Arrogant Bastard(18)

“Goddamn it, Waverly, did you hear what I just said? I thought about you last night.”

She swallows so loudly I can hear it. “I thought about you, too.”





CHAPTER 6





The road to hell is paved with impure thoughts, and I just bought myself a one-way ticket. I’m lying in bed, my face burnt red and raw as I try to catch my breath.

Every part of my body came alive for the first time as we stood at the top of the stairs. Jensen’s confession nearly sent me over the edge. My body and mind fought like the mortal enemies they are until I said my piece and brushed past him like I hadn’t said it at all.

I shouldn’t have said anything. All I did was make things worse. Breakfast is going to be awkward tomorrow. Chem class, too. I cannot entertain these thoughts. I’m in the Devil’s playground right now. One misstep and I tumble and fall, and my father would refuse to let me leave for college this fall.

My head is buried face down in my pillow, the cool white pillowcase absorbing the cherry red heat of my cheeks.

I can’t believe I let temptation and lust get the best of me. I know better than to entertain frivolous emotions. This is grossly inappropriate.

I. Am. Mortified.



***

I avoid confrontation like the plague, and that’s precisely why I wake up at the crack of dawn and head to school under the guise of tutoring another student before Jensen wakes.

And it’s also why, when the first bell rings, I make a beeline for the nurse’s office, complaining of a stomach ache that coincidently subsides just in time for my Chem class to end.

I don’t see him the rest of the day, thank goodness, and I rush home after school, grateful when I don’t see his truck because it means he’s working at Uncle Rich’s shop.

I’m playing on the floor of the family room with the younger kids after dinner when I feel a presence lingering over me.

“Missed you in class this morning.” I rotate around to see Jensen standing behind me, his arms crossed, and his lips curled at the corners. He must’ve just come home from work. “Don’t worry. You can borrow my notes.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.” I swallow the enormous lump in my throat. It comes right back. My eyes trace the length of his solid body, stopping at his forearms as they flex just so. His dark hair is ruffled and he smells of diesel and bad intentions. Half a turkey sandwich rests in his hand, which he promptly shoves into his mouth. The indentation above his jaw hollows with each chew.

Bellamy is across the room playing Sorry! with the twins, unable to peel her gaze off the two of us. She knows me better than anyone else, and the fact that she picks up on whatever is happening right now sends me into a dizzied state of humiliation. It’s like my thoughts are being broadcast across my forehead for the whole family to see. My father would never let me go to college if he knew I allowed any kind of lust to creep into the corners of my mind.

I rise, force a smile onto my face, and say, “I think I just heard the buzzer in the laundry room. Better go fold those towels.”

Bellamy opens her mouth to protest. I know she folded them earlier, but I need to get out of here. I need to get away from Jensen.

Dashing down the hall to the laundry room, I don’t hear him following me. I release a relieved sigh and yank open the dryer door, thankful when I find a whole load of random white socks needing matched. This should keep me busy for a while.

“Really, Waverly?” His voice makes the room spin and my body a few degrees warmer.

I turn to face him, lifting my brows. “Can I help you?”

He charges into the small confines of the laundry room, shutting the door behind him and invading my space like he owns it. His eyes are dark, darker than before, and his brows are arched. He licks his soft lips, the ones I’ve thought about more times than I would ever admit, and leans into me.

“You can’t just say what you said last night and then run away.” His voice is low, throaty, almost. “Every confession has a consequence.”

“I know.” I try to speak, but my words come out thin and breathless.

“What did you think about when you thought about me?” His voice is a command, and I am trained to obey. He steps closer, his hand lifts to a space just under my jaw. I press my lips together in response to his touch, ensuring my words never see the light of day.

Everything about this is wrong.

And yet everything about this feels like it has the potential to be amazing.

“Why are you shaking?” His eyes crease. “Are you afraid of me, Waverly?”

Our stares lock. I don’t say a word. I keep my opinions to myself the way I always have and hope he grows bored of me and walks away.