“Totally,” I agree. “She reminds me of Sylvie from Emily in Paris, only a lot less passive aggressive and significantly nicer.”
She laughs, placing her pastel highlighters into a zippered case. “Oh my god, you’re right. Are you a creative writing major?”
Until recently, I hadn’t realized that was an option. I’ve been considering it as a serious possibility, but it’s too early to say just yet. I’m not sure I’ll even like this class.
“Undeclared but trying to decide soon. How about you?”
“Pre-dentistry.”
“Wow. That sounds intense. Good for you.” Suddenly, I feel woefully outmatched. Bet that’s heavy on science. Probably lots of math, too. I wouldn’t last a day.
“It’s pretty demanding,” Chloe admits, zipping her black book bag. “This is my one and only fun class. The rest are biology, calculus, that kind of thing.”
She pushes to stand, and I do the same, leisurely walking alongside her up the staircase leading to the doors. Since this is my last class of the day, I don’t need to sprint across campus like I otherwise would. It’s like the fates conspired to ensure I hit my 10,000 steps a day before noon.
We linger in the foyer chatting for a few more minutes before we exchange phone numbers, then Chloe heads to her next lecture while I start for the parking lot outside. It feels nice to have a new potential friend; someone not connected to Abby or my brother. Actually, it’s not all that different from what I assume dating is like—I’m a little nervous and wondering whether she actually wants to hang out with me sometime or if she was merely being polite.
Either way, for a Monday, today is shaping up better than I expected. Even the weather doesn’t seem as bad as I push the doors open and brave the bitter January cold. My gigantic new parka probably helps, too.
When I climb into the driver’s seat, Tyler texts me again.
Hades: Question 14: What book are you currently reading?
Tinker Bell: I plead the fifth.
Hades: attachment: voice message
“Nice try, but that’s not a real answer. Cough up the title, Tinker Bell.”
Letting the engine idle in park, I press play and listen to Tyler’s message for a third time, my cheeks tugging at the delicious way his voice gets a little more growly with each word. Other, much lower parts of my body are responding too.
God help me, I’m getting turned on in the middle of a strip mall parking lot.
I indulge in a fourth listen before I reluctantly lock my phone and tuck it away in my console. My stomach is full of butterflies, and I have no idea how I’ll be able to look him in the eye without blushing when I see him later.
I decide to leave him hanging for a while before I reply, though. You know, to keep him on his toes. I’m also stalling because I’m in the middle of an especially smutty book at the moment, and I have to summon the courage to admit it to him. Why this particular question fazes me, I’m not sure. It makes no sense in light of everything else.
My plan to leave Tyler hanging backfires—because he’s unexpectedly home when I walk inside. I didn’t see his vehicle parked outside, but I find him standing in the entry with his winter coat on like he’s about to walk out the door. He’s occupied with something on his phone, seemingly oblivious to my arrival.
Like usual, he’s dressed in head-to-toe black. It seems patently unfair that a guy can get away with such a monochromatic wardrobe and still look so hot.
When the door slams shut behind me, his head snaps up and he breaks into a smile that gives me the butterflies all over again. “Hey, Tink.”
“Hi.” Slipping off my winter boots, I linger in the hall.
His focus stays fixed on me, and his smile gentles. “How was your day?”
“Good.” One-word answers seem to be all I can formulate at the moment.
“Good.” Something about his tone makes me feel warm and fuzzy, like a hug. It’s new, and I like it.
Curiosity jumpstarts my brain. “Are you headed out?”
Tyler looks confused for a second, then his eyes flick down to his phone like he’d forgotten it was in his hand. I’m starting to realize I affect him more than I thought. He’s just better at hiding it.
“My car was being serviced at the dealer. I’ve been trying to book their shuttle to come pick me up, but the app is trash. I was about to call them.”
“I can take you if you want.”
“You sure?” His brows lift. “I don’t want to make you go out of your way if you have other stuff you need to do.”
Even if I did, I have no idea what they are anymore.
“I don’t mind. That’s what friends are for, right?”
He trails behind me into the garage, which Dallas has kindly agreed to let me use during my temporary stay, and pushes the overhead door button on his way by. We climb into my car and slam the doors behind us, sealing out the cold. The scent of his cologne fills the interior, beckoning me to get closer. Trying to be discreet, I draw in a lungful, savoring the notes of driftwood and citrus. He doesn’t just smell good; he smells downright addictive, like an expensive habit I can’t afford.
Shoving the last thought aside, I press the brake pedal and push the red ignition button on the dash. As the engine roars to life, so do the speakers.
“Her soaking pussy clenches around me, and I drive deeper, thrusting in perfect tempo with her moans…”
Oh, no. No, no, no.
My stereo is connected to my phone, which is still open to my audiobook—and chapter twenty-one is Smut City.
I squeal, hitting the pause button with ninja-like reflexes. It’s so quick I may break some kind of world record. The baritone voice vanishes, and the interior of the car falls unnaturally silent. Heart hammering, I grip the steering wheel, trying to steady my breath.
Exposed by Bluetooth. Goddamn technology.
Tyler chuckles. “Oh, don’t turn that off on my account. Sounds like it was getting good.”
He presses the illuminated play button, switching the sound system back on. I reach for the controls, but before I can shut it off again, his large hand captures mine, handcuffing my wrist with his thumb and forefinger. My entire body comes alive at the contact.
Testing him, I make a half-hearted attempt to free myself from his grip. His expression darkens, his hold tightening. A shock of desire runs through me, liquid heat pooling in my core.
“You’re not done until I say you’re done.”
“Sera, you naughty girl.” Spoken in a husky timbre, the words are agonizingly seductive—especially with him still restraining my wrist.
Lust, desire, uncertainty; a million emotions overtake me all at one. Factoring in my mortification of moments ago, it makes for a highly confusing combination.
Steel gray eyes drop to my mouth, lingering for a beat before lifting to meet mine. Our gazes stay locked as the male narrator praises the heroine, sprinkling in hints of mild degradation. It’s the icing on the dirty talk cake, both undeniably appealing and impossible to ignore.
His mouth tugs into a devilish grin. “This is why you didn’t want to tell me, huh?”
My lips part as I search for a response. Nothing. I have nothing to offer. My brain has been wiped clean. Other parts of my body have seized control, and they aren’t the ones responsible for sentence formation—or rational choices.