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“Have you been watching me, cookie?” She has a smattering of freckles reminding me of mini chocolate chips.
“Not if you were the last person on earth.”
“Then how do you know I’m with Neanderthals?”
Jutting her hip out, she folds her lips over her teeth and crosses her arms over her waist. “I know your type.” Her eyes drag over my inked forearms.
“Cookie, if you had ever had my type, you could never go back to guys who wear khakis, who part their hair on side, and only know how to have sex missionary style.”
She inhales before she slaps me, but I guarantee she’s thinking about my words. “I don’t do missionary.”
I cackle, and her perfect little mouth draws up as a drunk Stallion fan loses his balance and bumps into her, pushing her against my body and the wood I’m sporting under my zipper. “Right. Sweetheart, I would bet my life that you’ve never been satisfied. Never had a man pleasure you.” My words are low and quiet amongst the chatter and clanking of glasses against the tables.
Brooke
His words breeze over the goosebumps covering my shoulder, a dead giveaway for the way he’s making me feel. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this off-the-shoulder shirt. With my track record, I need to keep everything covered.
But right now, I want to get lost in this man. I want to know what he means. How he would touch me.
Instead of giving in, I say, “Pleasure me? I’ve found that men who talk big games are the ones with the littlest peens.”
“Peens? I don’t have a peen. It’s called a cock.”
“Yeah, if you’re a Neanderthal.”
There’s a sinful look in his eyes that’s making my core tighten and the more I try to not think about his peen, the more I realize I want to know if he can back up his dirty words.
“Or if I’m a man.”
“You are a man.” The words slip from my mouth, and he flashes me a wicked grin.
A guy from class yanks on my arm, and suddenly, I’m on the ground. When I look up, the guy I’m bantering with has a fistful of the other guy’s shirt. “Don’t you ever touch her. Did she ask you to touch her?”
He throws the guy from class into a crowd of guys behind us. This guy has a temper, and I vow internally to steer clear of him, even if he does put my body on high alert with his provocative words.
“Like I said… Neanderthal.”
He turns on a dime and disappears into the crowd. An hour passes, and I don’t see him again. Not that I’m looking.
When the game is over, Lettie and I stop by the local chicken shack, and I tell her about my run in with the man so handsome, it should be illegal.
“You should have jumped on that. When will I get you out of the house again?”
My eyebrows raise in agreement. “He’s too cocky and has a quick trigger.”
“But he’s a dirty talker. God, I want a dirty talker,” Lettie fans her face and I come close to laughing chicken nuggets out of my nose.
This is what college should be.
Chapter Two
BROOKE - FOUR MONTHS LATER
Straight-ironed hair? Negative. It attracts guys like bees to honey. If I’m going out for the first time in nearly six months, I’m doing everything I can to keep the bees at a safe distance, or they might sting me.
Ballcap, check.
High-waisted, loose jeans, check.
