True (True Believers #1)(18)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Nathan turned long enough to see our hands clasped together and nod. He pulled back and swallowed, making a gargling sound. “Where’s Kylie?” he asked me.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen her. If I can’t find her I’ll text her that I’m leaving. Do you want me to tell her you’re down here?”

But he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Sure it didn’t.

We did actually find Kylie and Jessica together on the couch talking to a group of girls. I was opening my mouth to explain what we were doing, but Tyler beat me to it. “We’re going to Nathan’s. See you tomorrow when I bring Rory back.”

Wow. Way to be discreet. Now not only did Kylie and Jessica know, but so did everyone within the immediate area. I shouldn’t care, but I did. I wasn’t sure how I even felt about any of this, I didn’t want to deal with other people’s reactions and opinions.

Mortified, I stood there and blushed. Fortunately, Kylie stood up and hugged me. “Have fun,” she whispered, her voice excited. “Make him use a condom.”

I didn’t bother to correct her assumption. We could talk about all of this tomorrow when we didn’t have ten girls gawking at us. So I just nodded.

Jessica hugged me, too. And then we were leaving, Tyler pausing in the backyard to scoop up the remains of his beer from Brandon, who was still guarding it intently.

“Who is Brandon?” I asked him as we went out the front door and started down the street.

“He’s some guy I met in the EMT program.”

Somehow I didn’t think I wanted Brandon to hold my life in the balance in an emergency situation, but I stayed silent. It wasn’t my business to be judgmental of a socially awkward guy, given I might be considered his female counterpart.

Tyler had let go of my hand to light a cigarette, the beer tucked under his arm as he bent forward to cup against the wind. I kept my fingers neatly encased in the sleeves of his jacket to ward against the cold and debated how to say what I was feeling. Finally, I just blurted it out. “I’d prefer you didn’t make it so obvious I’m going home with you.”

He glanced over at me, smoke rushing past, obscuring his face. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want people to think I’m a slut.”

“Why do you care what people think? You know who you are, Rory.”

I did. And maybe that was my fear. Not that people would think I was a slut, but that I was pathetic for thinking the hot bad boy would genuinely be interested in me. I wanted them to know that I was as smart as my IQ proved, that I knew he was just curious about me, nothing more. That I was an anomaly he wanted to explore and potentially categorize. Because that was what we all did—we searched for labels for people until we found one we thought might fit, and then we sighed in relief that we had placed them.

It shouldn’t matter to me what people thought, but maybe if they thought I was a pathetic idiot it would matter because deep inside I was afraid that maybe I was. I was okay being a lot of things, being a fool was not one of them.

“It’s complicated,” I told him.

“So I’m supposed to be like a dirty little secret?” he asked, words light, but an edge behind them I’d never heard.

I hadn’t thought of it that way at all, or from his perspective. “No, of course not. I mean, I just kissed you in the hallway. I wasn’t exactly trying to be super discreet. But I don’t think anyone needs to know where I’m sleeping.” Or who I was or wasn’t sleeping with.

But now that I heard my own words, I realized it did sound hypocritical because I had kissed him in public.

“Got it. I won’t tell anyone you’re slumming.” There was a vulnerability there that shocked me, despite his hard tone.

I’d hurt his feelings. I could see it clearly.

Stunned, I reached for his hand, but he was still holding his cigarette. It amazed me that anyone was capable of hurting him, least of all me.

He stopped at his car and popped the trunk. He tossed the beer in the back and went around the driver’s side without looking at me.

When I slid into the passenger seat, I said, “Tyler,” without any idea what I was going to say next. But then when he looked over at me, eyes dark, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, jaw clenched, I found the words. “That’s not what I meant. If anything, I’m worried that people will think I’m a joke for thinking you would be interested in me.”

Brutal honesty. If he laughed or said he wasn’t interested at all, then I would save myself some time and possibly my virginity. I saw no point in playing games. God knows I’d always sucked at sports, and this was the same thing. I had no clue what I was doing, but I could only be me.

He made a sound of exasperation, tossing his cigarette out the cracked open window then cupping my cheek with his callused palm. “This is no joke.”

Then he kissed me, and it was even more intense than at the party. It was hot and demanding, his tongue pressing between my lips to tangle with mine. His free hand slipped inside the strapless dress, brushing over my nipple. I gasped against his mouth, shifting on the seat so I could get closer to him. Passion exploded between us, and he moved too, dragging my leg over his thigh, the motion shoving the skirt of the dress dangerously high on my thighs.

My head fell back as he moved his lips down my neck, lightly sucking the delicate skin into his mouth, and I tried to keep my eyes open. I wanted to see the dark strands of his hair, the sharp angle of his cheekbone, as he moved over me. I shivered when he pulled his jacket farther apart on me, so that he could move down, lower still, to slide his tongue over the swell of my breast, now peeking up from the dress.

I’d never been so aware of my body, so aware of every inch of another person, and I listened to the sound of Tyler’s breathing, the hitch and rise of his desire, the sharp intakes of air, the blast of heat from his lips as he groaned, before closing over the tightness of my nipple. He was pressing against me in various places, and the scent of him, so different from mine, so earthy and male and strong, had me digging my nails into his biceps as I clung to him.

The rustling of our clothes and my own soft moans surrounded me and it was all so warm and damp and wonderful that when his fingers crept up under my dress, I didn’t stop him. The sash from my costume had lodged itself around my throat, but I didn’t bother to move it as I sighed in delight, his lips and stroking fingers everywhere. His rhythm on my nipple matched that of his thumb under my panties, and before I could even consider, think, stop it, I shuddered against him, biting my lip to prevent from crying out.