Very Bad Things (Briarcrest Academy #1)(24)

He grinned at me sheepishly. “Think you can handle Cuba on your own? Looks like my fans wanna talk to me,” he said, his body already pointed in their direction, like a golden retriever who’d spotted its prey.

“I know Cuba. Go be with your groupies,” I said with a chuckle, pushing him toward them.

He shrugged at me and sauntered over to them.

I looked back at Cuba who stood watching me, making me glad I’d worn my Burberry cuffed shorts and matching blue shirt. Even though we’d had a class together last year, I felt nervous about talking to him, wondering what we’d say to each other. I knew I had a reputation as being standoffish. But it wasn’t because I was snobby; it was because I didn’t want anyone to know the truth about me.

I studied Cuba as I approached, realizing he could help me mark meaningless sex off my list. Leo had let me down, but with Cuba’s well-known promiscuous nature, I may have just hit the sex jackpot.

“Nora Blakely. The girl that went off at registration,” Cuba stated with a big grin as I stopped in front of him.

I grinned. “Hollywood Hudson. The guy who tried to cheat off me in Euro history last year.”

He guffawed. “Shit, you saw me? I tried to be sneaky.”

“Kinda hard to miss when a six-foot-two lineman is looking over your shoulder, trying to peek at your answers. You’re lucky I didn’t report you,” I joked.

He chuckled. “You’re not gonna give me a lecture are you? If you are, let’s go find you a whip first. I like a girl in charge.”

“Uh . . . uh, why don’t you just buy me an ice cream instead, and we’ll skip the lecture bit,” I mumbled out, faltering. Shit. I sucked at flirting. I needed some vodka.

“Alright, what flavor do you want?” he said, handing me his football so he could pull out his wallet.

“Chocolate is my favorite,” I said, purposely running my eyes over his brown skin. He had a golden tan from the sun, but I decided there was also definite Latino in his family background, too. His mother had died last year, but I seemed to remember she was Brazilian?

He paused and raised his brows. “Is that so?”

“Today it is,” I said, smiling up at him. “What’s yours?”

He laughed, his eyes gleaming at me. “It’s gonna sound dumb if I say vanilla, so I won’t, but truthfully—I like all kinds of ice cream, sweetheart. It’s my favorite dessert,” he said, giving me a lingering look with his warm, almost yellowish eyes. I got transfixed for a moment at the unusual color, fascinated about the genetics behind it. Where had he gotten that rare hue? As he turned to go get the ice cream, I made a mental note to drag out my Biology 101 book when I got home and brush up on my genetics. Yes. Science interested me.

A few minutes later, he came back with a waffle cone that had two heaps of chocolate on top. It looked amazing and delicious, and I practically tackled him for it.

I couldn’t hide my glee when I took the first wonderful bite, my lips sinking into the cold creaminess. “Oh, Cuba, so good. Thank you,” I moaned, as my tongue wrapped around the yummy cone.

He fidgeted, his hands gripping the football he’d taken back a little tighter. “That good, huh?”

“Uh-huh, you have no idea. Mother never allows sweets in the house. She’s too scared she’ll gain a pound . . . or I will,” I said in between licks. I looked up from the cone. “Here,” I said, holding it up to him, wanting to share this glorious thing, “take some of mine. Best thing ever, I promise.”

He leaned down and licked the ice cream, never taking his strange eyes off me, making me shiver. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s good, but I’d rather watch you eat it.”

Well. I mean, were all guys this easy? Leo hadn’t been. He’d cut me off quick.

And at the thought of him, my eyes wandered back over to where he stood with Tiffany. They were sitting at a picnic table now, and Tiffany’s back was to me while Leo faced me. Even though we were several feet away from him, I felt the weight of his stare. Those blue eyes of his had zeroed right in on me, and he might say he didn’t want me, but his actions hinted otherwise. He’d been hard for me in the bathroom; he’d tried to sniff me in the bed; he’d held my hand all night. But maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part. He already had someone.

“Are you going to Emma Easton’s party this weekend?” Cuba asked me, getting my attention.

“Emma doesn’t like me much, but you can count on me being there. I’ve got some catching up to do when it comes to partying.”

“I’d like to be around when you catch up,” he teased, stepping a little closer to me. He stroked his thumb across my cheek, wiping away some of the ice cream I’d gotten on my face. He sucked it off his fingers. Slowly. My eyes got big.

I stood there blankly, not able to think of a single thing to say. Me. The word girl. A conversational idiot. This flirting while sober thing was hard.

“I think I have you figured out. You’re not real subtle are you?” I finally said.

He laughed. “Nope. Besides, it saves time, doesn’t it? If I like a girl, I let her know. And you, I like.”

“Uh-huh. I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“You know, I tried to talk to you some last year, but you never seemed interested,” he said, watching me eat the ice cream. “I said hi to you once in class, and you looked right through me, like I was invisible.”