Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(54)

His teeth teased my skin with a light bite and I gently pulled on the back tuft of his hair.

He laid me down on the bed and pressed his weight on top of me. I was in ecstasy from his touch. His hands were calloused from pulling his weight with an oar every day. I loved their rough texture, the way they way they stimulated every cell on my skin. When his hand started to play with the button of my jeans, I caught his shoulders.

“Slow it down,” I whispered.

“Ohh,” he sighed in the darkness. “CeCe, you don’t want to get wild with me?”

I laughed. “Take me out to dinner first. I’ll think about it.”

He climbed on top of me and pressed his hips against mine. He ran his hand up my side and pulled our bodies closer. His face was inches from away. I could feel his breath in my hair.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” he said and his teeth grazed my ear. My back arched in response and I dug my fingers into his hair. “I’ll make you dinner,” he said.

I smiled into the darkness. “Slow down,” I said. “Now you’re getting serious. At least ask me for my number first.”

He laughed and kissed my throat, slowly making his way down to my chest. I breathed out a relaxed sigh, enjoying the massage of his lips and tongue and the way the tip of his nose traced his path.

“If you want to take advantage of me, feel free,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Thanks for the invitation,” I said.

…

Tuesday morning I walked to class and glanced down at my cell phone for the hundredth time since Saturday night. Tucker and I had exchanged numbers, but I was waiting for him to call first. I slid my phone in my jeans pocket and raised my face to feel the sunshine before I got to class. Tuba hosted a dinner last night in honor of me “getting some.” The entire volleyball team showed up for the play-by-play recap. It made me blush just to think about it.

I turned the corner for the English building and I nearly tripped when I noticed Tucker was walking down the steps with Prentice and another tall rower I recognized from the party. My stomach twisted with nerves and giddiness at the sight of him. I reminded myself to calm down—he was the one that had pursued this. I smiled and shouted out his name, picking up my pace.

Tucker’s head perked up and he looked around at the sound of his name. His auburn hair blew over his eyes and he wiped it away. My stomach rolled at the memory of pulling my hands through his hair Saturday night, at how soft it fell between my fingers. His hair was the only soft thing about him. Even his lips were aggressive that night. I loved knowing this intimate detail.

I waved, walking up to him.

“Hey,” I said, my smile widening. When he noticed me, his smiled dropped off as if it stumbled into a hole. He looked surprised. I walked up the steps toward him, and his friends turned and regarded me. Prentice offered a nod before he shot Tucker an “I know what you did last night” look of chagrin. Tucker hung his head and checked something on his phone. His friends backed off a few feet, giving him some space, which only made his cheeks flush.

“How’s it going?” I asked him.

He slid his phone in his pocket and looked at me. His face was expressionless. “Fine,” he said quickly.

I nodded and a few seconds ticked by. I heard one of the guys laugh behind us. I swallowed. I downshifted to small talk, as if we were just acquaintances.

“Are you going to the study tables tonight?” I asked.

“No,” Tucker grumbled. “I don’t know. I doubt it.” He cleared his throat and kicked his foot against the side of the stairway and broke eye contact.

My stomach started to twist. I looked down at the ground and played with the strap of my backpack. Was this the awkward post-hook-up conversation? Maybe I should have texted him, so he knew I was okay with what happened.

“I had fun Saturday night. It was a great party,” I offered. Hinting.

“Was it?” he asked. “I was so drunk I completely blacked out. I hope I didn’t do anything stupid.” I stared up at him, meeting his lying face. Now I realized why this was awkward. He was embarrassed.

A couple of girls came walking down the steps and they stopped next to the guys. Tucker cast me off like a fish off of a hook, tossing me away. I looked at the other girls, all tan and athletic and they weren’t beautiful, they weren’t even eye-catching. But they were acceptable. They were normal. Tucker could hold their hands and walk down the street with them and not feel like everyone was staring. They matched. And I didn’t.

Guys would always want to hook up with me. They would kiss me and pull me into bedrooms at parties. But they wouldn’t date me. They wouldn’t introduce me to their friends or show me off. They didn’t want to grab my hand and walk down the street.

I looked at the girls and back at Tucker, but his face was already turned away from me. He was talking to one of the girls. I knew the longer I stood there the more needy and desperate I would look to these assholes. I lifted my shoulders and walked away. My chest felt as hot as fire. I stuffed my hands in my pockets before I had the urge to punch something or someone.

I started to laugh at myself, because it was either laugh or cry at this point. Who will ever want to take me out? Somebody full of scars? A masochist who cuts themselves because they get high off of the pain? Do I need to join a support group to meet someone who fits me? Do we all have to match?