Chapter 4 – Betsy #2
“You ain’t wrong there,” I joke, gesturing to the couple playing tonsil tennis in the corner.
Mor coughs a laugh, her eyes catching on to something.
I turn my attention to see Eden on the diving board of the pool, drink in hand.
People around her are cheering as she sways her hips seductively.
“What the hell?” I mutter. Mor and I walk outside into the yard and push past the crowd that has now surrounded her.
Eden knocks back the last of her drink and throws the cup to the side, and as she looks around at the guys, she gives them a little wink before pushing off her feet, doing a forward somersault before diving cleanly into the water.
“Since when was she an Olympic diver?” I ask Mor, watching as Eden swims with the grace of a mermaid to the edge of the pool.
“She used to be on the diving team in college,” Mor answers.
“How did I not know that?” I ask.
Mor gives me a small smile. “She let it slip once. I think it was something to do with why she’s with us.”
“Ah.” I nod as I watch Eden pull herself out of the water.
A guy in nothing but a pair of shorts stands there, holding out a towel for her.
His eyes dance over her body with heat and interest. Mor and I both watch on, our instincts and protectiveness over each other kicking in.
Eden circles her thumb and index finger at her side, signalling that she’s okay.
We both relax our shoulders and leave her be, watching as she smiles up at the guy and flirts with him.
“She knows they are all like 20 years old here, right?” I smirk.
Mor grins back. “I’m sure she’s aware.” Her phone pings, and she looks down at the screen, a smile spreading across her face.
I roll my eyes. “Go call him, or tell him to come here,” I instruct her.
Her head snaps up to me. “What? No, I couldn’t do that.”
“You can, and you will. Now go call him and invite him here. He can join our sleepover. Just please refrain from fucking him in my house,” I plead.
Her smile deepens. “But fucking over here is okay?” she asks playfully.
“I’m sure you won’t be the only ones if you decide to do that,” I say, pointing out all the many people clearly hooking up.
She places a chaste kiss on my forehead before walking off to make her call.
I smile to myself and decide I’m not cut out for this party or any party.
I am proud for pushing myself to do it, to try it, but this really isn’t for me.
I can practically hear my Kindle calling me.
I turn on my heel, keeping my head down as I make my way through the house, and once the front door is in sight, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Leaving so soon, little gremlin?” His voice trickles over me like ice-cold water. I freeze and slowly turn around to face him, seeing him sitting on the couch drinking a beer.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’ve got a headache, so I’m off. Er, thank you, though.” I rush and turn back around and head to the door.
“Not going to join me for one before you go?” he asks.
I look over my shoulder and see him holding out a bottle of beer. “You’re not drinking the beer from the kegs?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “That tastes like shit,” he says, jolting the bottle of beer at me.
I take in a slow, steadying breath and walk over to him, taking the bottle of beer and twisting the cap off. I take a seat on the opposite end of the couch, keeping my distance from him, and take a long sip of my beer. I close my eyes, enjoying the taste and smile.
“European,” I state, opening my eyes to see his vibrant green eyes watching me. Instantly, I look away and shift.
“You don’t like attention, do you?” he says abruptly.
I shrug and take another sip of my beer, starting to regret my decision to stay. “So, what are you studying?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“What am I studying?” he says, repeating my question to him. “How about you try and guess?” he suggests.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Something in sports?” I ask.
“What makes you think sports?” he counters.
“You’re all sporty, I guess,” I state, looking anywhere but at him.
He huffs out a laugh. “Okay, let’s make this more interesting. You have to look at me the entire time you’re guessing, and only when you get it right can you look away.”
I chew the inside of my cheek anxiously. You can do this. Just look him in the eye. He’s just a guy. A normal guy, and you’ve fought bigger than him. I lift my gaze to his and immediately feel my cheeks heat.
“Biology,” I state.
He doesn’t smile. Just keeps his eyes trained on mine. “No.”
“Physics,” I guess.
“No,” he answers.
“Math, art, computers? Er, film?” I ask, rushing out my guesses, desperate for this to be over.
“No,” he answers flatly.
“Law,” I state. He doesn’t answer. Just continues to stare at me, like his eyes are seeing everything.
I lick my bottom lip before biting down on it in concentration.
I keep my eyes focused on the small scar just above his eye.
“Family, corporate, property lawyer. No, criminal?” I shout.
“That’s it, you seem like a thrill-seeker type.
I bet you want to be a criminal defence lawyer,” I state confidently, my gut churning at the memory of my trial and how their defence lawyer made me feel and what he made me out to be.
I swallow hard and blink, snapping myself out of my thoughts.
My eyes flicker to his. He’s watching me intently, so I shift awkwardly and look away.
“No,” he answers firmly.
I sag myself down on the couch. “No, what?” I ask, my voice sounding fragile and weak. I clear my throat immediately, hating that.
I am not weak, and I will never allow myself to feel that way again.
“No, I’m not studying to be a criminal defence lawyer,” he clarifies.
I can still feel his eyes on me, but I keep my focus on my hand. “Okay, I give up. You’re just going to have to tell me.”
“If I tell you, it will cost you,” he states.
“Cost me?” I ask, snapping my eyes to his.
He nods. “If I tell you, I want something in return,” he insists.
My back straightens. “I’m not that bothered about knowing. I could just go home,” I counter.
His eyes spark at my dismissive attitude. “I’ll tell you what I’m studying for one kiss,” he states, his face void of any amusement.
My thumb picks at the label on the beer bottle as I weigh the proposition over. “And if I refuse?” I ask, swallowing, my throat now suddenly dry.
He shrugs. “Then you refuse. Forcing women to kiss me isn’t something I’m into.”
I weigh up my options. “You know, you would have more luck with this bet with Eden,” I point out.
“I’m not interested in Eden,” he dismisses.
Does that mean he’s interested in me? Nah, he’s just messing with me. It will just be another prank.
Even though I am convinced it’s another prank of his, I don’t want to back away. “If I agree, I determine the kiss. Where and what is used,” I counter.
“Whatever you say,” he relents, the corners of his mouth curving into an arrogant smile.
I lean forward and place the beer on the table, wiping my sweaty palms on the couch as I turn back to face him.
“Don’t move. I don’t want you touching me.
Just sit still, okay?” I state firmly, knowing that if he touches me, my mind and my body will spiral into a panic.
It’s something I still haven’t overcome.
But a kiss, and one that I’m in control over?
That is good, good progress, I hear my therapist’s voice in my head. He simply nods.
I exhale a slow breath, and my heart feels like it's thundering in my chest as I close the distance between us. I rest my hand on the back of the couch for leverage and lean in. My eyes flicker from his eyes to his mouth, and I can feel the tickle of his breath dancing across my lips as the rich woody smell of his cologne invades my senses. I can’t help but breathe him in, enjoying his scent.
I close my eyes and lightly press my lips to his.
My hand fists the couch so tight I feel like every muscle in my body is wound so tight they may snap.
His lips are soft and unmoving, remaining perfectly still under my touch.
1, 2, 3, I count in my head, then quickly pull back and jump up, out of breath and swaying lightly on my feet as I fight my panic attack. His hands are balled into tight fists on his lap, his jaw set so tight it should snap. He’s angry. This was a bad idea.
“I’ve got to go,” I rush out, and move swiftly to the door.
Not pausing to hear his protests and refusing to look back, I run.
I don’t care that I didn’t find out what he’s studying.
I don’t care if he thinks I’m weird. He wouldn’t be the first, and he certainly won’t be the last. Hell, he’s the first guy I’ve kissed since that night, the night that stole every part of me, and of course I allowed it to be my bully of a neighbour.
What the fuck is wrong with me?!