Page 141 of Faking the Goal

"Seriously, Trouble. I wasn't staring because I thought the dress was too revealing. I was staring because you're fucking glowing in it."

Her brows lift, and the corner of her mouth curls. "Wow. Two compliments in less than thirty seconds." She presses a hand dramatically to her chest. "Careful, Ken-chan. At this rate, you're going to use up your entire yearly supply before we even get to the party."

A laugh slips out of me. "I can give you compliments."

"Since when?"

"Since I started having reasons to."

Her smile falters for half a second, and the pink in her cheeks deepens.

Fuck.

I like doing that to her.

My hands stay on her waist as I look at her. "I'm sorry I ever made you feel like you needed to second-guess what you wear around me. I misjudged you, and I made you feel small over something that was never wrong with you in the first place."

Her expression softens.

"I was the problem. Not your clothes. Not how much skin you showed. Not you." My thumbs brush lightly against her sides. "So don't ever stand in front of your closet wondering whether something is going to make me think less of you. Wear whatever makes you feel good. Wear whatever makes you feel like yourself. I don't ever want you changing pieces of yourself just to make them easier for me to swallow."

For a moment, she simply looks at me, and the softness that settles over her face feels like sunlight breaking through a week of rain. Then a tiny smile curves her lips, genuine enough that something warm unfurls behind my ribs.

"Good," she says, and I immediately recognize the wicked little glint returning to her eyes. "Because if you ever say anything about my clothes again, I'll knee you so hard in the balls they'll relocate somewhere around your throat."

I grimace as an imaginary bolt of pain shoots through my groin purely from the visual, and my hand nearly moves down to protect the family jewels on instinct. "Please don't."

Her laugh comes out bright and completely unrestrained. "Fine, fine. If you behave, I'll behave."

I give her a skeptical look because I've known Taylor long enough now to recognize a lie when I hear one.

Her grin widens.

"Sort of."

Taylor walks into the frat house a few steps ahead of me, and almost immediately, heads start turning.

Mostly male ones.

Of course.

We barely make it through the front room before someone calls her name from across the crowd. Then another guy spots her and lifts his drink in greeting. Some asshole near the stairs actually whistles, while two others practically trip over each other trying to get her attention.

"Taylor!"

"Holy shit, T!"

"Where the hell have you been?"

She laughs and waves at a few of them as she keeps walking, apparently completely accustomed to this kind of reception.

I'm not.

My jaw tightens as another guy looks her over with absolutely no attempt to hide what he's thinking. His eyes travel down her dress and linger on her legs before he flashes her a grin that tells me he's either slept with her before or desperately wants to.

Then my brain supplies an unpleasant third possibility.

How many of these guys has she slept with?