“I’m tired of people telling me who I am.” First Harris. Always my mother. I lived halfway across the country and she was still trying to tell me how to live my life. Even Pepper and Em.
And now him. This guy who didn’t even know me.
I nodded toward the door. “Maybe I want to hook up with that guy and have him do those things to me. Ever consider that?” I deliberately let it sound like I knew what those things were.
“You don’t even know what those things are,” he retorted, seeing right through me. And how did he do that, anyway? Did I have a sign around my neck that said TOO BORING TO FUCK? Harris’s face flashed across my mind. I need more, Georgia.
I fumed. I could be more. I was more.
“Yes, I do. He told me,” I lied. “When he whispered in my ear.”
His eyebrow winged. “Really? I heard he likes it when the girl dresses up as a dude and puts on a strap-on. You into that, Pearls? I would have pegged you for the type of girl who’s only ever done it missionary-style.”
I sucked in a breath. Insulted, yes. Shocked, too. Shocked that he had guessed that about me.
He laughed, nodding. “Yeah. Thought so.”
“Asshole,” I spit out. Another first. I had never called anyone a bad word before. It wasn’t something ladies did.
“Why don’t you go home to your safe dorm room and forget about this place?” His look then was part pity and part smirk. I could have handled the smirk. It was the faint pity that got to me. I wasn’t pitiable. No way.
How dare he talk to me like I was the child? I was an adult. I came out tonight to have a good time. To put an end to my drought and prove to myself that I wasn’t boring. I could be spontaneous. I could be unpredictable.
I could be wild.
Before I could stop and think about what I was doing, I stood on my tiptoes, circled his neck with my hands, and pulled his head down to mine.
Chapter 4
THERE WAS THE BAREST minuscule of a second when my mouth touched his that I wondered what the hell I was doing. Then that thought died.
I mean, you don’t take a leap off a bridge and then change your mind. It didn’t work that way. If I was going to kiss a guy as hot as this, then I was going to give it my all and enjoy the hell out of it.
I still had a hand around the back of his neck and my fingers flexed in his cropped-short hair. My hand slid upward, my fingers enjoying the feeling of hair that was both sharp and soft against my skin.
His lips were softer than I expected. I didn’t get an immediate response so I stood on tiptoes and angled my mouth over his.
The idea that I was somehow forcing a kiss on him panicked me. That would be too mortifying. Please. Please, kiss me back.
My free hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged him down, willing him to kiss me. To not let me walk away from this feeling like a complete loser. I pulled back slightly, my lips moving against his. “What’s the matter, Logan? Not up for it? I thought you were good at this.”
An exhale passed from him into my mouth. “Brat.”
His mouth opened over mine then. Whether he thought I was a brat or not, my words had done the trick.
He released the kraken. All of the sexual promise Logan Mulvaney radiated spilled into me.
He crouched in one quick motion, wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me off my feet so that our fused mouths were level.