Sweet Ache

This right here is why I swore off men. The schizophrenic combat of emotions they cause is something I don’t want to battle right now when I have to worry about my thesis. I shake my head, frustrated at myself—and him.

When I shift my gaze back, a pebble of anger ripples through me. Most of the crowd has dispersed and yet two remain, the Delta Sig girls from last week.

I roll my eyes out of reflex, batting away that tinge of jealousy that I shouldn’t feel. Hell, a few kisses don’t hold any of the strings that bind two people into a relationship. And yet I watch: the flirting, the intimate body language, the looks she darts his way that lead me to believe they’ve shared more than just the kiss we have.

His hand slides down her backside again, fingers playing idly in her back pockets in a way that irritates me enough to force my attention back to my work, trying not to remember the feel of those hands on the bare skin of my own back. Damn if it doesn’t sting to know he wants her and not me.

Go Delta Sig! Not.

When I glance back up a moment later, unable to resist the impulse any longer, the lot of them are nowhere to be seen. Thank God because my bitter, party of one was getting to be a bit dramatic for my tastes. To think there are women who thrive on this feeling, live their lives always wanting and never walking away, astounds me.

I’m just about finished entering the grades when I hear footsteps behind me. I’d heard Carla’s voice earlier so I expect to see her when I turn around.

Boy am I wrong.

Hawkin’s hips are resting on the empty desk behind me, arms folded across his chest so that once again I’m afforded a glimpse of the tattoos that call to my curiosity. His head is angled to the side, black boots crossed at the ankles and the smirk pursed on his lips also lights up the gray of his eyes.

“Can I help you?” I ask in a terse tone. He raises one eyebrow in response and that’s about as nice as I’m going to get so he better take what I give him or he needs to turn around and walk right out.

“Well, good day to you too.” His eyes narrow as he appraises me, trying to get a feel for my mood although he should clearly know why I’m upset. He unfolds his arms and toys with the wrapper on the Tootsie Pop in his hand.

“It was until you walked in.”

“Oh! That’s cold!” He laughs with a shake of his head and a lick of his bottom lip that has my eyes darting down to watch it, and my mind drifting to other thoughts about tongues and licking and … I have to make a conscious effort to look back up and meet his eyes.

“Well, you know all about being cold, now, don’t you?” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest.

Something flashes in his eyes that I don’t quite catch before it clears. “C’mon, Quin … don’t be that way. Just do me a solid and let’s forget about it. Why don’t you come with me to an event I have this Saturday? Yeah?” He flashes a disarming grin that I’m sure would have most women’s panties falling to their ankles, but not mine. I’ve experienced how quickly he can flip the switch from being interested to uninterested. I can’t imagine how it feels when he’s yanking the sheets off you, when his interest is gone, after just having had sex.

“Sorry, I have plans,” I tell him knowing full well I told myself that I was going to accept the next offer that came my way that might possibly result in mind-blowing sex. Little did I know it would come from him.

And so goes my life.

“You have something better to do than hang out with me?” That cocky smirk is back, the one that makes me want to fist my hands in his shirt and do dirty things to him, but I just shake my head, holding fast to my slowly weakening resolve.

“I know that’s hard to believe but on Saturday I need to watch my paint dry,” I deadpan.

His laugh fills the air, rich and deep, and even it sounds melodic. He points the sucker at me and just shakes his head and a part of me caves that he finds humor and not offense in my comment. “Friday then?”

“Paint drying.”

“Sunday, then?”

“Paint will still be drying.” I fight the urge to crack a smile at his playfulness and the way he’s angling his head and staring at me with a boyish smile on those sculpted lips of his.

“Damn, I would have never guessed you led such a fascinating life.”

“Yep. So you see, I don’t have time to go out. Sorry.” We hold each other’s gaze and I know he sees my interest. And as much as I want to consent to going with him, I need to do this for me—say no so that I can look in the mirror when I go home and know I’m thinking with my head and not my Bermuda triangle—the place where my thoughts go to die and lust acts without recourse.

“C’mon, you know you want to see if the rumors are true.” That lopsided smirk appears again and I hate the feeling it evokes in me—giddy schoolgirl begging for attention comes to mind and I just want to brush the thoughts off my shoulders. Too bad the only place they’ll fall from there is in my lap and that in itself is the crux of this problem.

“Rumors?” There are probably too many for me to guess so I’ll let him tell me what I need to worry about.

“Yeah.” He nods his head, lopsided smirk now a full-blown panty-dropping smile. “If I play a woman like a guitar.” He wiggles his fingers in front of him and raises his eyebrows.

Thoughts flicker through my mind that I don’t want there. His fingers running over me, manipulating me into rapturous oblivion. Damn. “You really need to get some better lines. The women that fall for those are ones you need to steer clear of … like Delta Sig girl. I’m sure she’d love to spend some more time with you after you beguile her with witty one-liners like that.”