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“Is that Eminem?” I yell, just as the chorus to “The Real Slim Shady” warbles from the speakers. Scantily clad people are grinding against each other to the rhythm. Couples make out on the couch while they clutch red Solo cups. In the kitchen, a crowd is cheering over a lively game of beer pong. There’s a keg in the corner.
“God, I feel like l just stepped into a teen movie from the nineties,” I say, looking around with raised eyebrows.
“And what do you have against nineties teen flicks?” asks a deep voice from behind me.
I turn to find Trey leaning against the wall. His blond hair falls haphazardly over his warm brown eyes framed by long, thick lashes. He’s beautiful, and he looks delicious in dark jeans and a button-up black shirt that stretches across his wide chest. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, showing off tanned forearms crisscrossed with veins that end with his large hands.
He snaps his fingers at me. “Hey Bennett, eyes up here. I’m not a piece of meat, you know.”
My eyes bounce back up to his face, and I feel my neck and cheeks flush. “I wasn’t checking you out, if that’s what you’re implying,” I stammer, even though I definitely was. “And there are very few teen movies from the nineties worth watching.”
He steps closer, bringing our mouths only inches apart. The scent of fresh apples with a hint of cinnamon fills the air. Something about him makes me feel calm, like I’ve known him forever, even though this is only the second time we’ve spoken.
“Uh-huh,” he says. “What about10 Things I Hate About YouorClueless?”
“They don’t count.” I breathe him in. “They have an unfair advantage because they're based on literature.”
“Loosely based,” he replies huskily, staring at my mouth.
I lick my lips. The sudden attraction I feel for him is heady and intoxicating.
Fiona clears her throat, looking between us. “Um, I’m going to get a drink.” She starts walking toward the bar. “Do you want something?”
I step back from Trey to calm my racing heart. “A whisky and Diet Pepsi, please.”
Trey laughs. “Whisky Diet? I pegged you for a daiquiri girl.”
“Why?” I ask, feeling defensive. “Because it's a girly drink?”
“Hardly,” he says with a smirk. “You’re a writer, right? Wasn’t that Hemingway’s drink of choice?”
His comment gives me pause.
“Actually, I read in an interview that Hemingway’s drink of choice was scotch and soda,” I say quietly. “So maybe my drink isn’t so far off base.”
Trey’s eyes fall to my lips as I speak, and everything below my belly button starts to tingle as he presses closer to me. I stare up at him in shock when I feel his erection hard against my thigh. He doesn’t even try to hide it.
“I see,” he whispers. “You’re kind of a smarty-pants, huh?” Trey’s free hand falls to my waist and then runs down my leg before reaching under my dress. His rich brown eyes watch me closely as if daring me to stop him.
Ishouldask him to stop, right?
“Is that a problem?” I breathe. His rough fingers dance over my skin, leaving prickling trails of heat in their wake. “I heard from my friend that you’re not particularly picky when it comes to hookups.”
Trey looks amused.
My brain is screaming at me in protest. I mean, I don’t know this guy at all.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, but my voice comes out all low and breathy. I try to reinstate some of my sanity by pulling back from his touch.
“Welcoming you to campus?” he quips.
I smile faintly. “So you do this with all the new students?”
“Can’t say that I do, actually.” His hand slides higher up my leg tracing lazy circles that are beyond distracting.
And then my body completely takes over.
I close my eyes as his fingers reach my panties and my legs spread farther apart, giving him better access. I’m beyond wet already.
