Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men, #1)(45)

My throat was a little constricted and it was hard for me to draw in air because I felt so full of emotion. It took me a moment to realize he’d just admitted he’d seen me laugh.

Face zipping up, I glanced around, shocked to learn he was nearby.

Are you stalking me?

I'm sitting on the bench by the eagle statue. I thought you saw me.

When I looked, he lifted his hand. Rolling my eyes, I typed him a new message. Mason, you goober, just come sit by me already.

From where I sat, I saw him shake his head. Not yet. I need to get to class anyway.

As he gathered his bag and stood, I sniffed. I’d eaten lunch with him enough to know he didn’t have class for another half hour. But if he wanted to keep dodging me…

Before you go, just one thing. I know I tease you A LOT about your “urges,” but I am glad you told me about them so I understand. Thank you for that.

He was almost to the entrance of the main building when he paused and dug his phone out of his pocket. I watched his back and the way his dark head bent as he read what I’d written. When he was finished, he looked back at me.

I returned the stare, waiting. But he rotated away and entered the college. A disappointed hiss of air leaked from my lungs. God, I was so pathetic, crushing on a freaking gigolo and then flirting with him mercilessly.

I mean, how much more forbidden could a guy get? I could tell myself a million times over that I just wanted to be his friend, but that would be a lie…a million times over.

Thirty seconds later, my phone dinged, and it was scary how happy that made me.

Are we getting serious now?

I sighed and idly fiddled with my nose ring, because I still hadn’t gotten used to it being there, and typed back: Apparently.

I really needed to get over this guy and move on. But then he wrote: In that case, thanks for staying my friend even though I want to jump your bones.

Amusement and tenderness fizzled inside me. I think a part of my personality was beginning to rub off on him. He could be sweet, charming, flirty, and kind of crude all in the same breath.

A man after my own heart.

The feeling is mutual, you know, I felt compelled to tell him. Girls get urges too.

He'd be out of a job of they didn't.

A second later, my phone buzzed. You probably shouldn't have told me that. Now I'm going to have to stay away longer.

With a frown, I responded: Hey I can control MY urges, thank you very much.

With you, I'm not so sure I can control mine. You're getting hard to resist.

I couldn’t help it; I had to tease: Don't say hard. You just sent my mind straight to dirty girl land.

Now who's the perv?

I'll accept that award. Want to hear my thank-you speech?

No time. I really do need to go. Flirt with you later.

Buzzkill.

He honestly must’ve had somewhere to be, because he never did reply. Our conversation left me in a strange mix of moods for the rest of the day. Whenever I’d remember something he had typed, I’d grin and feel lighthearted. A few times, I even pulled out my phone to reread some of his messages. I just want to kiss those lips and hoard that sound all to myself was my all-time favorite.

I wanted to hoard him all to myself too. It wasn’t fair that a bunch of strangers who knew nothing about him got to be with him in ways I never would. And...then I was reminded all over again why we could only flirt through texts, and my emotions would plummet. I wanted him to plop down on the bench across from me at our lunch table and steal some of my food.

I wanted Mason back.

$

On Thursday afternoon, I was doing some homework outside in the courtyard while I waited for my time to clock in at the library. Dr. Janison, who’d yet to flunk me, had assigned my class Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales…in Middle English.

Yeah, I know. Middle English.

I was trying to decipher the Wife of Bath’s Tale as I sat in the midday sunlight, soaking up some warm Florida rays, when I came to the line “By verray force, he rafte hire maydenhed.”

Huh? Okay, pretty much every line of the epic poem left me with a great big huh? And this one was no different. Pulling up my handy dandy translation book I’d bought last week, I found the corresponding line.

When I realized it said something along the lines of “he took her maidenhead by force,” I jerked back in surprise. What the heck was Dr. Janison making us read? A heroic knight raping a virgin was not my idea of classic literature.

But it did grasp my attention a little more firmly. I was busy deciphering and reading about how Queen Guinevere convinced her sweet hubby, Arthur, to leave the rapist’s punishment up to her—yeah, you go, girl; hang that bastard by the balls—when a commotion across the lawn caught my attention.

A group of guys had been playing around the entire time I’d been sitting at my table, attempting to jump from one bronzed statue to the next. But no one had yet succeeded in making it from the charging bull with a ring in its nose to the oversized eagle spreading its wings.

By the cheers that rose, I gathered they had a new champion.

When I looked over, Mason, of all people, stood on top of the eagle’s back, his arms spread almost as wide as the wings fanning underneath him as he shouted out his triumph.

I rolled my eyes but had to smile. As if feeling my gaze on him, he turned in the direction of our table and gave me the thumbs-up sign. I returned it, congratulating him, and he blew me a kiss before a group of guys caught him by the legs and began to carry him around in some kind of whacked-out victory parade.