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“Well, I like my cancer in the form of menthols, thank you very much.” Silvia slung her purse over her shoulder and laughed. Her black hair, fashioned into a bob resting below her chin, was stuck to a thin sheen of sweat on her cheek.
A punk rocker to the core, she wore a faded Warped Tour tee and jean shorts with holes in them. Our tastes were similar, except I’d pay for the ripped look where Silvia would make her own clothes. It wasn’t because she couldn’t afford them. She was one of those artsy chicks who enjoyed torturing her parents, a plea to get them to pay attention to her.
As the daughter of a former beauty queen, she didn’t look the part—although she did inherit her mother’s long lashes and perfect complexion—but her mother never glanced up from her martini glass long enough to notice. We were born into families with too much money and zero emphasis on human interaction.
I was about to open my soda when a car swerved next to me, its back tire just missing my foot. Blinded by rage, I gripped the plastic top and lunged my soda at the white Honda Civic.
“Watch it, asshole!” I screamed, my hands above my head.
The car screeched to a halt twenty feet ahead of us as Silvia stood at my side in shock. First, the blinkers turned on, and then a stocky twenty-something boy flung open his door. Dark tattoos covered his forearms that were corded with muscles. He ran his hand through his shaggy auburn hair, spiked up in different places, as he grinned at me.
“Oh, shit.” Silvia slapped her hand over her mouth, her voice full of laughter. “That dude’s gonna murder us. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I shut the trunk and followed Silvia across the lawn. I ran so fast that my heart pounded out of my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, igniting a fire under my skin. It gave me such a rush that I couldn’t hide a satisfied smile as I peeked over my shoulder.
The thrill of doing something wrong, waiting to be caught in the act, always seemed more exciting than sex. Maybe there was something wrong with me, an inner sickness that I needed to address. For whatever reason, those small victories would get my juices flowing.
We yell-laughed, skirting around innocent bystanders, as we made our victory lap. Oblivious to my surroundings, my celebration ended faster than it had begun as I crashed headfirst into a thick wall of hunky man flesh. It happened so fast that I hadn’t had time to brace myself for impact, doing a half flip along with him. He landed on his back with me face-planting on top of him, my breasts pressed against his chin.
Of all the people to bump into, it had to be Luca Marchese. His cocky grin made my lip curl with revulsion even though he seemed to have the opposite effect on my nipples. One glance from him, and they betrayed me.
“Hey, princess.” His voice was deeper, sexier, than I remembered from class.
I blushed ten shades of pink from my cheeks to my neck, distracted by denim-blue irises set under dark brows. I rolled my eyes, attempting to peel myself off his bare chest, but he grabbed my wrists.
“Not so fast. I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
I wiggled free from his grasp, straddling him without meaning to. I held his arms flat against the grass. Our faces were inches apart as I hovered over him, the sexual tension burning between us like a lit match. We shared a short-lived moment until his eyes found my breasts again, and he winked.
“Perv,” I said through clenched teeth.
Lean muscles brushed against my legs as he moved.
“What? You can’t fault me for checking you out”—he tilted his head to the side, his gaze falling over each of my curves—“especially when you’re shoving some of your best features in my face.”
He propped himself up onto his elbow and reached for my waist with his other hand, but I swatted his hand before he could touch me.
“You’re a feisty one. Got a mouth on you, too.” A fire blazed behind those beautiful blue eyes. “What I’d like to do with that dirty mouth of yours,” he said, rolling his tongue over his lip.
Damn, he had nice lips, both full and perfect. Every part of me wanted to lean in and kiss him and shove my fingers through his dark waves. No boy had ever affected me this way. But he was a man, not a boy. With radiant olive skin, chiseled features, and toned in all the right places, he could be a model.
My breath hitched at his comment.
I wasn’t sure, but I swore I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh, which should have freaked me out. Instead, I looked down, irritated that it turned me on more than I cared to admit.
He followed my gaze to his crotch and grinned, confirming my suspicions. “You should come to Delta Sig’s annual beach party. The less you wear, the better.”
“Well, you know what they say. Less is more.” My strange attempt at a joke only fueled the tension between us. “But, no, thanks.”
Tiny bumps ran down my arms and legs, a result of our close proximity. And, of course, he noticed the effect he had on me. He didn’t skip a beat.
Now aware of my body and how it reacted to him, I needed an escape. I stood over Luca, desperate to stop the electricity pulsating through me. Every part of me ached for him, craved his touch. Since I’d knocked him over, I stretched my arm out to help him up, and he accepted. I didn’t have the right to be a total bitch, maybe just a partial one.
Luca wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, the rest of his bare skin glistening in the sunlight. Eye contact proved to be too much for me.
He picked up the pigskin at his feet and pushed a hand through his cropped black hair. Luca had thick hair that moved back into place, like those people in shampoo commercials. With the football held against his hip, he could have been posing for the cover of a magazine, one I would have shamelessly hung on my wall.
