Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(4)

But I never could take a nervous woman; couldn’t stand to be the reason for making anyone uncomfortable, so I pushed aside that little flicker of irritation in my brain and tilted my head, hoping the smile I gave her came off as genuine. “You lost, sweetheart?”

“No.” That answer was barely a squeak and figuring she might be more relaxed if I wasn’t naked, I moved to my dresser to fish out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Her voice came out louder, clearer as she moved from the bed. “They said…well, that Trent guy said you might…want to…” She stopped her explanation as a low grunt moved from my throat.

Trent Damn Marshall. That prick was always tossing girls in my room, knowing I wouldn’t be a bastard to them. “He trying to hook up with a friend of yours?” I watched the girl in the mirror over my dresser, tried to pull up my boxers without dropping the towel. But, shit, maybe I should scare her off. She didn’t even look legal.

“How did you know?” Tone light, distracted, her gaze lowered, following the towel as I dropped it. It wasn’t something that surprised me. Girls watched. They liked to pretend they didn’t, but they always watched. I turned to face her and the redhead jerked her attention back to me. “Um. He said I was your type.”

“Did he now?”

The shy, fluttering eyes killed me. You don’t see that often—a girl so nervous, so shy, one that tries to hide honest pleasure behind lowered eyes. Most girls I’m around on a daily basis are all swagger and style, confident women who take what they want and don’t apologize for it. That’s not a bad thing, in fact, women like that generally hold my attention. But sometimes it’s the shy, awkward ones that keep it.

Red was too damn pretty, nice curves, long legs, and skin she’d be grateful for when she was older. If it wasn’t for those curves, the roundness of her tits, I’d say she was maybe seventeen. I really hoped she wasn’t.

That flush against her pale skin grew the longer she raked her gaze over my body and I felt annoyance creeping in. She only nodded in response, played with the hem of her skirt as though she needed to keep her hands to herself.

“He said…” She finally started speaking, deciding, I guessed, that rubbing that small charm from her necklace against her lips would distract me and give her time to snap some sort of sense back into her pretty head. “He said that you…”

Those splotches on her cheeks darkened, telling me her nerves were totally shot. “Hey.” I stepped in front of her, making her look up at me. “You okay?” I doubted the nod she gave me. It was all bravado. Someone must have laid it on heavy and thick and this girl seemed eager to see if the rumors about me were true. I wasn’t immune to a pretty smile, but God knows I didn’t deserve this kind of attention. If any of them knew me, the real me, how damaged, how twisted I could be, not one of them would come tapping on my door.

The only thing you will ever give anyone in this life is heartache.

I should get that tattooed on my forehead. It had been an insult that I took like medicine, an insult that I tried to prove wrong every time some random girl came around me wanting a taste. Maybe I wouldn’t get anything out of it, but at least I could give them what they asked for. Couldn’t I?

When the girl moved her head down, looped her silver chain around her finger, I rubbed my eyes. “Are you even legal?” No matter what, I wasn’t going to jail for any damn body.

This time when she nodded, I believed her. “I made eighteen last month.”

“I’m not trying to get arrested.”

“I can show you my I.D.”

There was always a moment when they came to me, when I hesitated, waiting for them to realize I was not worthy. Of anything. For them to realize they could say no, that they could back away from me and I wouldn’t try to convince them to stay.

I always waited for the brakes, but all I ever got was a green light.

I didn’t think about what I’d get out of her being here. I never did anymore, because it really didn’t matter, but it always blew my mind when girls hit on me, when they begged to be with me like I was some sort of big Hawaiian rock star and not the dumbass jock I knew I was.

She watched as I tugged on my shirt, ran the towel through my damp hair and gave her a second to change her mind.

“I heard things…” she started, her voice following me as I sat on the desk next to the door. She seemed more relaxed now, more curious than nervous.

“I bet you did.” Those rumors had inflated my reputation to stupid proportions. I wasn’t the whore of CPU. I didn’t f*ck anything that offered it to me. That much, at least was all bullshit. But yeah, I touched. I serviced and girls, I guess, talked just as much as guys did. Maybe more. Word got around, some of it ridiculous, along the “Poor, broken Ransom” variety. Some were spot on. “He won’t let you touch him.”

No. I wouldn’t. No one touched me. Not ever.

“The thing is, I didn’t believe them.” The shrug was cute, a little self-effacing but I didn’t think it was an act. This girl was genuinely curious. “I just wanted to know if it was true.”

She watched me close, eyes sharp, focused as I nodded, but didn’t ask for any explanations. She only stared back at me as I assessed, wondered if she wanted what they all did. Hoping she didn’t. Knowing she did.