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I take a deep breath, exhale slowly, ready the word on my tongue. "Cu..." My cheeks flush. "Cunt."
"Like it means something to you."
I stare at the white tile floor. The fluorescent lights are casting a yellow gaze. "Cunt."
Brendon laughs. "You can admit it bothers you."
"It doesn't."
"Then look me in the eyes when you say it."
I stare back into Brendon's dark eyes. I have to prove this. That I'm not this pathetic good girl who can't even say a dirty word. "Cu..." God, I'm going to die of embarrassment. But I hold strong. I push past my blush. "Cunt."
A salesguy is moving in our direction. I turn to the left. To the home goods. So no one will hear us.
Or see me blushing like a tomato.
He takes the backpack from me. Replaces it with my purse. His fingertips skim my neck. My collarbone.
It's like he's reminding me I'm his.
But I'm not.
He's made that abundantly clear.
"Have you?" he asks.
"What?"
He shakes his head no. "Have you ever let a guy between your legs?" That same jealousy seeps into his voice.
"Did you bet Dean about that too?"
"No."
"Will you tell him?"
"No. I shouldn't have told him shit."
Maybe. But I want him bragging to his friends about us. About being with me. I want him so infatuated with me, with my body, with fucking me, that he can't keep his mouth shut.
"Are you going to tell him about this conversation?"
"No." He chuckles. "I don't need anyone knowing I'm corrupting you."
I move forward. To the expensive notebooks. They're muted. Masculine. Dark. I pick up a black one. It's leather-bound with a magnetic snap. "You are?"
"I just got you to say cunt in a shopping mall."
My laugh is more nervous than anything. "I liked it."
"Even worse."
"No, like you said." I force myself to turn back to him. To look him in the eyes. I can't stand Brendon thinking he isn't good for me. Even if this whole hot and cold act of his is driving me bonkers. "It's a powerful word. A tool."
"You're only interested as a writer?"
I nod.
