The Hook Up (Game On 1) - Page 82

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Heat invades me. I can’t do this. I can’t stand this close to him and not touch him. I glance toward the bar, wondering if Cameron can see me, wondering if the girl Drew’s with will come looking for him. This all feels wrong as if it the world has flipped over on its head.

Drew notices the direction of my glance, and he stands taller, his shoulders stiff. His tone turns bitter. “I see you found your emo-boy.”

I affect a careless shrug. “If we’re going for accuracy, he’s more hipster than emo.” When Drew glares, I continue on sharply. “Isn’t your date going to wonder where you are?”

The corners of his mouth curl. It is not a smile. “That’s right, a date. I see you are familiar with the concept, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

“I don’t serial date like some, but I try to get out.” What am I doing? I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to get away.

“Are you keeping track of who I date, Anna?” he asks softly, a smirk on his mouth.

I want to hit that mouth. I want to shout at him for plowing through what amounts to sorority row when less than a month ago he claimed that I was his.

“No, Drew,” I say, suddenly weary. “I just know your MO.”

He pushes off of the wall and is in front of me in a fluid move. And some sick part of me loves when he crowds me. I love being surrounded by his strength and his heat. The familiar scent of him makes my heart ache and my body perk up. Yes, please, it says to me.

He leans in closer, his nose almost touching mine, and his voice rolls through me, making my flesh hum. “I never looked at another girl when I was with you. Never even thought about one. Not once.”

I force myself to meet his eyes, and our mouths are too close. “I didn’t look at anyone either. Only you.”

“Then why—” He cuts himself off with a curse, and his fist slams into the wall.

I jump, ready to escape, but he’s boxed me in, his forehead pressing against the wall as he breathes in and out. He’s so close to me that his chest brushes mine with each inhale. And I shiver with the need to hold him. But I don’t. I can feel his anger. He vibrates with it.

“We could have been so good,” he says.

Before I can answer, he launches away from me with those quick reflexes that make him a star athlete. He’s backing up. Returning to his date.

I move to go the other way, when he grabs me. One hand cups my neck, the other splays against my back, slipping under my shirt to touch my bare skin. His mouth crashes into mine on the next breath. And my body goes supernova. His tongue slides deep, his lips bruise, and it feels so good that I moan behind it all. It’s always like this. I can’t get enough of him. I devour his mouth, play with his tongue. My br**sts crush against the hard wall of his chest. Sweet relief.


And then he’s pushing me away. I’m staggering back. His eyes are dull, filled with pain, regret, and worst of all, disgust.

“So f**king good.” He leaves me there slumped against the wall.

AS FAR AS mistakes go, that was fairly colossal. Fucking stupid is what it was. Damn, I shouldn’t have followed Anna to the bathroom. And I sure as shit shouldn’t have kissed her. My ribs compress painfully at the thought. Holding her, feeling her soft, plump lips once more was both agony and ecstasy. I still taste her in my mouth. I haven’t taken another drink since I kissed her, some desperate part of me reluctant to wash her away. In short, I am insane.

Unfortunately, sanity left the building the second I saw Mr. Yuck put his f**king hands on Anna. It was all I could do not to trample through the crowd and smash Emo Boy’s face in. Holy hell, watching his fingers stoke Anna’s neck while knowing exactly how her skin feels, knowing that I’d never get to do the same, gutted me. Nothing could stop me from seeking her out, from touching her and letting her remember just what she was missing.

A great plan. Only now I remember with perfect clarity what I am missing too.

Having just experienced true jealousy, I can safely say that the emotion is insidious, and I never want to feel it again. But it lingers like a plague, eating through my insides with dull, thick teeth.

I rub the hollow spot in the center of my chest and then pull my head out of the fog I’ve been wallowing in. Christ, I’m out with another girl. I shouldn’t be thinking about the one who didn’t want me.

I take a breath and face… Shit. What is her name?

In the darkness of my car’s interior, her eyes shine as she looks at me. She’s pretty. They all are, these girls I ask out with no intention of letting things go any further than one date. Hell, they all look vaguely similar, same general features, same body type, taste in clothes. All-American, perky sorority girls. Why hadn’t I noticed before Anna? And I accused her of only wanting one type.

Bitterness fills my mouth.

My date smiles, hesitant. “That was…nice.”

Nice. Right. We’d been at the club for all of ten minutes before I disappeared, stuck my tongue down another girl’s throat, and then promptly came back to haul her out of there like the place was on fire. Really nice of me.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sorry I’m tired tonight. We’ve been practicing a lot.” Lie. But one most girls seem to appreciate.

She’s no different. She smiles again, her eyes sympathetic. “That’s okay. Your dedication is admirable.”

Tell that to the guys, most of whom want to kill me about now.

“Thanks…” Fuck. What is her name? Stacy? No. Shannon! “Shannon.”

Tags: Kristen Callihan Game On Young Adult