Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(18)

I slid him a long look. Without the distance of the bar top between us, I was fully aware of his height. I was no tiny thing like Emerson, and the top of my head barely reached his chin. He had to be a few inches over six feet. It was a new experience—feeling delicate and petite.

“I hope you don’t get in trouble for leaving the bar. Are you on a break?”

“It’ll be fine.”

I was conscious of his arm, so close to mine as we walked. He slid one hand into his front jeans pocket.

“You’re leaving early,” he noted.

“Yeah.” Silence fell. Feeling a need to fill it, I added, “Not feeling it tonight.” At least I wasn’t before. Now I was feeling it. I was feeling everything. His body beside mine radiated heat. My every nerve vibrated like a plucked wire, achingly aware of him. We weren’t even touching, but it was like I felt him everywhere. It was a shock I could even talk in a steady voice.

“Not feeling it tonight,” he echoed, his voice low. There was amusement in his voice even though he didn’t come right out and laugh. He dropped his head back and looked up at the stars. A slow smiled curved his mouth.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking about that.”

“What?”

He looked back down. “I can’t count the nights I’m not ‘feeling it,’ but I still have to be there.”

Have to. Interesting choice of words. “You don’t like your job?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I do.”

“Are you a student, too?”

“Nope.”

“Did you graduate already?”

“Just high school.”

So working the bar was all there was for him. Again, there was that stab of disappointment. Which was not only judgmental of me but absurd. I wasn’t considering this guy for a boyfriend or lifelong partner material. I shouldn’t feel anything at his lack of ambition.

He continued. “You in college?”

I nodded.

“Let me guess. Dartford?” There were three universities in the area, but Dartford had the most prestigious reputation.

“Yes.”

“Thought so. You’ve got ‘Ivy’ written all over you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look sweet and nice. Smart.” We were almost to my car when he added, “And you’re not a regular, but you’ve been here three nights in a row.” Not a question. Just a statement.

Again, that he was aware of me made me go all warm and fuzzy inside. “My friend, Emerson, comes here a lot. You’ve probably seen her before. She’s hard to miss.” He neither confirmed nor denied this. “She invited me along. I don’t do the bar scene all that much.”

“So you’ve decided to start living the college experience in full then. Is that it? Last night didn’t scare you off?”

I frowned. “Oh, you mean that guy by the bathroom. Should I have let that scare me?”

He didn’t say anything, and I thought back to his comment on Thursday night about nice girls getting eaten up in places like Mulvaney’s. “Oh. That’s right. Nice girls like me should stay home.”

“I didn’t say that.”

We stopped at my car.

The low rumble of his voice continued. “Getting mauled outside the bathroom might have turned some girls off from coming back again the next night though.”

“I’m not most girls.” He had no idea. I might look na?ve and innocent, but my scars ran deep. It took a lot to spook me.

I fumbled for my keys, the slow burn of my temper making my hands shake.

“I might look like some nerd college girl and not one of the sexpots tripping through the bar every night, but—”

His voice cut in smooth and deep, no hint of the temper I was feeling. “I didn’t say that, either.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“You’re right. You’re nothing like the other girls I see every night.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I muttered.

My fingers closed around the hard steel of my keys. Unlocking the door and pulling it open, I looked up, ready to tell him off, but then I lost myself in those pale blue eyes until I wasn’t sure what I was mad about anymore. Those eyes made everything inside me go hot and weak all at once.

“And that’s not a bad thing. Trust me.”

Suddenly my knees felt all trembly, and I knew I needed to sit down.

“Thanks for the walk.” I started to duck inside the car, but his voice stopped me.

“Tell me something, Pepper.”

It was the first time I’d heard my name on his lips.

I nodded dumbly, the open door at my back. “How old are you really?”

The question caught me off guard. “Nineteen.”

He laughed, the sound loose and dark, curling through me like hot chocolate. “Thought so.” His well-carved lips quirked. “You’re just a kid.”

“I am not a kid,” I protested. I haven’t been a kid since I spent my nights in motel bathrooms, listening to my mom getting bombed with random guys on the other side of the door. “How old are you?” I shot back.

“Twenty-three.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” I argued. “I’m not a kid.”