you want if you win?” he asks, rolling his tongue along the inside of his mouth to stop himself from grinning.

I shake my head. “Nope. You’re just going to have to wait until after I win.”

His eyes glimmer with amusement as I hedge around him and take a seat at the table. He sits down beside me, we both buy a fair amount of chips, and the game begins. We’re not really playing against everyone else, so Greyson and I keep our own little tally as hand after hand is dealt. I’m a pretty decent player, but Greyson seems to be a bit better. He keeps smirking in my direction, like he’s sure he’s going to kick my ass.

Two hours later, I’ve gotten lost in the game and the worry about everyone watching me has dissipated. The downside, I’ve lost all my chips and the wager we made. My stomach churns as we leave the table and the party, knowing that I have no excuse not to go with him to the art show. Whether I’m over my fear or not, I have to go out on a date with him.

“A penny for your thoughts?” he asks as we stroll up the sidewalk toward the campus that’s a few blocks away.

“I was just thinking about how much I hate to lose.” I fake a pout. “I’m an extremely sore loser.”

“And I’m kind of an arrogant winner.” He forces a smirk, but then busts up laughing. “Okay, actually I’m not. In fact, I kind of feel bad that you lost.”

“Enough to let me win, perhaps?”

“No way. I’m holding you to our deal. Besides, I hate going to these art shows by myself. The room is always so stuffy and so are most of the people.”

“But you’re an art major.”