It feels good to unload on someone. With a little luck he’s drunk enough that he won’t remember a thing in the morning anyway.
I’m really not at my best.
Crap, I should be cramming for my Comparative Politics test tomorrow, not getting drunk at some skeevy frat party. Like having dropped to a 3.9 GPA wasn’t bad enough, I’m only going to make it worse if I don’t get over Michael and get back to normal.
A bunch of people have left their empty beer cups on the table in front of me, and I absentmindedly sort and stack them by color. He raises an eyebrow at me, but I decide I don’t mind. If he isn’t going to remember me tomorrow, adding one more thing to his list of why I’m crazy won’t hurt.
The love seat we’re sharing shifts as Tattoo Guy does, and I use the term sharing loosely. His broad shoulders and powerful frame have me crowded up against one side, and I’m half draped over one of his very solid thighs. I’m not sure if he minds, but I sure as hell don’t.
Not for the first time tonight, I look him up and down, appreciating the definition of his chiseled abs and how his jeans are pulled tight over his muscular legs. I feel a little bad that I’ve wasted a night with such a hot guy on blubbering about a man who is totally not worth it.
Dragging my gaze up past his powerful neck to his rugged features, my face flushes when our eyes lock. He sees right into me, those gorgeous eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement. He knows I’m checking him out, and his crooked smirk shows it.
In the back of my mind I’m amazed that it doesn’t bother me, because I always care. Just not tonight. I’m all out of fucks to give for the moment. Instead, I study his face, trying not to make it too obvious that I’m rubbing against his bulky quad.
His features are almost perfectly symmetrical, but his nose looks like it’s been broken at some point. I don’t have the impulse control to stop myself from stroking it softly with my fingertip. He doesn’t stop me, but I notice his hand grips his cup hard enough to make the cheap plastic crackle.
Usually asymmetry bugs me, but he gets a pass for the nose. He’s only human. A day or two’s worth of dark stubble covers his hard jaw, broken only by a faint scar along the left side. I trace that too.
And those lips, full and kissable.
He grabs my hand before I can touch them. “If you keep that up we’re going to have to take this someplace else, and I think privacy is a relative term here tonight.”
I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned. “Sorry.”
“Not that I’m not glad you came, but what the fuck is a girl like you doing at a party like this?” He takes a drink, but his eyes watch me closely. So blue.
Was that a compliment? I’m not quite sure. I was already figuring I’m not his type, but am I really that out of place? Maybe I am. The frat house is crawling with hot girls who look ready to go. Some of whom I’m pretty sure have already gone a time or two.
I sigh. “It’s stupid. A couple of friends said I should come. They promised Michael wouldn’t be here. It was a terrible idea.” I trace the worn fabric on the couch arm with a finger. “Not to mention that I think one of them told Michael I was here. I guess when push comes to shove they’re more his friends than mine. Bros before hos and all that.”
That stung more than I wanted it to.
“They brothers?”
I nod. “Well, Michael’s not. He pledged but didn’t go through with it.”
“Jackasses. They must be letting anyone in these days.” He rolls his eyes.
“Are you a brother?”
“I used to be, but I graduated five years ago.” He glares around the room with disgust. “The place has gone to shit since then. I’m pretty sure I was the last one who knew how to run the dishwasher.”
“So you were never like them?” I tease.
The smoldering gaze I get as a reply makes me squirm in my seat. He smirks, noticing my hips wriggling. “Never. I was upstanding, conscientious and quiet.”
I glance at his tattoos, the wild hair and his broken nose. “Of course you were.”
He shrugs. “So you’re done with that fuckup now? Kicked him to the fucking curb?” He drains his cup, but his eyes never leave mine.
Heat floods me in a way I haven’t felt in, well, forever. I’m confused about how attracted to this guy I am. I just got rid of Michael, and I am not ready for another relationship. Not even close. Then again, when I look at Tattoo Guy’s hungry eyes, I don’t think it’s a relationship he’s after.
Self-consciously, I straighten my top. It’s lower cut than I usually wear, and I had to dig pretty deep in my closet to find it. After Michael’s betrayal, I wanted to prove I was still attractive. That his infidelity wasn’t about me, even if I’m not hard bodied and model-thin. It worked too. At least until this guy pounded his chest and all the other males ran off.