I guess he pretty much covered it all right there.
I slipped around him as he took his fist and slammed it into the spot where I’d been.
I put my jacket on, still hoping maybe he would turn and talk to me, but he didn’t. The cold beckoned and I answered, walking out of his apartment and into the night.
“Sometimes being a dandelion blows.”
–Dovey
COLD.
The icy wind pummeled me as I headed for my car. My feet pounded into the sidewalk, automatically knowing where to go, taking the side streets that led to the main part of BA’s quad and parking area. I burrowed deeper into my coat, pulling the top of it over my mouth.
Like a true Texan, I wasn’t prepared for these freezing temps.
The world was dead-quiet and frozen, and the bleakness of it ate at my gut. Pulling out my cell, I stared at it, but there was no one to call.
I was alone.
Spider had been my one constant, but he’d tossed me out of his apartment and into the cold.
I clutched my dandelion necklace, remembering another time when Cuba had brought me to his house. And I hadn’t been alone. I’d felt good and warm and loved.
My throat thickened at the beauty we’d shared, and I crouched over in the snow, gasping, trying to stop the memories from taking up residence in my head.
But, like the falling snow, the past fell all around me…
A few weeks after Vespucci’s, Cuba and I walked out of a late movie. It was our fifth date.
He stroked my palm with his thumb. “Come home with me. We have a guest bedroom, and my parents won’t mind. It’s too late for you to drive home tonight anyway.”
Sarah wouldn’t mind. I stayed with Spider all the time.
“Are you sure your parents don’t mind?”
“Positive. And if they’re up, I want them to meet you.” He gave me a long look. “I think they’ll love you, Dovey, especially my dad.”
We reached his house, and pulled into a long winding drive that led to a mansion, its exterior reminding me of a castle in Europe. He let us into the darkened house by a side door next to the kitchen area. My eyes adjusted, taking in big pieces of fancy furniture and heavy draperies. We made our way upstairs, and he showed me his room, a spacious blue and white themed space with a king sized bed.
“What happened to the guest room?” I asked, arching a brow.
“I promise to be good,” he countered, shuffling his feet.
I remembered his reputation and my doubts came back. “Was this a ploy so you can have sex with me?”
He crossed his arms. “Stop putting yourself down. And insulting me. I brought you here because I don’t want you out of my sight.” He shrugged. “And if I wanted to have sex with you, I’d tell you up front.”
But I wasn’t sure, and I had his parents to think about, so we decided on the bedroom across the hall from his. Decorated in sage and ivory, the new bedroom was beautiful, like something out of a magazine.
“Your mom has great taste,” I murmured, running my hands over the damask bedspread.
“She didn’t do it. Some decorator did.” His voice sounded off when he talked about her.
“Goodnight,” he told me after we’d kissed, touching my cheek briefly.
And then he walked out. Just like that.
Five minutes later, I practically ran from the room, the door banging against the hallway as I popped it open.
He opened his door and my mouth dropped. He stood there in a cocky way, shirtless in just his track pants and nothing else. I mean, I’d touched him everywhere on top of his clothes, but I hadn’t seen him bare-chested yet. I swallowed.
“Dovey? You need something?”
“You,” I said. “Sleep only though. No sexy stuff. And you gotta put some clothes on.”
He smiled and led me back to his room. After watching some mindless television together and cuddling in his bed, I grew sleepy and decided I’d shower. I’d spent three hours in the studio today and going without one seemed wrong.
So, I went into his bathroom and took a fast one, anxious to get back to him. Then, I dried off and put on one of his football jersey’s he’d given me.
The door opened, and he stepped inside the steamy bathroom.
I froze.
“You look hot,” he murmured.
I blushed. All I had on was a shirt and panties. “Thank you.”
“Think I need a shower, too,” he said, his fingers pulling up from the neck and easing off the T shirt he’d put on earlier. Broad and tan, I wanted to run my hands over every hard muscle on his chest and down to his chiseled abs. I glanced at the track pants he’d put on and the obvious bulge he sported.
Did his lower body match the rest of him? Was it all sinewy muscle and big?
Just. Yeah. That thought got stuck in my head and wouldn’t let go.
“You staying?” he asked, a little smile working his face. Pleased at my open admiration, probably.
“No.” But I made no move to go.
His smile broadened, and he pivoted to turn on the shower, the whishing sound of the water filling the room. My eyes got arrested by the muscles in his back, at how they twitched and rippled. Football and rowing had been good to him. Very good.
He hooked his thumbs into his pants, paused a moment—maybe waiting to see if I’d run from the room?—but when I didn’t budge, he slid them and his underwear off. My mouth opened. Cuba Hudson, the most popular guy at Briarcrest was standing right in front of me, naked and beautiful. And like the cocky bastard he was, he posed for me, his big muscles making me vibrate all over. Need for him slammed into me.