A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(65)

She doesn’t even notice me, too intent on making her way over to the campus buildings.

“Wren!”

Her eyes widen when she spots me waiting for her, and I head in her direction, my steps careful so I don’t slip and break a bone from the ice.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, sounding nervous.

“I wanted to talk to you.” I stop directly in front of her, tempted to pull her into my arms and hold her close. She actually looks terrified. “Make sure you’re okay after yesterday.”

“Oh. I’m fine.”

“Your dad okay?”

“My dad? Oh yes, he’s fine. He was just checking on me. He’s been calling daily since the divorce announcement.” She mashes her lips together, as if she doesn’t want to say anything else about her parents or their divorce.

“Yeah, he kind of—interrupted us.” I say it on purpose, wanting to circle back to that moment in the library yesterday. Did it affect her as much as it did me? Is she as rattled by the intensity of that encounter? It didn’t even last that long, but I know if it had gone on any longer, I would’ve made her come.

If she’d have let me, I would’ve fucked her against that window. And she would’ve enjoyed every second of it too.

Well, maybe not. She is a virgin.

I definitely wanted to fuck her against that window though, that’s for damn sure.

“I know.” Her voice is quiet and she dips her head, her hair falling forward, the fur ball on top of her head bobbing. “Sorry about that.”

I take a step closer, slipping my fingers beneath her chin and tilting her face up so she has no choice but to look at me. “Don’t apologize. You do that a lot.”

“I know.” She visibly swallows. “It’s a habit I’m trying to break.”

“Are you really okay, Birdy? You look…”

Scared.

Vulnerable.

Fucking beautiful.

“I’m okay. I just—we probably shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice is so quiet, I can barely hear her.

“Do you regret it? What happened?”

She’s shaking her head. “I probably did it all wrong.”

“You were perfect.” She really was. And I’m repeating the very same words she said to me yesterday.

“I was?”

I hate how this girl doubts herself. Someone did a number on her to make her so self-conscious.

“Yeah.” I tug her scarf down, exposing her cheek so I can touch it. “You were.”

The bell rings in the distance since we’re a ways away from the main building, where most of our classes are, and the look of panic that crosses Wren’s face is almost comical.

“We need to go!” She darts forward, her feet slipping on the ice, and I grab hold of her arm to keep her from falling.

“Slow down. You’re going to break something.” I loop my arm through hers and we both start walking. “It’s okay. We can be late.”

“Fig won’t like it,” she says, her feet seeming to move twice as fast to keep up with my steady pace. I can feel her start to slip again, and I steady her once again.

“Fig can suck my dick,” I mutter.

“Oh, that’s kind of gross,” she chastises, but when I glance at her, I can see nothing but her eyes thanks to her scarf.

And they’re twinkling.

“I think you’re getting used to my crude ways,” I tease her, steering her down the walkway that leads to the back of the main building. I can see the students rushing down the halls through the windows of the double doors and I know we’re going to end up being a few minutes late.

We can blame it on the weather, though I’m sure Fig won’t buy it. He’s not one to care about lateness, but I’m thinking when it comes to me, he’s going to give me shit.

He hates me.

Feeling’s mutual, so I’m cool with it.

“I actually think I am too,” she says sincerely, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll have you dropping fucks here and there eventually, Birdy.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I can’t imagine saying that word.”

I can. When she’s naked and panting and dying for me to make her come. I’ll make her beg. I’ll force her to say, fuck me, Crew and when I finally slide inside her, she’ll come all over my cock.

Yeah, these are the thoughts I’ve been dealing with since yesterday afternoon. Every single one starring Wren in my dirtiest fantasies.

The final bell rings and now it’s Wren who’s running ahead, her arm still through mine, so she’s almost dragging me along with her. We slam our way through the double doors, turning right to head to our English class. The door is closed, which is unusual, and Wren lets go of my arm to reach for the door handle, me right on her tail.

We race to our seats in the middle of Figueroa taking attendance, and I watch in mute fascination as Wren shrugs out of her coat and leaves it hanging over her chair, the scarf dangling there as well. She pulls the hat off, shaking her head so all of that silky brown hair spills past her shoulders.

I immediately want to touch it. Feel the soft strands curl around my fingers.

Instead, I take off my coat, my gaze finding Fig’s, who’s glaring at me like he wants to rip my head off.