Chapter 36
LOREN
Internet Paul
I had a lot of fun
Would love to do it again sometime
When my alarm goes off the next morning, I don’t leave my room until I hear the front door close. Expecting to emerge into an empty kitchen, I’m shocked to find Elliott standing next to the new Keurig cup-pot-combo I bought.
That’s right, I paid for it all by myself.
If I were a petty woman, I’d tell him he wasn’t allowed to use it.
He turns away from the coffee and throws open the fridge, the pair of dark shorts he’s wearing slung dangerously low on those cut hips he wields like a weapon.
I’m pissed at him and don’t feel like pretending otherwise. He’s the one who told me to move in, so he gets to deal with my mood.
It’s time he gets a peek behind the curtain. Time Elliott Grant experiences being the brunt of some good, old-fashioned feminine rage.
So yeah, I slam my door closed like a teenager throwing a tantrum. Guess what? It feels good.
He smiles at me like we’re not fighting. He doesn’t know I’m mad at him, but he’s about to find out.
I swing open the cabinet door, but before I can lift onto my toes and grab a mug, Mr. Biceps does it for me.
Why is he so stupidly tall? He needs more obvious flaws so my traitorous mind doesn’t keep glossing over them or making up stupid excuses for his terrible behavior that he doesn’t even deserve.
He sets the mug down on the counter, but I don’t thank him, not even when he holds out the coffee pot. I only let him fill my mug because I want to be waited on.
I wait for him to return to his room, but he doesn’t. He eases himself against the edge of the counter and drinks his coffee, smirking in between sips.
Why isn’t he talking? I guess it’s up to me to start this conversation. “I think I need to move out.”
That wipes the smartass look off his face. “Why?”
I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe him anything.
He drags a hand down the back of his neck, looking sufficiently chastised. “Is this about sex bra? Look, I’m sorry I read your messages, but in my defense, the word ‘sex’ has a terrible habit of grabbing my attention.”
I haven’t given his little invasion of privacy a second thought. “This is about you crossing a line. We’re supposed to be friends, and you went and screwed it all up with your…”
His lips twitch, and I despise him a little more.
“Your mind games.” Damn hypnotist.
“Mind games? I see. Out of curiosity, what mind games have I been playing?”
“You said you wanted to sleep with me.”
His brows arch beneath his stupidly adorable mop of dark hair. “Did I say that? Wow. That is so shitty of me. I should have lied and said I find you repulsive.”
Wait. So he does want to sleep with me? Not that it matters when he literally had another woman in his bed last night.
I’m not that desperate. “You shouldn’t have said anything at all.
” Then I could still believe this attraction was blissfully one-sided and go about my days searching for Mr. Right instead of obsessing over Mr. Right Next Door.
This ends now.
I yank out my phone, open the first dating app I see, and start swiping. I don’t care who they are. Living, breathing, and single are my only requirements. If they meet those three criteria, I’m going to date them.
“Really mature,” Elliott mutters.
We passed mature the moment he put that damn sock on the damn doorknob.
He sets his mug on the counter. “You’ve made your point.”
Swipe. Match. Swipe. Match.
“Loren. Stop.”
Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Match.
He takes the phone right out of my hands, eyes blazing when he clicks the thing off and sets it down on the counter. “What is wrong with you?”
I don’t even know. I have no right to be annoyed but I am, so I’m just here stewing in it. “What’s wrong with you?”
He takes a deep breath, then exhales through his nose.
Oh, is he annoyed too? Good. “I shouldn’t have said what I did last night.
We are friends. I find you repulsive. I wouldn’t fuck you if you were wearing nothing but a sex bra and matching black panties.
” The corner of his lips twitch. “Blue panties? Red panties?”
“I’m not telling you what color sex bra is.” He doesn’t deserve to know.
His loud clap rattles my eardrums. “Ha! So the legends are true!”
“You’re an asshole, and I’m leaving.”
“Come onnnn. Don’t abandon me. If I promise to behave from now on, will you stay?” He follows me down the hallway like a sulking puppy.
Why does he even care?
Maybe he’s lonely too.
Ha! Look at that sock still hanging on the doorknob like a big old red flag. Elliott Grant isn’t lonely. He can have “company” any time he chooses.
He seems to notice where I’m looking, and his brow furrows. “What the hell?” He stalks over and yanks the sock off the knob, holding it up as if I hadn’t seen it already and been obsessing over it all freaking night. “Did you put this here?”
Yeah, like I put a sock on his doorknob. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yes, Elliott. I came home from my date and the first thing I wanted to do was put a sex sock on your doorknob.”
“That sounds like a euphemism for something I might be up for.”
Can’t he take anything seriously?
“So, you didn’t do it?” he asks.
“Of course not!”
He bunches the sock in his fist. “Fucking August.”
“Are you saying your cousin did this?”
“He’s the only other person who’s been here.”
I know I’ve been na?ve, but that sounds a little too suspicious, even to me. “Maybe it was the girl you brought home last night.” Okay, I did not mean that to come out so shrill, but there isn’t anything I can do about it now.
“I didn’t bring anyone home.”
Yeah, right. “I heard her leave this morning.”
“You heard me taking out the trash.”
He didn’t take out the—
Okay. The trash was taken out. But it’s a little early for stomping down to the dumpsters, especially if he was drinking wine.
His eyes widen. “Is that why you’ve been biting my head off since the moment you stepped out of your room?”
There is no way I’m going to admit it. My pride is already shot after spending half the night tossing and turning, listening for the tell-tale thump of a headboard against the wall. From the silence, I assumed the deed had been done, but maybe he hadn’t brought anyone home after all.
If that’s the case, I feel like such an idiot. Time to go back to my room and hide for at least a year before showing my face again.
Elliott steps forward, his lips curving into a cocky grin. “You jealous, Chaos?”
“Don’t call me that. And don’t be stupid. Why on earth would I be jealous?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who’s jealous.”
“I am not.”
“Mmmhmmm. Keep telling yourself that.”
Why are men so freaking infuriating? “You’re the one who’s jealous.”
“Me?”
“How was the date, Loren? Did you give him a handy in the parking lot?”
“I didn’t ask if you— Wait, did you give him a handy in the parking lot?”
Now, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say his tone rings with jealousy. Which is crazy because I only threw that at him because I didn’t want to admit I was the jealous one.
“And what if I did?”
Hold on. Did his left eye just twitch? Holy shit. It did! His left eye twitched, and that jaw isn’t flexing because he’s enjoying this conversation.
Could it be that Elliott really is jealous? I can think of one way to find out. “What if I told you I let him kiss me?”
His eyes darken. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” The bite in his tone undermines the words. “You’re probably a shitty kisser anyway.”
He did not just say that to me. What an asshole. “I haven’t had any complaints.” Guys love kissing me. If spin the bottle was a competitive sport, I’d totally take the gold medal.
“Maybe not to your face.”
“Excuse me. I am a fantastic kisser.”
He eases closer, assessing me, eyes scanning and brow furrowed. “Mmm… actually, maybe I’m wrong.”
Elliott Grant admitted he was wrong. Write this date down on your calendar, folks; it might never happen again.
“Your lips are kinda full and not chapped or peeling.” His eyes narrow on my mouth. “And you don’t have any cold sores that I can see.”
Cold sores? I’ll give him a cold, sore, kick to the jaw if he doesn’t back the hell up.
He leans back, his hip pressing into the counter. “I take it back. You have the makings of an average kisser.”
Average? Average? “I am not average.” I might be average in bed, but when it comes to making out, I deserve a freaking trophy.
He winks and says, “If you say so, fish lips.”
The petty name-calling is the final straw and for unknown reasons that I’m sure to spend the foreseeable future trying to sort out, I grab him by the back of the neck and tug his mouth down to mine.
He hesitates for only a moment before leaning into me, his soft lips molding to mine like they were made just for me. He tastes like vanilla creamer, a hint of coffee, and shock.
It’s an intoxicating blend of flavors I want to savor. I kiss him slowly and deeply, teasing his tongue with mine, just enough to leave us both clamoring for more.
This is how a first kiss is meant to feel.
Butterflies fluttering rapidly in stomach? Check.
Brain malfunctioning? Check.
Lady parts tingling? Double check.
What started out as a lesson to prove him wrong, starts to feel an awful lot like something else as his hands curl into my hair and he pulls me closer. It feels like maybe all those hours I spent daydreaming of exactly this weren’t so crazy after all.
Elliott’s tongue lashes greedily against mine, and when I pull away, the hottest curse I’ve ever heard falls from his swollen lips as he stares down at me, blinking slowly, his pupils blown out.
God bless my voice for remaining steady when I say, “Tell me I’m average, now, smartass.”
“You were all right,” he rasps.
The fact that he can barely get those words out proves that I am more than all right. Still, his refusal to admit it really pisses me off.
Talk about a sore loser.
“Five out of ten,” he adds.
“Five out of—are you nuts? That was at least an eight.” The only reason it wasn’t higher is because all our clothes are still on.
His smirk returns, the jealous man from only a few moments ago replaced by a smug asshole. “An eight for you, maybe.”
Do I need to kiss him again to—
Wait.
WAIT.
Holy. Shit. “You tricked me into kissing you.”
Elliott swipes a thumb over his lower lip, as if that sexy move can wipe away his smirk. “I goaded you into kissing me. There’s a difference.”
“They’re the same thing.”
“Actually, Loren, tricking implies that you didn’t want to kiss me. Goading means you wanted to but needed that extra little nudge to get off your cute ass and do it.”
It is way too early in the morning to be arguing over semantics. “I didn’t want to—Did you just say I have a cute ass?”
His strong shoulders lift and lower in a casual shrug. “What? Am I not supposed to notice that either? Well, it’s pretty fucking hard when you scamper around in those lacy things you call shorts.”
“They are shorts! And I don’t scamper.”
“Please. You scamper like a fucking chipmunk.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“So are you,” he throws back.
“At least I didn’t trick you into kissing me!”
His head snaps toward the hallway, his brow scrunching and eyes narrowing. “Hey! What’s that over there?”
I twist to see what it is, finding nothing but his couch covered with fluffy pillows. When I turn back, his lips meet my cheek. Desire burns through my—
Nope. Not desire. Let’s go with anger instead. Anger burns through my blood.
“See what I did there?” he says, his tone mocking. “That’s me tricking you for a kiss.”
Fine. Fair enough. He wins words for the day.
He stalks forward, corralling me into the corner of the kitchen, the cold edge of the counter pressing into my backside, his heat overwhelming my senses.
When he speaks, his voice is a dangerous growl, low and sensual, the voice of a man who knows how to get exactly what he wants.
“You want me to kiss you again, Chaos? Give you a second chance to show me what that pretty mouth can do?” His thumb grazes my bottom lip, and my breath catches.
“You think you can do better? I doubt it.”
How the hell is this working? I am a grown woman, confident in her own skin. This childish game should not be making my knees weak or my heart flutter or my thighs press together.
“You’re evil,” I whisper.
For some reason, that makes him smile. “You still want to kiss me though.”
“Do not.”
He eases closer, the heat of his words fanning across my burning cheeks. “Liar.”
Okay, fine. I want to kiss Elliott again. I want him to pin me against this counter and kiss me until neither of us can breathe. I want him to lift me up and fit his hips between my knees and grind himself against me so hard that I shatter.
My eyelids flutter closed and maybe…just maybe… my back arches and my chest thrusts forward and…
Nothing happens.
Not a damn thing.
When I open my eyes, all I see is Elliot’s back as he walks away.