Chapter 3
Indie
Wet Dreams – Artemas
Age Twenty
It’s the end of our third semester. Jenna has somehow managed to waggle us into her friend’s graduation party from the year above.
The frat house is full to the brim with people, so thankfully, no one has spotted that we’re technically not supposed to be here.
I turn and fix my hair in the games room window, fingers running through my dark curls to make sure they’re not tangled.
A sigh sounds through the air.
“Girl, if he ever gets his hands on you, I think the least of your worries is tuggy hair,” Jenna mumbles beside me.
My neck almost cracks in half to look at her, my hair whipping me in the process.
“What are you talking about?” I ask dumbly, and it causes her to smirk, wiggling her eyebrows from the armchair.
“Don’t play innocent, why do you think I brought us here? It’s now or never, Indigo, I can’t bear to see this go on for a day longer.”
My eyes do a scope of the games room. Three pool tables stretch across the floor behind me, and when I see the hidden topic of our conversation, my heart grinds to a halt.
Saint Blackwood.
He’s leaning against the unoccupied table, a beer dangling between his fingers, and his other hand gripped around a pool cue between his legs.
Fucking hell.
He’s so goddamn beautiful, and despite his name, I could bet my entire future degree he was crafted by the devil.
It feels like a sin to even look at him.
I’ve been obsessively, painfully and secretly infatuated with him since I was twelve years old.
When the floppy-haired new kid from England turned up for his first day in my class, I was besotted.
At first, I thought it was a childish crush, but the older I got, the more intense my feelings for him burned.
Worse since I started university.
I want to blame it on hormones, but not a day has gone by where I don’t think about him.
Whenever he speaks to me now, I get butterflies. I’m beginning to think he had a second bout of puberty, because in the last couple of years he’s changed so much.
I don’t have issues talking to guys, but when I speak to Saint? I get heart eyes and have to fight to contain my drool.
I’ve never been in a proper relationship, and the root cause is the six-foot-six god that radiates an utterly menacing demeanour.
I haven’t taken an interest in another soul, never been able to connect with anyone because they’re not like him.
The worst of it is, he’s got this flirtatious manner around him, that cocky bad-boy English vibe going on. I don’t know if it’s possible, but it’s been intensifying the older we get.
There’s always been something dark and mysterious hidden beneath him, and I desperately want to shine a light on it.
Saint pushes off the table, and those smoky-grey eyes of his pin me in place.
My breathing stutters as we stare at each other. I want to look away, but I can’t—the alcohol fuelling my bravery.
The corner of his lip cocks upwards.
Jesus, is it hot in here?
The skin on my cheeks flares to life, and I shift my gaze back to Jenna as I brush my hair behind my back, a smug look etching her face.
“I think you two should just give it up and get it on. It’s been fucking years of tiptoeing around each other. Give in to the yearn, Indie.”
I swat my hand against her shoulder.
“He doesn’t like me like that, we’re just friends,” I whisper, keeping my voice down in case he hears.
“Who are you two gossiping about?” Rex—Saint’s best friend and Jenna’s fellow obsession—comes to sit next to us, pulling her into his lap.
We found out last year they’re sleeping with each other, but Jenna says it’s nothing serious, friends with benefits.
If I’m honest, I think she’s plagued by a branch of the same ignorance I have.
“Never mind, nosey,” she says, leaning back against his chest.
Glancing away from their public display of affection, I look back towards the table, finding myself engrossed by the way Saint moves.
His black T-shirt strains against his lean muscles, enhancing that natural light tan he always seems to sport, the veins along his bare arms protruding as he lines up the cue.
The alcohol and lust-fuelled desire cause an ache to rise between my thighs.
I’d watch this man mop the floor and find it fascinating.
A simple movement like that should not have me containing pants.
Mind you, if he comes over here and even attempts to speak to me right now, I’d probably bark like a dog instead of using my words.
Regina is the last to join us, evidently successful in her hunt to supply our almost drained liquor supply.
“Brought the stash,” she announces, giving each of us a hug in greeting whilst she holds my brother-in-law’s Absconditus vodka bottle. They keep this stuff locked up tight since the last time I got caught army-crawling it out of Louisa’s house.
I sneakily risk another glance at Saint whilst they chat.
“Give me a game, Gina?” Rex asks, and she drops down in the space beside him and Jenna.
“Are you going to throw a bitch fit if I beat you again?”
Her response causes a bicker between the two of them to break out, Jenna stepping in to defend her.
Though, if I were to be honest, Regina did take it a step too far and print out the photo she took of the scoreboard, slipping it under Saint and Rex’s dorm room door every time she passed.
“How about you, Indie?”
I snap my head back and stare at Rex wide eyed; I’m going to give myself whiplash tonight.
“Oh no, I’m good. I don’t know how to play.” I release a deep breath. At least he never caught me staring at—
“Saint can show you how? Hey, Saint!”
Oh, dear God, no.
I almost topple to the side when Saint flicks his gaze towards us.
Fuck!
I glare at Jenna, who bats her lashes innocently at me. “Sorry girl, sometimes we need a little push. We all need out of our misery just as much as you two.”
I grind my jaw, fighting the urge to groan out loud.
“More like you gave me a fucking shove, don’t you think?” I whisper-yell at her, and she laughs, bringing her cup up to tap with mine.
“You got this, you’re already friends, just don’t act weird,” Regina adds, and the groan comes out of me anyway.
Fucking traitors.
Jenna and Regina know I like Saint; I confessed it during our last year of high school, but apparently it was old news to them.
That seemed to have sparked Jenna’s matchmaking career, and since she’s been with Rex, the two of them have been slyly working towards getting us together.
Rex apparently told her Saint gives off the same vibes, but he’s never given off any signs to me that he does. The man plays it as cool as ice.
Although, apparently I’m blind and in denial to it, according to the girls.
I can feel him before I see him, the cables in my brain already popping off their connection, his looming figure coming up behind me, causing the back of my neck to prickle.
“You show Indie here how to pool?” Rex says, and my jaw grinds as I turn to look at Saint.
My bare shoulder brushes against his bicep, the small amount of contact sending electricity down to the tips of my fingers.
“Sure.”
That thick accent weakens me at the knees.
He’s never lost it since moving here, and I have never been so thankful for anything.
He heads over to the furthest away table, and I look back at the three of them all plastered together, the same smug smile on each of their faces. They might as well have a bag of popcorn between them.
“You dicks, I see how it is!”
I can’t help the smile that wants to break free.
They’re sitting there like they’re on a judging panel, waiting to see the results of the act they’ve voted for.
“Rooting for you, Indigo,” Rex says, adding a wink as he uses a childhood nickname Jenna’s had for me since we were kids, now adopting it.
Huffing, I down my entire drink, shoving the cup at Jenna as I turn on my heels and head towards the back of the room.
My nerve endings feel on fire.
It’s not that I can’t hold a conversation with Saint; I just get lost in his eyes and forget what he’s saying.
There should be a fucking cap on the good-looking meter, because it’s dangerous for my health.
He even has a way of speaking that makes everything sound erotic, and it’s usually followed by the most wicked thoughts conjuring in my mind.
Normally, I have to make an excuse to leave, because I can feel the blush creeping up on my cheeks. And then I freak out like he can see the unadulterated images that pollute my brain.
When I reach him, he hands me a cue with that panty-dropping smile, and I slowly take it from him, but our gazes seem to fuse together at that moment.
I go to speak, but the alcohol from my downed drink still burns at the back of my throat, so I wisely clear it before I open my mouth and embarrass myself.
“I have no idea what I’m doing by the way.”
His lips flicker again at the corners, causing my heart to expand.
“Lucky for you, I’m a good teacher,” he says as he walks behind me.
This.
This is exactly what I mean.
Now my brain is fighting to rewire itself, but I’m colourblind and looking for the red cable.
I glance up towards where the guys were sitting; all three of them have disappeared, along with the other two tables now suspiciously vacant. Saint and I are completely alone in the games room.
Those little shits.
“You know how to get in the position?” he asks, and I bite my tongue so hard to stop the giggle that almost bursts past my lips.
That last drink was strong, and I can already feel it floating through my head.
Clutching on to any scrapes of braveness it’s left for me, I look over my shoulder to see him mere inches from me.
“No, can you help put me in it?”
I watch as his gaze drops to the floor, and he runs his tongue along his teeth.
Fucking hell, that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen him do. I’m about to start howling if I don’t get myself under control, an embarrassment to femininity.
I take a deep inhale as he leans in closer, turning myself back towards the table.
His breath traces the top of my bare shoulder, my back now flush with his front. The gallops my heart moves at are life threatening as his hands slowly glide up my arms, goosebumps forming in the wake of his touch.
“Put your hands like this to hold the cue properly,” he says in my ear, placing his large paws over mine, guiding them down the pool stick.
“Now, you need to bend over.”
I can feel the smile through his words, and it coaxes my own out.
“I’d usually expect a guy to at least buy me a drink first.”
I like brave Indie; she might be channelled by vodka, but I do like her drunken courage.
My spine vibrates with his deep laugh, echoing through to my chest, and I lean over the table so that I’m fully bent at the waist as he guides me.
Saint’s entire body engulfs my own. I’m only five foot four; he’s a goliath compared to me.
Another bout of bravery hits me, or maybe it’s the lust-filled fever. I do something I’ve never done.
My back subtly arches, my ass now fully pressed against his waist. His unmistakable groan filters through my ear, and damn would I love to hear that in a different position than this.
“Now what?” I whisper, feeling my heart thump against my chest; it’s beating so hard, I’m surprised the tempo can’t be heard clattering off the pool table.
“You keep rubbing your ass against me, and I’m losing my train of thought.”
I smile proudly to myself. The shy version of me does a quick applaud in my head, happy to hear that I might not be alone as I teeter on the edge.
And maybe, this isn’t a one-way street on the path.
“Sorry.” I nudge forward slightly, but he steps into me further, not breaking our contact, my breath catching in my chest.
“When you break the little triangle in the middle there, whatever suit you pocket is yours for the rest of the game. You can’t pocket the dark eight-ball on the first go. You need to try to get your entire suit pocketed before you do that.”
Saints goes on telling me the rest of the rules, the fouls, and then shows me how to use the cue. The alcohol is fully submerged in my system by the time he’s finished.
And I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about this game.
Only that his voice would make the alphabet sound hot.
I need to get a grip.
He pats my waist, and I push up from the table to turn around, but he’s got me caged in. The notes of his aftershave send my head spinning, stronger than any liquor I could ever consume.
I’m playing a game of Russian roulette with my heart, being this close.
“Now, show me.”
My eyes widen.
“Show you?” I parrot back to him.
Oh hell, I really, really should have been paying attention.
He smirks and says, “What I just told you?” eyeing the table behind me.
I open my mouth to say something, but the words get stuck.
How do I explain I have no idea how to play this game, never mind hold the damn stick, because I was too lost in listening to his voice like it was a spicy audiobook?
“I-I think I might need a couple more lessons before I attempt to do that,” I say, and the most peculiar thing happens.
Those grey eyes darken, gaze dropping to my lips, and then lazily drag back to my eyes.
It causes my pulse to roar in my ears; the temptation to just lean forward slightly and kiss him is astronomically high.
I’d never live down that embarrassment. I’d need to move to outer fucking space if he turned me down.
His lips tilt up at the corners, and he runs a hand through his thick, dark locks. “Well, you know where to find me if you want it,” he adds, and I find myself still in a trance looking at him.
I’ve been relatively within this parameter of space with Saint before; our group has been close since we were kids. We’ve had drunken pictures together, usually him putting me in a headlock right when the snap goes off.
But this?
This feels like I’ve trodden too close to danger, and my naive little mind is ignoring the warning signs, itching to get closer.
He dips down to my level. “Indie?”
I snap right out of it.
“Thanks for that, I owe you one,” I say, a blush probably enhancing the contour on my cheeks. He laughs whilst stretching to his full height; my eyes follow him up.
He stares down at me, his dark, menacing gaze holding me prisoner.
Something inside me purrs at the thought of being the centre of this man’s attention like this at all times.
“I’ll see you around,” he says, giving me a wink before slipping out of the room, leaving me struggling to breathe.