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How could he do that? How could he walk up and kiss me in front of everyone without an explanation?
I’ll see you tonight.
What the hell is that? Did he think if he kissed me with no warning, I’d look up at him all doe-eyed and do whatever he says?
Jackson Phillips is out of his goddamn mind.
I’m going to march in there and ask—no, demand—he tell me what the hell he was thinking. I’m going to let him have it. I want to see him scared. He’s going to regret ever messing with me like this. He’ll wish he never walked over and put his mouth on mine.
And knotted his fingers in my hair.
And slipped his tongue . . .
Fuck that kiss. It was the type of kiss that somehow had the power to transport me to a different time and place, and he had no business being the one to give it to me. Even as I walk, I can’t help brushing my fingers against my lips at the memory. I should have pushed him away—or slapped him.
The walk back to the dorm has me spiraling into a deeper rage. I pick up my pace, determined not to lose focus. The heavy door that leads into the building feels like paper as adrenaline courses through me. I don’t bother waiting for the elevator. I don’t think I’d be able to stand still right now. Instead, I head for the staircase and let my feet pound out some of what I’m feeling as I take the steps two at a time.
Breathing hard, I enter our familiar hallway. I know he’s here. “R U Mine?” by Arctic Monkeys pounds through his stereo speakers. I stomp down the hall until I reach his open door, and the music is loud enough to drown out all of it because he has no idea I’m standing here. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor between his feet. It isn’t until I’ve slammed the door shut and am standing right in front of him that he finally looks up.
He kissed me in front of everyone as if I were his, but I’m not—and I never will be. How his lips felt on mine may be trying to trick me into thinking Jackson and I have chemistry, but that’s only physical. In the real world, Jackson and I don’t work.
He doesn’t even stand. I should have known he wouldn’t be afraid. His gaze just slowly trails up my body like he’s been expecting me and has already accepted his fate. When his eyes finally work their way up to meet mine, there’s no remorse behind them.
And he doesn’t look scared at all.
Sitting up straight, he leans back on his hands, and if anything, those storm-like eyes are full of challenge.
“What the hell, Jackson!” My chest rises and falls as I stare down at him, waiting for a reaction—waiting for anything.
He cocks an eyebrow. That’s all I get.
“You kissed me!” I blurt.
He tilts his head. “I know. I was there.”
“Why?” I demand. “Why did you do that in front of everyone?”
He shakes his head like my question somehow disappoints him. “You mean in front of Keith?” He leans forward, looking up at me, but even though I’m the one towering over him, I still feel like he holds all the power. “I put that guy out of his misery. You should thank me.”
I scoff. “I should thank you?”
“Either you or him,” he muses, and I roll my eyes. He catches my reaction, and heat flares behind his gaze. “At least now he knows how you feel.”
I blink, unable to comprehend the audacity. “How I—” I shake my head. “How I feel?”
“You know it’s not healthy to keep everything bottled up the way you do. You’re so worried about everyone else, you put yourself last.”
“You don’t know me,” I snap. I can’t believe I followed him here. This is probably what he wanted all along. He wanted me to come in here just so he could act like he knows me better than I know myself. “You are such an asshole,” I say under my breath as I go to walk away from him, but his hands catch me on either side of my thighs, stilling me.
He turns me to face him, nodding as his gaze trails down the scope of my body again, and I suddenly wish I had something to hide behind. “Yeah.” He pulls me a step closer to him. “I’m the asshole.”
“What are you doing?” My traitorous voice shakes, and I clench my jaw.
His thumbs graze the outside of my jeans, lighting tiny fires in their wake, but he says nothing.
I’m completely frozen, each subtle movement made by him sending me further into paralysis. “What are you doing?” I ask again because he’s still touching me, and it feels like the wiring to my brain is short-circuiting. I can’t think. All I can do is feel—the heat from his hands, the slightest brush of his thumb, my pounding heart.
A faint smile pulls at his lips, and I hate that he knows how he affects me. “I want to do it again.” His gaze shifts to the door before settling back on me.
