Just who does he think he is? “I was invited. Dawson invited Riley and me, and then Tyrese told me to bring my roommate.”
“I don’t think Riley is even here.”
“I know. I haven’t seen him yet.”
“So, you like beer?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’d rather have a bottle, like a Corona or something, but it’s whatever.”
“I’ll see I have it next time.”
“You’ll have it? You act like this is your party.”
“Well, that’s because it is. My room. My party.”
“Well big shot, if that’s the case, what do you have besides beer?”
“You do drugs?”
“No! Do you?”
“No, I’m not into that shit, but plenty of people here are.” He nods his head toward Whitney, who snorts cocaine out of her fingernail and then starts making out with Jake. “I just smoke some.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He flashes me a grin. “Tell you what. Come across the hall to Bryce’s room, that’s where we keep the good stuff. I’ll make you a drink.”
He leads me out of the party and across the hall, opens the door to an empty dorm room, turns on a lamp, then gently pushes me up against the door and kisses me.
Again, it’s a slow, soft, amazing kiss. The kind of kiss that makes me feel like he’s kissing my soul.
Oh my gosh. What the heck does that even mean? Kissing my soul? I’m seriously losing it here.
It’s official. Almost getting kidnapped has affected me. I definitely have some sort of post-traumatic stress thing, and the symptoms must include having irrational thoughts about Hottie gods.
Aiden’s hands are very appropriately placed around my waist and are not moving.
Damn it, man.
Move your hands.
Kiss me with your tongue.
Take my shirt off.
Attack me already. Please! I can’t take it anymore.
But I don’t say any of that. I just savor each and every slow, amazing, and tongue-free kiss.
Maybe he was born without a tongue, I think for a brief second, but then I realize that I am dumb because he wouldn’t be able to talk if he didn’t, now would he?
He stops kissing me and looks deep into my eyes. I seriously should have guzzled a few shots the second I got here.
But I had no idea he would be here!
The way he’s looking at me is sorta unnerving but, at the same time, like the kiss, it electrifies me. His face is close to mine, but not so much that he is, like, blurry to look at. I figure if he can stare at me, then I can stare back.
And I take in every curve and angle of his face.
The way his jawline is flexing slightly. How his eyelashes are a dark, dark brown and curl upward. How he has a sexy teeny freckle just to the side of his left cheek. How his textbook lips are the exact color of the pale pink roses Tommy gave Mom for their anniversary, and how the sides of his mouth are turning up, starting to smile at me. He blinks slowly. When his eyes open, I study the emerald green of his irises, how they have little flecks of blue in them and maybe even a little golden around the edges. I feel like time is standing still again.
He slides his hands up into my hair and leans in to kiss me again. My body is trying to be good, but I can’t stop it from leaning into him. Melding to his. I could stay this way forever.
He stops kissing me, looks deeply into my eyes again, and tells me he loves me.
Oh, wait.
He didn’t say that.
I just thought that.
Well, I thought his eyes told me that.
Shut up! It’s what it felt like.
And what the hell is with the going so slow? Does he not want to make out with me? Is he gay?
Finally he says, “You should probably go back and check on your friend. Those guys will get her drunk and take advantage of her.”
“We didn’t drink before we came. She can’t be drunk yet, and you promised me a drink.”
“Also, I don’t want people to notice we’ve been gone very long. They’ll think we’re having sex. We don’t want to ruin your reputation on your second day.”
“I think maybe you just don’t want to be alone with me. I don’t understand. You act like you’re all into me, but then we barely kiss.”
I get irritated and frustrated by this, but no way am I going to be the one to move things along.
And I thought he was a player.
So why isn’t he trying to play me? To use me? To take advantage of me?
I shoulda pretended to be drunk, maybe?
He doesn’t really say anything to me, just shakes his head and says, “You just don’t get it, do you?”
And I’m thinking, no, I’m obviously not getting it tonight.
“Apparently not,” I say. Then I storm past him, across the hall, and back into the party.
But I don’t really feel like partying anymore. I want to go home and cry. And what the hell don’t I get?! I mean, besides a good make-out session with the god of all Hotties.
I look around for Katie, find her swigging whiskey straight from the bottle and sitting on Tyrese’s lap.
They start to make out.