Chapter 2
It turns out, a drinking game with this woman is pretty damn entertaining.
Jo holds her liquor better than me, and she’s done things I’ve never thought of trying.
She got nosy and found a pair of shot glasses in a cabinet, and now, instead of beer, Jo fills the glasses with punch.
She sits with one leg tucked under her, the other right beside me, and I can’t peel my eyes away from the tiny straps of her tank top.
It’s obvious she’s not wearing a bra by the hard peaks poking through the fabric, and I’m doing math formulas in my head to will my dick back down.
It’s not working. Every round of this game chips away at my restraint.
Jo is way out of my league. She’s funny and charismatic, immediately setting me at ease in her company, despite having just met her.
With high cheek bones and a smattering of freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, I'm helpless to memorize each one when she’s not looking.
Her long blonde hair is now pulled into a ponytail, showing off the purple color underneath—which, if I had to take a guess, sums her up completely by the way her eyes dance with mischief.
Each time our gazes meet, it takes everything I’ve got to look away. Her eyes, such a light shade of blue, are nearly translucent in the light of this room, sparkling each time she laughs. I draw closer to her on the couch.
Although we just met, spending time with Jo feels like a burst of color in a world of gray.
Everything about her is movement and laughter.
Where I’m reserved, Jo is bold and loud.
When she’s excited, she gets louder and her hands move with her words.
Everything—and I mean everything—about her is captivating.
Earlier when I noticed her paint-splattered hands, my eyes got hung up on her fingernails, each one painted a different shade like she couldn’t bear to leave a color out. Her toenails are painted to match.
The flammable punch we’ve been drinking has loosened me up, because I swear to God, I’m imagining what would happen if I gave her ponytail a tug. That’s not a thought sober Tyler would ever have. No, sober me has exactly zero game. I leave that to my cousin, Austin.
“Your turn,” she says, pouring us each a refill.
I think for a few seconds. “Never have I ever been arrested.”
She groans but tosses the punch back. My brows lift, and she flops dramatically onto her back, covering her face with her hands.
“It was one time,” she mumbles, talking through her fingers. “Homecoming my freshman year here. They got me for public intoxication. But I swear, I wasn’t even that drunk. Just loud.”
“Shocking.” I grin at her with a note of sarcasm. Everything about her looks loud, like despite her best efforts, she can’t help herself. “You know, to be so little, you really are loud.”
She kicks her foot toward me, and I catch it, circling my hand around her ankle. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers. Propping on her elbows, she looks at me, eyes narrowed and playful. “I’m not little, Tyler. I’m fun-sized.”
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums. A drop of punch hovers at the corner of her mouth, and my eyes dart down when her tongue flicks out to lick the drop. The prettiest laugh spills from her lips and she pulls herself back up.
“My turn. Never have I ever read…” She leans forward, looking at the cover of my book, the movement giving me a perfect view of her cleavage. The semi I’m trying to avoid is back in full force. “Never have I ever read A Farewell to Arms.”
I roll my eyes, tossing back the punch. “Brat. I think you’re trying to get me drunk.”
She shoots me a devilish grin.
“Never have I ever said, my dogs are barking.”
She throws her head back, laughing. “Now who’s the brat? I think you’re trying to get me drunk.” She’s pitched her voice lower, mocking me, but she takes her shot.
“Oh, I’ve got a good one. Never have I ever smoked weed.”
When I reach for the shot glass she gasps, jaw dropping. “No way.”
“One time.” I lift my index finger. “Made me paranoid. I hated it.”
We trade a few more rounds of the game before she excuses herself to run to the bathroom, because, according to her, she’s “gotta pee like a racehorse.” I take my turn in the bathroom as soon as she returns.
When I’m back in the library, I lower next to her, this time even closer on the couch.
She doesn’t seem to mind my nearness, and I’m glad of it.
Even before we started this drinking game, I found myself instantly drawn to her, dying to answer all her questions, pulled into her orbit.
Drinking game forgotten, we fall into easy conversation, and thankfully I can nurse my beer instead of subjecting myself to more punch.
I’ve got to give credit where credit is due, though.
I have a good buzz going and it took the edge off, lowering my inhibitions.
Talking to women never comes easy to me, especially not one this gorgeous, this comfortable in her skin.
It’s clear her inhibitions are lowered, too. Each time she moves closer to me I get a whiff of her perfume. Maybe notes of vanilla? With a hint of peaches, I believe. She keeps finding reasons to touch me, knocking her knee against my thigh, or casually laying a hand on my arm.
“Do you graduate tomorrow?” I ask, flicking my eyes to hers.
She lights up, her eyes bright with passion. “I do. Leaving for Chattanooga the day after.”
“What for? What waits for you in Chattanooga?”
“I’ve got an internship with Murals of Hope.
They’re a non-profit that paints murals downtown to bring awareness to mental health.
” She glances down to pick at her nail polish.
“I wanna leave my mark, ya know? When I’m gone from this earth, I wanna know I made a difference.
” I stay silent, absorbing her words until she looks up.
“I mean, I’m just one person. It probably sounds crazy, right? ”
“I don’t think it sounds at all crazy. I’ve got a feeling if anyone could leave their mark on this earth, it’s you.”
Jo swallows hard and looks away. “Anyway, I’m hoping they’ll hire me when it’s over. I gotta get outta here.”
“You’re from here?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Well, no. Singing River. It’s about thirty minutes away. I’ll lose my freaking mind if I wind up stuck there.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Being from a small town myself, I appreciate the routine, the predictability.
“What about you?” she asks. “Are you about to graduate?
“Not until next year. I took things slow my freshman year. There were some things going on at home they needed me for.”
She falls quiet, and I glance back up at her. She’s already looking at me, her blue-gray eyes going soft.
“And after? What are your plans?”
My hand goes to rub the side of my neck and I look away. A lot of people think Austin’s plans are a pipe dream. Not me, though. I believe in him. I’ve seen firsthand how hard he works on his music.
“That bad, huh?” she teases.
I turn, giving her a half-hearted smile.
“Have you ever known something? Like, against all odds, you know it’ll work out?
” Jo is zeroed in, hanging on my words, so I continue.
“My cousin’s a musician. I’m sure everyone says this about their family members, but I know he’s gonna make it big.
So, yeah…that’s my plan. Whatever I can do for his career. ”
Silently, she studies me, probably thinking I’m wasting a perfectly good college degree. But I don’t regret the choice to commit to this with Austin.
“I’m gonna call you Clark.”
I blink. “Clark?”
“Superman. Clark Kent. You’re all buttoned up and responsible.” Jo leans over, and I watch, slack jawed, as she takes her sweet time unbuttoning the top button of my shirt, allowing her gaze to flicker to mine and hold, my dick growing harder and harder as each second ticks by.
My god, this woman is dangerous. I’m not one to take risks, but in her presence I feel like a completely new man.
Do I bring my mouth to hers? Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, practically begging for me to lean in and do the same. She unbuttons the next button, my cock now throbbing at her proximity.
Jo leans in to murmur, “But I bet you fly around putting everyone else before yourself.”
My heartbeat turns rapid and I do my best to sound unaffected. “I’m no Superman,” I scoff, my voice a scrape. “I just try to do what’s right. Sometimes I fail, but I keep trying.”
We sit inches apart, the moment simmering with heat. Seeming to realize our nearness, Jo settles back next to me, leaving me itching to pull her close again.
“Whatever you say. You’re definitely Clark,” she says, nudging my knee with her foot. “My friend’s dad owns a recording studio back home. Singing River Sound. Maybe one day your cousin will record there. All the greats do.”
As we’ve talked, my buzz has gotten stronger. This is why I don’t drink much. I like being in control. I don’t mind it tonight, though. Her smile is intoxicating, and without the alcohol, I wouldn’t have made it this far. Until tonight, I’d never fully understood the phrase “drunk with desire.”
I hardly know her, but tonight it seems chemistry and attraction doesn’t care how many words we’ve exchanged, or even if we know each other’s last names.
I’ve read about attraction like this, at first glance, after a single conversation, but I never truly believed it was possible.
Until now. The impossibility of what’s happening between us isn’t lost on me.
On paper, nothing about tonight, about us, makes sense, and yet I still want her.
This woman is in my system like a shot of good bourbon.
A liquid fire that curls in your chest and steals your judgment. Yet I can’t stop reaching for more.
Leaning over, I grab the cup of punch and pour both shot glasses to the brim, picking mine up when I’m done. “Never have I ever wanted to kiss someone I just met.”
My gaze locks onto hers, daring. A beat passes.
She lifts her own glass without breaking eye contact, and we take our shots at the same time.
She pushes to her knees. At first I think she’s gonna bolt, but then she swings her leg so she’s straddling my lap.
Every last ounce of restraint shatters when she lowers her hips, curls her hand into my hair and presses her full soft lips to mine.
She leans back, her smoky gaze studying me, and I pull her in again, mouth on hers. Feeling brave, I run my tongue along the seam of her lips in a question. When she opens for me I taste the punch, but also a hint of cinnamon.
I’ve only kissed two girls in my life. Kristen Wright kissed me at the lunch table in fourth grade, then she kicked my shin and stole the homemade brownie Mom had packed for me.
Then there was Allison. We dated from tenth grade until she moved away for college. She was my first in every way possible.
That’s the extent of my experience, but by the way Jo whimpers into my mouth, I’m doing something right.
We explore with our tongues, and I pay attention to every sound she makes, repeating what earns me another gasp, another shiver.
She starts to grind against my cock, and I think I’m about to blow my load right here and now.
Her movements still, and she leans back, her lips quirked into a grin.
“Well, well, well.”
“Did you honestly think someone as gorgeous as you wouldn’t have this effect on me?”
Before she can respond, the door bursts open, and Jo quickly slides from my lap. A girl pokes her head in, but when she sees us she looks away. “Sorry. We’ll try the next room.”
At the slam of the door, we sit staring at each other. The strap of her tank has fallen down her shoulder, and I reach over, putting it back in place, trailing my knuckles down her arm. Her hand goes to her swollen lips and her eyes widen.
She cocks one brow, and I mirror it, cocking mine right back.
Silently, I stand to lock the door. With my back to Jo, I adjust myself, and I hear her stifle a laugh.