Lost to You (Take This Regret 0.5)(4)
Author: A.L. Jackson

I swallowed. God, looking at this girl and not being able to touch her was complete torture.

“I’ll see you around,” she said, taking a step toward the door. She twisted to look at me, walking backward as she spoke. “If you don’t find anything better to do Friday, I’ll be studying. You have my number.”

She grinned, and all I could do was laugh. I was definitely not expecting that.

She spun back around, and for the first time, I was able to appreciate her perfect ass in those tight jeans.

No, I definitely didn’t have anything better to do on Friday night.

Shit. I was in so much trouble.

“It’s a date,” I hurried to call after her.

She swung the door open, shaking her head with a small laugh. “No, Christian, it’s not.”

Chapter Two

Elizabeth

Oh, he was so off limits. So unbelievably off limits.

The door to the café shut behind me, an echo of his throaty laughter tickling my ears. I hit the sidewalk, hurrying to put some space between us. I had five more minutes I could have stayed before I needed to leave for my next class, but I was getting out of there before he talked me into something I would definitely regret.

People swarmed around me as I cut a path against the flow of the approaching crowd. I muttered unheard apologies toward my feet, edging off to the right and blending in with the bodies heading back toward campus.

I hiked my backpack higher and tried to rid my mind of him.

There was no way I could allow myself to get lost in this guy, and by the thoughts that smile had left swirling through my head—that stomach-flipping, heart-lurching, earth-shattering smile—I knew just how easily I could.

Oh God.

Christian Davison had to be the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen.

The second I noticed him walking through the door, I’d been caught in the darkness concealing his face, the halo of light streaming in behind him partially casting his face in shadows. It was as if my body knew what hid behind them was worth waiting to discover.

And damn, if it wasn’t right.

The door had slipped shut when he inched forward, swallowing the shadows and revealing an unruly shock of the blackest hair I’d ever seen. Pair that with those blue eyes and I was lost. They were so intense…so unsettling. His jaw was all sharp angles and hopelessly losing the battle with a coat of coarse stubble that was just as dark as the hair on his head.

But his mouth was flirty and soft—full—something to smooth out the severity of everything else.

It was the first time in my life I’d had the urge to reach out and touch a complete stranger, to run my fingertips over his jaw, maybe across his lips, wondering how his skin would feel under mine—wondering how I would feel doing it.

For a moment, he’d searched the room, before recognition had dawned on his face when his eyes landed on me, his stride purposed as he walked my direction. Each step he took radiated confidence, and his lips curved with a cocky arrogance as he approached.

It only took a couple of seconds for me to understand why his presence had seemed to fill up the entire room, why he seemed to stop time when he walked through the door.

The guy was completely full of himself.

It’s not like I was all that experienced, but I wasn’t stupid, either. I knew exactly what Christian wanted. It had gleamed in his eyes and rippled through his muscles. I wasn’t opposed to guys—to having a boyfriend or someone who cared about me.

What I was opposed to was giving myself to someone like him.

The man would own me with one passing touch, and I was certain that’s exactly what it would be.

Passing.

The last thing I needed my first year in college was to get my heart broken by a boy who was undoubtedly after one thing. I didn’t work this hard to get here to get my heart trampled.

All the sacrifices I had made, giving up on most activities my friends had reveled in—the parties, the shopping, the fun—in favor of studying and striving to win every scholarship I could earn, the extra hours my mother had worked to scrape together a few extra dollars, every grant I’d applied for and every student loan I had to one day pay back—I wasn’t about to waste my time here.

No, complications like Christian Davison I did not need.

But man, was he pretty.

The really irresponsible side of me thought it’d be worth the risk, something reckless and completely unlike me to add to the list of cherished college memories, a fling with a boy who would so obviously make me forget myself. One glimpse of his sure hands and strong body left no question that he would make me experience things I’d never experienced before.

A shiver traveled down my spine and pooled somewhere in my stomach.

Shaking myself out of it, I forced that dangerous train of thought aside.

I knew myself better than that. It wouldn’t be a cherished memory, but something that would eat at me for years.

I didn’t do flings. I fell in love, and falling in love with someone like Christian was a mistake I couldn’t afford.

But if I could somehow put the unknown longing he created in me aside, I realized I liked him. I liked the way he seemed to get lost in thought, disappearing somewhere deeper beneath the façade I doubted few people ever penetrated. I could almost feel it, an undercurrent of vulnerability there beneath his perfect exterior.

Maybe that’s what he needed, someone to look past that gorgeous face and his arrogant smile. Maybe he needed a friend in this city as much as I did.

We’d see.

~

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Every time I stepped out my apartment door, I still found myself in awe, amazed by this city. As much time as I’d spent hoping for it—working for it—there was a part of me that never believed I’d make it.

Even though living here was a lifelong dream, it had taken some getting used to, the mass of people at every turn, the buildings that towered on every side. There were times when I felt closed in, like the sky could crash down on me and I’d have nowhere to run. But for the most part, I loved it and reveled in this city that I had only known in pictures and movies.

When my last class of the week let out on Friday, I wound my way through the crowds toward my apartment. I’m sure I appeared a tourist, my head raised as I soaked up the details of every building and landmark.

My building was a drab block of gray brick, glued between two taller buildings on each side. I jogged up the stairs to the second floor. Turning the key in the lock, the door opened to my small studio apartment.

Well, small didn’t really describe it. A twin bed was pushed lengthwise up against the far wall to the right, and a miniature kitchen lined the opposite wall to my left. Straight back was the only separate room—a bathroom so small I could fit it in my back pocket.