3. Chapter 3 #2
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “No. It’s not mine. I know the owner, though, and I doubt he’ll mind his library harboring a pretty girl like you.”
Pretty girl like you.
The words don’t land straight away. They hover in the air between us because I don’t know how to take them.
No one has ever said that to me before. Not like this. Not without laughing afterward.
“Pretty feels like a stretch,” I say. “I’m more…aggressively average.”
He goes still for half a second, the crease in his brow narrowing.
“Aggressively average,” he repeats slowly. “That’s not how I’d put it,” he says finally.
“Are you serious right now?” A voice slices through the air, and I jolt back, only to see a girl standing at the door with her arms folded as she glares at the guy in front of me.
He doesn’t so much as glance at her. His eyes stay glued to me.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” She drops her hands and huffs out before she leaves the room.
“You might want to go and see what’s wrong with her.”
“Why?” His brow furrows, still watching me intently, and making me squirm. No one has ever looked at me with such undivided focus before, like I'm the only frequency worth tuning into. Heat crawls up my neck, flooding my cheeks, but I try to look unbothered.
“She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“Who, McKenna?” He laughs, and the move transforms his face from beautiful to devastating. “Nah. She’s been trying to get that title for years, but I’ve never really spoken to her. Not until today, that is,” he says almost remorsefully.
“So what’s different about today, then?” The question slips out.
When his eyes lock on mine, all the breath rushes out of me. Darkness stares back at me, and I see the same pain in his eyes that I feel every night. But what’s a rich boy like him so upset about?
“Just found out some shit that changes everything,” he says, flat and indifferent.
“I'm sorry to hear that.” I take a few steps back, knowing this conversation could go places I don’t want it to. I point my finger to the door. “You know, I should probably go. My cousin is waiting for me, and parties like this aren’t really my thing.”
I walk around him, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I'm certain he can hear it. His presence alone makes breathing feel like a luxury I haven't earned.
“What is your thing?” he asks, making me stop in my tracks. I glance over my shoulder to find his head tilted slightly, his gaze slowly and deliberately raking over my body, leaving a fire in its wake.
God, even the way he looks at me makes me feel seen.
He waits. One heartbeat. Two. Then closes the distance between us again. I turn fully, trapped now, too mesmerized to even consider leaving.
“Crowds not your vibe? Or is it the music? Could be the people. I get it, they're all a bunch of rich, privileged assholes.” His grin is devastating, and he speaks as though he’s not one of them. “Or maybe it's just guys who ask too many questions?”
He leans against the wall beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne, which is clearly something expensive that makes me suddenly aware of the Bath his eyes focused on my lips.
“Tonight was… not good,” he says quietly. “I didn’t think anything could fix it. Then you happened.”
My breath catches, and before I can respond, he leans forward. His lips brush against mine, soft at first, as though he’s giving me every chance to pull away.
I don’t pull back. I stay exactly where I am, my heart pounding so fast it feels like it might give me away.
I tilt my head, the move feeling clumsy, but when his lips press firmly against mine, everything narrows to him.
I start to move my mouth against his, and I miss the angle, making our noses bump.
I pull back an inch, almost certain he realizes how inexperienced I am, but all he does is adjust his angle and kiss me again.
His mouth is warm and steady against mine. He’s not rushing me, and I relax a little, letting myself follow his lead.
My hands hover uselessly for a second before settling against his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
I can feel the rise and fall of his chest quicken as he deepens the kiss, which makes my stomach flip.
Butterflies explode in my chest, wild and relentless, and for once, I don’t want them to stop. I don’t want this to stop.
When he pulls away, it’s only far enough to look at me.
I open my eyes, my breath uneven, and for a second I’m terrified he’ll regret it.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he smiles, and says softly, “You okay?”
I nod, because for the first time in a long while, I really am.
“Do you want to find somewhere a little more private?” he murmurs.
The way he says it should shake me a little. It’s so easy and familiar. He’s obviously asked that question before and this is probably just another hookup at a party for him. He has no idea how new and enormous this moment is to me.
Should I tell him?
I picture myself fumbling through it, or wanting too much, too fast. He’ll realize somewhere down the line that this is my first everything, and I should probably say no and wait to do it with someone that matters…but he looks at me like I matter. Like I’m not a side character for once in my life.
That’s never happened to me before.
Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe I’m thinking too much into it, but I’m tired of waiting to be someone else before I let myself want things.
I want this. I want him, and I want to be someone else for the night. Someone braver, wilder, someone who takes instead of always being taken from, someone worthy of the hunger in his eyes instead of the disappointment in my father's.
For once in my life, I'm not overthinking. Not planning three steps ahead. Not worrying about consequences or tomorrow or what anyone will think.
For once, I'm just feeling.
“Yes.” My voice is shaky, but certain.
I’m going to be the main character for once in my life. Screw what anyone else thinks.
My phone buzzes from the bedside table, and as I reach for it, I realize how late it is.
Madison: Where are you? I just had the worst game of Spin the Bottle.
Shit.
I quickly type out a message and let her know I’ll meet her by the pool in five minutes, but when I push out of bed, I feel a hand brush against mine.
Thatcher—I remember his name, at least—sleeps beside me, one arm flung across his face, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft moonlight spills into the room, making him look even more beautiful than earlier, which seems profoundly unfair since I have to leave him.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand next to me, the screen lighting up with a text. I shouldn’t look, but it’s right there.
So I do.
McKenna ??: I’m sorry about earlier. I’ll make it up to you, just tell me where you are.
My stomach drops through the floor. Of course. Of fucking course. He lied. He has a girlfriend and he told me whatever I wanted to hear just to get me into bed, and I foolishly did it.
What was I thinking? Girls like me don't get guys like him, at least, not without strings attached. Strings that apparently lead to someone named McKenna-with-the-heart-emoji by her name.
I slide out of bed, gathering my scattered dignity along with my purse and shoes. My head screams in protest at each movement. Thatcher doesn’t stir, his breathing still deep and even. Good. At least we won’t have to have an awkward conversation where we both pretend that didn’t mean anything.
Because if I’m being honest, it meant something to me.
I leave the room and hurry down the stairs, wondering why something that was never mine to begin with can feel so thoroughly stolen.
Only first names exchanged.
No numbers swapped.
Just the memory of his hands on my body and the knowledge that I was probably just a convenient distraction from McKenna-with-the-heart-emoji.
I’m such a fucking idiot.