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I feel a grimace on my face. No matter how true it is, hearing another man talk about Zoey like this makes my nerves coil with jealousy. Even though I have no right to be jealous, because Zoey isn’t mine—and never could be.
Luckily for my blood pressure, the guys move on to other topics of discussion. I’m not following it, though, because suddenly I can’t think about anything but Zoey.
How damn good it felt just to sit on the same couch as her the other day; or her shy, slightly embarrassed smile when she stayed true to her word and handed me one of her paperback romance books in Psych class yesterday.
Malicious Hearts,it was called.
Apparently, the female main character never knew her father, and suddenly he seeks her out. She thinks he’s just trying to make up for lost time, but it turns out he’s the head of a major Irish Mafia organization, and he forces her into an arranged marriage with the heir of the rival family who he’s on the verge of war with.
The cover is dark and foreboding, featuring a guy wearing a half-unbuttoned dress shirt to show off his muscular, tattoo-clad chest. I can’t wait to see the guys’ reactions when I start reading it on the bus tomorrow—and Zoey’s reaction while she’s there to witness it.
As my attention detaches from the guys’ conversation, I sweep my gaze around the bar. But I’m not really seeing anything or anyone here. What I’m seeing, in my mind’s eye, is Zoey. Her slick, raven-dark hair; the way a rosy blush looks on her otherwise creamy cheeks; her cute nose, her ears that get pink at the tips when I say something both of us know I shouldn’t; and, of course her eyes.
Her clear, crisp, perfectly blue eyes that …
That I’m literally looking at right now.
My abs clench and my jaws pops as I realize my gaze has suddenly met hers from across the room.
She’s sitting at a table at the other side of the bar with a friend of hers, and it looks like she’s spotted me at the exact moment I’ve spotted her.
Deja-vu hits me like a semi-truck. This is the exact bar where we caught each other’s eye at just about the same distance that separates us now. My pants suddenly feel a whole lot tighter as I’m plunged into memories of what happened shortly after that moment.
Of course, with hindsight being twenty-twenty, I should be able to recognize that what we did was a mistake. But every iota of my heart revolts against that word.
The air in the bar simmers as our eyes stay locked, as I feel her clear blue gaze boring into me. She says something to her friend in the other seat and then stands up from hers, nodding her head to the side without her eyes breaking contact with mine.
The tiny motion sends a pang shooting through my chest. She nodded right in the direction of a short hallway to the side of the bar. Does she want me to meet her there—alone?
I know that’s a mistake.
But that knowledge doesn’t keep me from dipping my chin in a nod.
I tell the guys I’m going to hit up the bathroom and then set off in the same direction I see her walking in. With each step I take, my heart thunders in my chest.
It was a mistake when I reached out and grazed her hand when we were alone in the library.
It was a mistake when I dipped my head down and set my mouth on a collision course with her own when we were alone in the arena hallway.
It was a mistake when I sat next to her on the couch the other day. It’s a mistake every time we let our eyes find each other when we sit close together in Psych class.
And this is the biggest mistake of all.
Meeting her alone at the bar where this all started three months ago. When I step into the small hallway, empty except for us, and notice what she’s wearing, I realize this is more than a mistake—it’s fucking perilous.
She wears a loose, billowy skirt that makes her toned, creamy, shapely legs look so fucking good I could have a heart attack on the spot. And her sweater is just tight enough to remind me of how perfectly her tits fit in my hand.
I should turn around right now. But I don’t.
I step into the short hallway that leads to a door markedstorage. There’s not even an overhead light in this tiny space, only the already dim lighting form the main room filters over, making it feel like we’re shrouded in shadows, like we stole away down a side street with no streetlights on a moonless night.
“Zoey, I don’t know if we should …”
My words die in the air as she reaches up and grabs two tight handfuls of my shirt and pulls me towards her, snatching my lips in a kiss. Fireworks explode on the back of my eyelids as her slick, soft lips slant over mine.
I’m in such shock that my arms are still swinging at my sides when she pulls away and inhales a breath. I’m still bent over when she takes a step back.
Worry clouding her eyes.
