Chapter Four
Anna
Inside the house is just as I feared: packed, hot, and noisy. Guys appear to be making it their sole purpose to shout at each other as loudly as possible. Music is pulsing through the speakers and bouncing off the walls.
Eyes follow me as I walk by. I don’t belong. They know it. I know it. Girls frown as if trying to figure out why I am here and who invited me, and guys take long looks at my boobs.
I’m now cursing my choice of top—and Iris, who darts like a minnow through the crowd in her quest to find Henry. The instant she does, he pulls her in and sticks his tongue down her throat. He grabs her ass to haul her in closer.
Yeah. I don’t have any desire to stand next to them now. My only refuge is to find a beer and a corner to nurse it in. Because of my three-inch boot heels, I hover at 5'10". High enough to see over most other girls’ heads. High enough that, when I move into another room, I instantly spot him.
Drew Baylor is looking directly at me.
His mouth hangs open slightly, as if he’s shocked to see me here, which makes two of us; I’m shocked to be here. But then, as if it dawns on him that it’s really me and not a nightmare, his lips quirk up at the corners and a glint comes into his eyes.
I wonder if all my happy parts are somehow connected to his smile because they flare at that expression, going warm and tingly. Which annoys the hell out of me.
Then he moves, walking away from the group of people surrounding him without a backward glance.
My uncooperative body refuses to flee, as his big body cuts through the crowd like a blade. God damn, but he looks fine, his long striding legs encased in worn and faded jeans that hug his thick thighs. His moss-brown T-shirt clings to his chest like a love song, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist.
In a room filled with boys, Drew is a man here. Bigger, stronger, and just more. In an odd way, he doesn’t belong here either. But the difference is they want him to belong.
His eyes stay locked with mine the whole time. It’s unnerving. And enough to make my toes curl in my beloved Vogs.
He stops just before me. Way too close for a casual acquaintance. Even with my added height, I have to tip my head back a little to meet his gaze.
“Anna Jones,” he drawls, “fancy meeting you here.” That he appears pleased makes my insides dip.
“Not by my own volition,” I manage.
His lopsided smile grows. “Who suckered you into coming?”
“Iris, my roommate and soon-to-be resident on the missing persons list.”
Light laughter breaks from him, and his eyes warm. “I don’t know... I’m kind of grateful to her.”
“You can thank her when she stops sucking her boyfriend’s face off. As for me, I’m leaving.”
“Now? You just got here.”
“How do you know? I might have been here for hours.”
He shifts his weight onto one leg, bringing him closer. “Jones, I knew the second you walked in the door.”
“Bull.” I say it reflexively.
He grins. “I shit you not.”
My skin is too tight, my flesh too warm. “How is that even possible?”
Another small laugh leaves him. “Seriously?”
His gaze travels down to my chest, lingering as his nostrils flare, before slowly trailing back up to my face. When my glare registers, he merely gives me a sheepish look as if to say he knows he’s busted but isn’t really sorry.
Not that I can totally blame him. My boobs are swelling over the edge of my top. I have the desperate urge to hike the cami up, but I resist and cross my arms under my breasts instead. The action lifts my cleavage higher.
A dare.
I think.
I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing anymore.
Color tinges the high crests of his cheeks and those hot eyes glide back down.
“Okay,” he says thickly. “Now I know you’re messing with me.”
The fan of his lashes casts shadows on his cheeks as he peers at me. “But I’m willing to be tortured.”
My arms drop. Nerves flutter in my belly. I’ve been with guys. And I like sex. Love good sex, elusive as it is. But flirting with Baylor? I can’t handle it. He’s too much. He makes my mouth dry and my hands twitch with wanting to run them over him.
The truth is I don’t understand why he persists in talking to me. I’m nothing like his usual women. I’m not even nice to him. Something I refuse to feel guilty about.
“I wasn’t offering,” I say. Not precisely true. Which is why I need to leave.
I turn, ready to hunt down Iris, when he moves to touch my elbow with the tips of his fingers. Pure instinct has me evading his reach. I know without doubt that if he touches me, I’m done for.
He frowns at the action, his hand dropping. But it doesn’t stop him from speaking. “Stay.” His voice is a soft caress that rubs over me.
“I’d rather go.” It’s both a lie and the truth. I can’t think straight when he’s near.
“I can’t believe that.” He dimples. “I mean, we get along so well.”
He says it with just enough dry humor that I fight a smile and shake my head. “Let me guess—you’ve never approached a girl who turns out to be not interested in you.”
Baylor cocks his head as though taken aback, and then gives his neck a scratch.
“Well,” he says slowly. “No, I haven’t.” A wide grin breaks over his face, all charm and dimpled hotness. “I can see that bothers you.”
“Wrong. It simply reinforces my original impression of you.”
“As what? Honest?”
He leans in close. Close enough to notice that his breath doesn’t smell like beer, and that his eyes have a ring of deep brown around the gold irises. “Here’s the thing, Jones, I don’t understand how you can find that a problem.”
I blink and force myself to focus on something other than his eyes. “You don’t see how never being told ‘no’ isn’t a problem?”
His smile deepens. “Stop being obtuse. You’re talking about my irresistibility. I’m talking about my honesty. Two vastly different topics.”
My lips twitch. Damn it. “I don’t recall saying you were irresistible.”
“Besides,” he goes on as if I haven’t spoken. “I can’t see what sort of culpability I have in girls wanting to get to know me. It’s not like I’m bribing them or scheming to have my ‘wicked way’ with them. It is what it is.”
I stare at him a long moment, one in which he grins his goofy grin and I fight the goober urge to return it.
“You know what? You’re right.”
“Finally!” he says to no one in particular before smiling down at me.
“So let’s put it this way. I could not care less about football. I don’t give a shit who you are or what you do or—”
My tirade dies when he leans so close that our noses practically touch. The look in his eyes isn’t angry. It’s triumphant. “Exactly, Jones.”
Two words and he’s knocked the wind out of my sails. His not wanting me to fawn all over him is the last thing I expect. I start to frown. Maybe I even do.
“Well, hell.”
He bursts out laughing. A rich, full laugh that’s so infectious, I respond to it, snorting a little as I try to keep from laughing too. Our eyes meet, and the air between us abruptly shifts. Base heat swamps me so fast that I lose my next breath. Maybe he does too because he goes still. A lion about to pounce. I blink back, the gazelle caught out in full sunlight.
But then a lumbering form comes up to us, and a big hand slaps down on Baylor’s shoulder.
“Battle, my man,” says the hulking guy who has to be one of Baylor’s linemen. “Sandra here wants to say hello.”
It’s like I’m not even there. Not to the Hulk, who bumps me back with his arm, as he gestures to some eighteen-year-old with a coy smile. Not when she slinks up to press herself against Baylor’s arm.
“Hey, Battle,” she breathes—breathes it, because I’m not sure I heard any actual consonants. “Will you sign my shirt?”
Of course she’s wearing his jersey, the number eleven splayed across her breasts. It’s no shocker when she points directly to that area, in case he wasn’t sure where he should sign.
I want to roll my eyes but don’t. She’s not the problem here. Baylor isn’t even the problem. I am.
“Well then,” I say. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I turn and flee, hearing him call my name. But I don’t look back.
I nearly reach the hall when he steps in front of me, halting my progress.
“Hold up.” Baylor’s lips pull in a pout, which should look petulant but simply makes him hotter. “I thought we were having a conversation.”
“I think it was more like bickering,” I say, and when he starts to smile, I hurry on. “And it was clearly over.”
“Why? Because of that interruption?” He gives a little jerk of his head in the direction of his number one fan.
I shake my head. “Don’t let me keep you, honestly.”
Instead of backing off, he takes a step closer. “But I’d rather be talking to you.”
My heart is beating so hard now I feel it in my fingertips. I don’t know where to look or what to do. My gaze settles on the leather cord he wears around his strong neck. I’ve never seen him without it.
A small rectangle of polished wood hangs from the cord, dangling just below the hollow of his throat. My fingers itch to touch the pendant, to trace along the cord up to the stubble that starts just below his jaw. I lift my hand to do just that when a masculine shout snaps me out of it.
“Baylor!” Yet another one of his teammates seeking his attention. The freshman is still there, waving frantically.
“You’re obviously busy,” I say.
A frustrated breath escapes him. “What was I supposed to do? Tell her to get lost because I’m trying to impress another girl? Pretty counterproductive to act like an asshole, if you ask me.”
I get stuck on the whole, “impress another girl” part. In fact, the moment he said it, my heart stopped altogether, and heat rushed my face. Why me? I don’t fit in here; I never did.
My throat closes, and I swallow hard. “Sorry, but you’re paying attention to the wrong girl.” I edge toward the hall and freedom. “I’m not interested.”
A flush of color washes over his cheeks, and his eyes turn bronze. “Bullshit.”
When I flinch, his voice softens and slides through my defenses like a spoon into pudding.
“Let’s be honest here. I’m in danger of developing a permanent neck kink from checking you out. And if the number of times you meet my eyes is anything to go by, then you are as well.”
My cheeks must be flaming red by now. I’m too shocked to reply.
His low murmur rings crystal clear in the small space between us. “Why don’t you tell me what the real problem is, and we can address it?”
Address it. Like I’m something he wants to figure out and fix. Something he wants to keep. The whole idea is so foreign to me, and so terrifying, that I end up snapping. “Why don’t you just let it go? Some games you aren’t going to win.”
He scowls, but when he opens his mouth to reply, I talk over him. “Disappointment is good for the soul, Baylor. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
This time he doesn’t get a chance to stop me, or maybe he just lets me go. I head for the stairs, and some privacy, as fast as I can without actually running, and another friend approaches him. Which is all good. And maybe if I tell myself this enough, I’ll believe it.
That went well. Anna Jones’s gorgeous ass sways as she walks away from me. A perfect counterpoint to the swish of her little black skirt and the bounce of her red curls. I want to grab her and press her up against the nearest wall so that I can taste her tart mouth. I wouldn’t even mind if she bit me, as long as her tongue soothed it afterward. Fat chance of that.
I stay where I am, defeat and disappointment—yes, thank you, Miss Jones, I’m well aware of that emotion now—crashing into me like a bad hit.
“Shit.” I rub my ribs where the phantom pain spreads wide.
It’s even worse when I see Gray sauntering over.
Gray is my teammate and best friend. We met when we were fifteen and attending the Manning Passing Academy. We are both from Chicago, though from different areas, and had played against each other before but had never talked until then. When my parents died, Gray was the only one I could stomach being around because he had lost his mother to breast cancer the year before. Which means he knows me better than anyone alive. This is going to suck.
His grin is obnoxious and wide. “‘Crash and burn, huh, Mav?’”
I itch to punch the smile off his face. “I never should have introduced you to the glory that is Top Gun. You don’t deserve it.”
When he laughs, I roll my eyes. “How long have you been waiting to use that line on me?”
“About four and a half years, give or take.”
He slings a meaty arm around my shoulder and attempts to pull my head down. I duck away and slap the side of his head lightly. I’m not in the mood.
Not that Gray cares: he’s still grinning evilly.
“What’s the matter? Red didn’t respond to the ‘Battle’ cry?”
“Fuck off, Gray.” There isn’t much heat to my request. My mind is still on Anna, and my body is itching to follow.
Shit, I’m so screwed. Something pathetically close to a sigh lifts my chest as I stare in the direction she took—fucking fled—to get away from me. Like I was a disease she needed to stay clear of.
Which is unfortunate. Because it’s still there, that insistent clamor in my head that says: Her, her, her!
Not so great, when she seems to have a cry in regard to me that goes: Run, run, run!
I don’t understand it. I wasn’t lying to her, and I don’t think I’m deluded, when I said that we’ve been virtually eye-fucking each other for the past month. Fortunately, I didn’t call it “eye-fucking”; she’d probably have my nuts in a clench if I had. Not that I’m entirely opposed to her touching my nuts...
“Shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Then pinch it harder when I realize that Gray is still there watching.
“Dude,” he says, “let it go. This is getting embarrassing.”
“Why? Because I have to work for it? For once?”
The masochist in me kind of likes it. I sure as hell love it when she’s all snappy and taking me to task. I fantasize about her doing just that, while I suck on her neck, feeling the vibrations of her voice as she talks. Or maybe she’d wrap those creamy legs around my back, and I’d push into her heat, making her groan just a little between arguments...
I take a deep breath. And another. I’m so screwed if Gray sees me with a hard-on. Thank God for jeans—and the fact that Gray is still lecturing too much to look down.
“Sex shouldn’t be work,” he insists. “It should be easy. Girls come to us, give us a good time, and we send them on their way with a nice thank-you, and maybe a pat on the ass if they’re extra special.”
“I pity your bed partners.”
“They have a good time. A great time.”
“Sure. You let them do all the work while you sit back like a lazy shit. Sounds awesome for them.”
He gives me a sour look. “Well, you sound like a girl.”
“If I was one, I wouldn’t be fucking you.”
“You could do a lot worse—” His face goes red. “Damn. Would you stop that shit? I hate when you make me twist my words.”
I can’t help grinning.
Anna seemed to like it when I twisted her words, until she fled that is. And there’s that pathetic sigh again, making me sound like a sap. Damn, but I want to talk to her.
Maybe she thinks I want what Gray’s offering: a simple hook up. Maybe I ought to tell her I want more. I want her. The whole prickly-mouthed, sweetly curved, irresistible package.
Tracking her down to tell her wouldn’t be stalking, would it? Shit, I don’t even know.
Gray’s right in one regard, I obviously suck at pursuing. But if there’s one thing I understand, it’s practice. I excel at perfecting my technique through practice.
Anna still hasn’t come back down the stairs. Which means I’m going up.
“If my efforts bother you so much,” I say to Gray without taking my eyes off the shadowed hallway that leads to the second floor. “I’d look away now.”
I give him a light slap on the chest and head off.