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When was the last time I felt like this?
I rack my brain, but nothing immediately jumps to mind. In the past, when I wanted to sleep with someone, I did it.
What’s the point of waiting or playing games?
And when the relationship inevitably ran its course, I moved on. Although, I have to admit, there’s something to be said for the anticipation that’s flooding through me, ramping me up, turning my insides to a quivering mess. Then again, it would probably be best to sleep with the guy and just get it over with.
All right…maybe not get it over with per se.
But it would be in our best interest to douse the flames that continue to flare to life and get back to what we should have been from the very beginning—stepsiblings.
Or ex-stepsiblings, as the case may be.
Even when we were fourteen years old, there was something that simmered between us. As we became friends and spent more time together, the sexual tension grew until it turned oppressive. I’d assumed he snuffed it out senior year of high school. Little did I realize that it’s been clawing beneath the surface this entire time, waiting to burst free.
And here I’d thought that Ford would jump at the chance to fuck me. Especially after I gave him the green light to proceed in the locker room.
But no.
My brows draw together.
I don’t like this.
Not one bit.
It takes another handful of minutes to fight my way free of the sexual haze that’s fallen over me and glance at my watch.
Ugh.
Now I’m late for class.
Damn Ford.
I hustle over to Wilson Hall, where the music, dance, and theater classes are housed. It’s right next to the auditorium. When I rush in late, huffing and puffing, my instructor shoots me a look full of displeasure. I flash an apologetic wave and strip down to my leotard before getting to work. Two hours later, my muscles feel malleable, and my mind is blissfully clear. That’s exactly what dance does for me. I’m able to work my body over until it’s exhausted and in the process, it frees my mind, allowing it to soar.
It’s what helped me through my childhood when I’d stress about where we were living, Mom’s job at the restaurant, or our finances. Dance saved me. It never failed to transport me to a magical place.
As I slip into my jacket and glance at my phone, a message from Juliette pops up, reminding me that we’re supposed to meet for lunch at the Union in five minutes. I swear under my breath before asking her to pick me up a sandwich. Then I grab my bag and race out the door, down the hall, and into the bright sunshine. Even though there’s a distinct chill in the air, the cool breeze feels good against my overheated cheeks.
It takes another ten minutes to haul ass across campus before I step foot inside the Union. Since it’s noon, the place is alive with activity. Everyone is buzzing around, searching for a table to settle at.
My gaze combs over the sea of students, landing on a bunch of rowdy guys from the football team. Well…maybe that’s not altogether true anymore. Once upon a time, they were nothing but womanizing players. Ever since senior year started, they’ve fallen one at a time, slowly becoming domesticated.
Who would have suspected that when we came in freshman year, that they’d all get snatched up?
Trust me, the girls on this campus cried their little hearts out when Rowan Michaels, Brayden Kendricks, Easton Clarke, Carson Roberts, and Crosby Rhodes were taken off the market.
My attention settles on Brayden. No one can deny that he’s a real heartbreaker. He’s hot enough to give Ford a run for his money. The thought is enough to make me smile.
Sydney Daniels, his soccer-playing girlfriend, flashes a grin and waves when she catches sight of me. We had a business class together freshman year and lived on the same floor in the dorms. I make a mental note to give her a call sometime soon so we can get together. I miss hanging out with her.
After returning the gesture, I search the crowded area for Juliette. Just as I catch sight of her dark head, our gazes lock and she gives me a cheery smile. As I beeline in her direction, a few other girls gravitate toward the empty table. Stella, Viola, and Fallyn. I’ve only met Viola and Fallyn recently. They’re cousins who live together in an apartment off campus. Viola transferred to Western at the beginning of the school year.
From what I’ve noticed, she likes to keep a low profile and doesn’t party. Unlike Juliette, who stays in and studies most weekends, I get the feeling there’s something else holding her back. But I don’t know her well enough to dig deeper. My guess is that she’ll open up on her own when she’s comfortable.
I greet the girls before dropping down onto a chair with a huff. Only now that I’m off my feet do I realize how exhausted I am.
“Hope you don’t mind a turkey and Swiss on toasted ciabatta bread,” Juliette says, sliding the sandwich and a can of sparkling water toward me.
