She Asked for It Page 4

  She lets her head fall back with a feminine chuckle. “You really are shameless.”

  “We have a game thing tonight,” I say quickly before she can leave. It grabs her attention and she looks back at me. “On the field. Nothing big, but you should come.”

  “You’re inviting me to your game?” she asks me with a hint of a smile. It makes her happy, I can tell.

  “I’m going to win you over,” I say, picking up my bag and following her out of the room. “I know you want me,” I tell her, cocky as fuck.

  “We’ll see,” she says softly, letting her gaze roam down my chest to my cock, then back up to my eyes. “Not today though. Get to class,” she commands and her voice hardens.

  “Bossy,” I tease her as she turns left. I debate following her. But now’s not the time. She’s just the right mix of shy and curious, but also confident and sexy as fuck. I watch her disappear before turning right to go to my next class. “Alright, Allie Cat, round one goes to you,” I say lowly, under my breath.

  My dick’s still hard and there’s a trace of a smile left on my lips.

  College just got that much better.

  Chapter 7

  Allison

  * * *

  I shouldn’t be thinking about Dean Warren.

  I definitely shouldn’t be going to this game, for him.

  And the smile on my lips when he does a double take over his shoulder as I sit on the bleachers, that really shouldn’t be showing.

  He’s a mistake waiting to happen.

  The cockiness and arrogance mixed with the hard edge in his eyes are what tell me that much. As if a simple look wasn’t enough to warn me off.

  He’s the type of guy who will force you against a hard wall, lift up your skirt and rip off the thin fabric beneath it with a forceful tug. The type of guy who will hold you there while you scream as he takes you harder and harder.

  He’s the type of guy my mother told me I should stay away from …

  Good thing I stopped listening to my mother years ago.

  A mistake I’ve made before. Not just once or twice, and you’d think I’ve have learned my lesson by now. Maybe I can blame it on insta-lust.

  My heart flicks hard in my chest, hating that I’m in such denial.

  He’s a distraction. Dean is a distraction who could ruin everything. And maybe that’s why I can’t resist him. I clear my throat and square my shoulders as my shoes sink into the grass. The urge to turn around is strong, to not look back.

  But I was going to head this way anyway.

  The thought makes me smile. It almost makes me think that it’s even okay. That everything was meant to work out like this.

  It’s a little late for me to start college, but hey, being thrown to the wolves when you’re legally allowed to drink isn’t the worst thing in the world. I’m only a year behind and I have plenty of catching up to do. Although it’s easy picking the student life back up. I graduated high school, went to community college for a year, then dropped out when Grandmom got sick. A year later and I’m picking up the pieces, but blending in has been easier than I thought it would be.

  “Go State!” I yell out and clap after setting my bag down on the ground.

  There are maybe a dozen people scattered throughout the stands.

  The field is small, as is the university. No one comes here because of sports, that’s for damn sure.

  It’s just a hobby rugby team and there’s not even a real game today. Just some guys fucking around. Shirts versus skin and lucky for me, Dean happens to be one of the ones with no shirt.

  Just as I let my eyes roam down his body, he jolts forward and tackles the shit out of another guy—Daniel, I think. It’s only when the guy stands up that I confirm it’s Daniel.

  Rugby’s a violent sport in a lot of ways.

  The violence is what attracts me, but right now I’m not sure this is what I need. It’s like playing with fire … but that’s what I came to do.

  The men crash together and I keep staring at one in particular. They slam into each other, brutalizing one another, all in the name of a good game.

  It’s not a game to me. There’s too much at risk to call it that.

  My blood heats and my muscles coil; I can’t watch, but I also can’t rip my eyes away.

  Thud. Thud. My heart pounds harder and harder as the memories slowly come back to me and I have to shove them away. Hide them, bury them deep down inside.

  Deep breaths. Calming, deep breaths.

  It only takes a glance in the wrong direction at the wrong time and it all comes back.

  I force a small smile to my lips, unclenching my fists and only just now realizing how my nails dug into my skin. As I reach down for the water bottle in my bag, I lift my gaze back to the field, only to find Dean staring back at me. The grim look proves he was watching me and knowing that, I can’t breathe.

  It’s like he can see right through me. I’m saved by the loud clap of someone else sitting in the bleachers behind me. Our gaze is broken and only then is my body willing to play it off. To relax and pretend like it’s alright.

  Dean is like a drug to a recovering addict.

  He makes me question everything. All the stupid shit I have planned.

  He makes me want to run, but at the same time, he paralyzes me.

  Five more minutes and I’ll leave, I promise myself.

  I’m waiting for them to break up their huddle and then to keep playing, but that’s not what happens.

  The bottle nearly slips from my grasp as Dean strides over to me and the other guys line up on the field without him.

  Dean takes a seat next to me and I’m instantly hit with his warmth and masculine scent. His sweat smells sweet and addictive.

  “What are you doing?” he asks me.

  “I was watching this hot guy who has a crush on me play this dumb sport,” I tell him and fail to hide my smile as I add, “He gave up though.”

  He chuckles and that gorgeous smile flickers onto his face. “I wasn’t sure you were going to stay and I wanted to make sure I told you before you left that we’re having a party tomorrow night at James’s place,” he tells me.

  “First a game and then a party?” I ask him, taking another swig from the bottle and fiddling with the plastic cap in my left hand. “You like asking me on dates, don’t you?”

  He shrugs and glances at the guys on the field, but I keep my eyes on him. “I think you’ll like the party better. I’ll be able to give you a little more attention.”

  I roll my eyes and almost turn back to the field, but I stop myself.

  “You think if you get a little alcohol in me, you’ll have a better chance?” I ask him, although I keep glancing behind him to the field to see who’s watching.

  Dean makes a show of looking over his shoulder in the direction I keep checking out before shifting to block my view and standing a little closer. His broad shoulders tower over me. I haven’t been this close to him yet, and it only makes me want to be closer.

  I can smell his unique, sexy scent and feel the heat in his eyes when I meet his gaze. It’s a heady combination. To have someone you’re innately drawn to so close. To know they want something you want. But to also know it’s the last thing you should do. The temptation heats the suffocating air and everything around us turns to a blur of white noise.

  “I don’t need a better chance,” he finally answers me, his eyes narrowing. “I already told you, I want you and I’m not going to stop until you’re screaming my name just how I want to hear it.”

  “So confident,” I reply although it comes out differently than I’d planned. It was supposed to be sarcastic, but instead, there’s a hint of reverence.

  “Come to the party,” he tells me like it’s a command and ignores the voices on the field. The ones calling out his name to get back. And I use that as my excuse to leave.

  “You go play, and I’ll see you this weekend,” I answer him without thinking.

  “You’re le
aving already?” he asks me and I nod.

  “I’ve got shit to do, now that I have plans for tomorrow.” He likes that; I can tell by the way he smiles, and it does something to me. Something it shouldn’t.

  “Twenty sixteen Broom Street,” he tells me, but I already know the address.

  Chapter 8

  Dean

  * * *

  “So what do you think about college?” Doctor Robinson asks me. He lowers his thick-framed glasses and sets them down on the notepad in his lap. “Is it a good change?”

  My right ankle rests on my left knee as I sit back, running both my hands through my hair. “Yeah, it’s different. It’s good,” I tell him.

  “Talk to me about it,” he prods for more. He’s good at that.

  “I don’t want to disappoint Jack, and I’m grateful. I still don’t know what I want to do though.”

  “Well, it’s only been a week and I’m sure Mr. Henderson wouldn’t have sponsored you if he thought you’d disappoint him.”

  “We all know it was a favor to my uncle. I live off favors,” I tell him flatly, although I don’t look him in the eye. My gaze is on the ceiling fan in the center of the room. When I close my eyes I can just barely feel the soft breeze. I wonder if anyone else in college feels as lost as I do. Like this is their last chance. I’ve been on my last chance for years now, so maybe this is supposed to be my normal.

  “Do you think you don’t deserve it?” he asks me and I lower my gaze so I can meet his eyes. His expression is curious.

  “A free ride to college isn’t something I ever thought I’d get.”

  “And anger management? How about that?” he asks me, shifting in the seat of his dark brown leather chair. “Is that something you thought you’d get?”

  A low chuckle makes my shoulders shake. “Yeah, that makes sense to me,” I answer with a grin.

  “How do you think this is working for you?”

  “I feel good,” I tell him. “It’s nice to just say the shit I’m thinking.”

  “Have you thought about my last suggestion?” he asks me and I shake my head.

  “Well, yeah, I’ve thought about it,” I correct myself, realizing I was answering no to the wrong question. “I’m not doing it though.”

  I left my mother’s house five years ago. From there I survived by hopping from friend to friend. Crashing at my uncle’s when he’d let me. I haven’t gone back to that hellhole my mother calls home and I don’t plan on going back.

  She doesn’t want me there, so why would I?

  “You don’t think your mother would be interested in seeing your progress?” he asks.

  “I don’t see it as progress,” I admit.

  “Why’s that?”

  The answer is obvious. College isn’t a job. There’s no worth to it. No value in it.

  I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life.

  “I don’t see the point to it.” I pause and swallow thickly, bending forward and repositioning so my elbows are on my knees. I can feel the stretch through my back, loosening my tight shoulders and coiled muscles. “I like the team, I like the gym.”

  “The physical release?” he asks me and I can’t help but think of Allison.

  My fingers interlace as I nod. “Yeah, the physical release,” I say and look up at him to keep from thinking about what I’d do to her if I got the chance.

  “And you think you need this physical release?”

  “I need something,” I answer quickly. I don’t tell him the truth. About how all that shit puts me on edge. How it makes me need more. How that alone will never be enough. Deep inside I know it, but I don’t admit it.

  “Anything else?” he asks as if he read my mind.

  “Nothing yet,” I tell him and falter, but decide to talk about her. Why the hell not? It’s better than talking about my emotions. How easily the hate comes out. How I can’t control the shit I say and the shit I do sometimes.

  Well, maybe not so much that I can’t, but that I don’t want to.

  “There’s this girl,” I start telling him while I pick up the fidget block on the glass coffee table. It’s pointless. A block of buttons and switches that do nothing, but it keeps my hands busy.

  “She’s real flirtatious and cute. We have chemistry together.” After seeing his brow raise, I add to clarify, “The class.” It’s quiet as he scribbles on the notepad.

  “I keep running into her,” I tell him. “So, I guess she’s on my mind because of that.”

  “So you’re seeing her?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Have you been physical?” he asks me.

  I tell him no, but in my head? Fuck yeah. Imagining getting her under me has been a good distraction.

  That second day of class, she was dressed in a tight shirt and a little ass skirt.

  The shirt wasn’t see-through like I was fantasizing about, but with the blue plaid skirt, she was pushing that schoolgirl look. And she did a damn fine job of it too.

  All during class, all I did was think about everything I could do to her. How I could bend this shy girl over the desk so easily.

  Every time she readjusted in her seat, I imagined me behind her, lifting her ass up and positioning her just how I wanted. I could hear how the desk would scrape across the floor as I pounded into her.

  It only took a few minutes before I was rock hard and eager to see just what I’d have to do to get under that skirt.

  The second class was over, Little Miss Brunette, my personal tease, was gone before I even shoved my notebook into my bag.

  “Why do you think you’re drawn to her?” he asks me, pulling me from the explicit thoughts running through my head.

  “She’s got a mouth on her,” I reply and think I should elaborate on how it’s what she says, more than her body, that gets me going. But shit, either way you look at it is accurate.

  “So, you’re going to pursue her?” he asks me, picking up the notebook again to jot something down.

  If by pursue her, he means fuck her until my cock is spent, then yes, that’s what I’m planning.

  I don’t tell him that though, I just nod my head once when he looks up.

  “So you have your workout sessions, your team sport, you have a love interest,” he lists then pauses as I snort, but then I clear my throat and gesture for him to continue.

  “Have you thought about changing your major?” he asks me, but then adds, “It’s just something to keep in mind. I know it’s still early, but undecided is not exactly what you want from this experience, is it?”

  “No, I definitely want to figure shit out,” I admit and toss the fidget block back on the table. “I feel wound tight, like I just need something.”

  “What do you need?” he asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I want to know though.” I nod my head, swallowing back the disappointment, the fear that I’ll never know what I need to get over this anger. Or worse, that it’s just too late.

  I have a good idea why I’m like this. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. But I don’t know how to change and even worse, I don’t know what I’ll be like when I do. And that scares the shit out of me.

  According to the good doctor, college is where you go to find out who you are. So far I’ve learned I’m a man who has a vivid imagination when a sexy piece of ass wears a short plaid skirt to class. There’s a shocker.

  Chapter 9

  Allison

  * * *

  “Your flowers are dying,” I say out loud although there’s no one here. My fingertips brush against the soft petals on a single bloom that’s still alive. “This one will be dead soon too,” I say and purse my lips, letting my hand fall. “This window will be good for you though,” I talk as I water the first plant and then the next in the large bay window. It faces east and there’s plenty of sun.

  This was my grandmother’s therapy. Plants need to be talked to, she used to tell me. I tho
ught she was crazy, but I did it anyway.

  And when she gave me a violet of my own, I took her advice. Shame the thing’s dying. Maybe I should talk more.

  My throat feels dry and itchy when I stand back, no longer busying myself.

  “Miss you,” I whisper. “You wouldn’t be so proud of me if you were here though,” I admit. I spent my first year out of high school with my grandmother. She needed someone and I did too. She’d have liked this house, I think. I’m happy I was able to rent it. The price is good, but the location is everything. It’s exactly where I need it to be.

  For the longest time Grandmom was the only one I talked to. I’d work at the bakery, take care of Grandmom and then go home to sleep. It kept me busy and somehow my grandmother rubbed off on me. Over time it became easier to refuse to let anyone in.

  Maybe it’s because she’s a hard woman too. Or was. And she knew how hard it was to give even a little piece to anyone. Opening up a little inevitably means breaking down.

  She was a hard woman and showed me how to survive being this way.

  But now she’s gone and I’m here all alone.

  The click of the air conditioner is met with the curtains swaying. They’re bright white with blue birds scattered across them. This is the only area in the entire house that’s decorated; it’s kind of the dining room, but the table is strangely small for such a large room. And I don’t have any desire to put in any effort anywhere else. I can’t stand to be here any longer than I have to.

  At that thought, I head to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

  The electric kettle is Grandmom’s too. Another reminder.

  The plants, the tea ... well, maybe that’s it.

  Standing at the linoleum counter I look around the mostly empty kitchen. I don’t even have cutlery. But that’s okay, I don’t think I’ll be staying here long. “I brought your plants though,” I say out loud like a fucking lunatic. Does it make it any better if I know I’m unwell?