The Mistake(67)

I don’t mind, though. I’ve been having fun watching Morris beat Ted’s record on every level. Each time he does it, the frat boys cheer as if they’re witnessing the final touchdown in the Super Bowl and heckle Fat Ted about getting his ass beat. Fat Ted, by the way? Not fat.

Sometimes I really don’t understand nicknames.

When I step out into the hall, I experience the most acute sense of déjà vu. Except this time, instead of Logan walking out of a bathroom and me waiting in the hall, it’s the other way around.

A surprised noise squeaks out of my throat when I spot him. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in three days, not since the muffin incident.

“Evening, gorgeous.” He grins at me. “I’m totally digging that skirt.”

His blue eyes conduct a slow sweep of my bare legs, and I curse Daisy for convincing me to wear a short skirt tonight. I then curse myself for allowing his sultry gaze to unleash a flurry of hot tingles, most of which scurry downward and congregate between my legs.

I sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“Attending a party.” He rolls his eyes. “Why? What brings you here?”

I answer through clenched teeth. “I’m on a date.”

The confession doesn’t faze him in the slightest. “Yeah? Where’s your date at? You should introduce me.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Logan steps closer, and his spicy scent surrounds me like a thick haze. His big frame dominates my personal space. Broad shoulders and long legs and a chest that’s so ripped I can see each individual muscle straining beneath his T-shirt. I want to slide my hands beneath his shirt and run my hands over every hard ridge. And then slide them in the opposite direction, slip them inside his pants and wrap my fingers around his—

Snap out of it.

I try to regulate my breathing, but it’s coming out in shallow bursts. From the way his breath hitches, I know Logan senses the change in my body, the quickening of my pulse. The sexual awareness heating the air between us.

“How long are you going to keep fighting it?” His voice is husky. Laced with desire.

“I’m not fighting anything.” It’s a miracle how composed I sound when my heart is thumping harder than the bass line of the dance track downstairs. “I already made it clear I’m not interested in going out with you. And I don’t want to rekindle last year’s hook-ups, either. We had some fun and now we’re done.”

“Solid rhymes, Dr. Seuss.” Still undeterred, he eliminates two more inches of space, standing so close I can feel the heat of his body. “So you’re not attracted to me at all anymore?”

I don’t answer. I can’t answer. Desire has clogged my throat.

“Because I’m still attracted to you.” Heavy-lidded eyes rake over my body. “If anything, I think I want you even more.”

I know what he means. The attraction seems a thousand times stronger. It’s hot and fierce and I can feel it pulsing deep in my sex. My gaze is glued to his mouth, to the sensual curve of his lower lip. I miss kissing him. I miss the greedy thrust of his tongue, and the way he groaned when it swirled against mine.

Distance. I need to back away, steel myself against his palpable sex appeal and—my butt bumps the wall. Crap. Nowhere to go. No way to run from the awareness incinerating all the oxygen around us.

“Kiss me.” His raspy command is barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

His head bends, his mouth inches from mine. I’m mesmerized by it. By the beard growth shadowing his jaw and the way his tongue darts out to moisten his top lip. One kiss wouldn’t be the end of the world, right? I can just get it out of my system. Get him out of my system.

He lifts his hand to my face, and rough fingertips skim my cheek. I shiver.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs again, and my control snaps.

I grab the back of his head and bring his mouth to mine, kissing him as if possessed. When he groans against my lips, I feel the strangled sound in my clit. Oh God. I can’t breathe. Can’t concentrate on anything but his hungry tongue in my mouth and the rapid beating of my heart.

He reaches down and cups my ass, pressing my lower body to his and rotating his hips. “I’ve been fantasizing about this all summer.” His agonized whisper heats my neck before his mouth latches on, sucking hard enough to make me moan.

I cling to his broad shoulders. Helpless to stop this. He kisses a path back to my lips, teases the seam with his tongue before plunging inside again. His hips keep rocking. So do mine. I’m aching for him and he knows it. He growls softly, then slips one hand under my skirt, his fingers tickling my thigh, gliding higher, moving closer to the spot that’s begging for his touch. Millimeters. That’s how close he is. I want to scream for him to touch me already, but he’s taking his time. Rubbing my inner thigh with his thumb. Slowly. Too damn slow.