She whirls on me, eyes flaming. “You think that’s why I’m mad?”
“You telling me that’s not why you stormed out of the Vixens’ show?”
“Stop answering questions with a question,” she says, frustration bleeding from every word. She puts distance between us, grabbing a loaf of bread from the cabinet.
“Then what is it? Because I can’t seem to figure out a fucking thing when it comes to you.”
“I heard you,” she mumbles, setting two slices of bread onto a paper plate.
“Heard me what?”
“The other night,” she says, hands braced on the edge of the table. “I’m pretty sure your exact words were ‘sexy as a root canal,’” she mocks, giving a bitter laugh.
Fuck. I blow out a breath. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“No, I should think not,” she says sarcastically. She makes her way to the water bottles stashed under my bed, plucking one from the pack. I sit on the edge of the horseshoe-shaped bench that wraps around the table, my knees spread apart, feet in the way of her path. “If you don’t want me, fine. But stop fucking with my head and stop isolating me. I’m allowed to make friends.”
I shove a hand through my hair, picking my next words carefully, knowing I owe her some kind of explanation. “It’s not true.”
Evan looks at me over her shoulder, waiting for me to continue.
“I think we both know I think you’re sexier than a root canal. I needed them to think I don’t care about you,” I offer. A half-truth will have to do.
“And do you?” she asks softly, that rare vulnerable side showing its face. “Care about me?”
“Yes.” I clench my jaw. “And that’s the problem.”
She doesn’t say anything, though I know a million questions are running through her mind. The silence between us is strained, as if both of us are ultra-aware of the other’s presence. I stare at her in that short black dress, her big blue eyes looking lost but wild and defiant.
Evan walks back toward the table. When she goes to pass me, my arm shoots out, curling around her waist. She makes a squeal of surprise but doesn’t pull away. I pull her in between my spread legs, looking up at her as I trace my fingers up the back of her thigh. Her eyes fall closed.
“You want this,” I tell her, my fingers moving toward the soft skin of her inner thigh. “You want me even though you hate yourself for it.”
“How would you know?” she bites back, but her voice lacks its usual fire.
“Because that’s how I feel about you.”
I see her nipples tighten through her dress, and without thinking of the consequences, I lean forward, covering one with my mouth through the fabric, scraping my teeth across the hardened peak. I hear a sharp intake of breath, an
d when I pull away, her eyes are glazed over with lust. I hook my finger into the neckline of her dress, sliding it back and forth. Without breaking eye contact, I pull it down, exposing her soft pink nipple, and I dip forward, flattening my tongue and taking a lick as my hands grip her waist. Evan’s eyebrows pull together as she watches me, her expression pained, but I know pain is the opposite of what she’s feeling right now. I take another swipe, tightening my hold around her waist. The water bottle falls to the floor, and then she’s grabbing the back of my head, pulling me into her.
Fuck.
I lift her onto the table, sliding farther into the booth so I can keep an eye on the door, before I plant both hands on her ass, sliding her across the tabletop, angling her toward me. Evan’s fingers find my hair as she dips her head to meet my lips, sliding that little pink tongue inside my mouth. I pull her into me until our bodies are flush against each other, kissing her back until she pulls back, breathless. “You were the first boy I ever kissed. I spent two years trying to find this feeling again.”
Her words stun me. I knew she was innocent back then, but I didn’t think she was that innocent. I still remember how she felt against me that night, so scared and timid, but our bodies spoke a language she didn’t understand yet.
“Did it work?” I ask, sliding my teeth over my bottom lip. “Did any of the other boys make you feel like I can?”
“No,” she admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I finger the strap of her dress that’s fallen down her shoulder, and she shivers under my touch.
“Good.” I flatten my palms on her spread thighs, sliding upward, pushing her dress higher as I go, exposing a black scrap of lace between her legs. “Have they ever kissed you here?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer. I use my thumb to brush against her clit through her underwear. She plants her hands on the table behind her and jerks at the sensation.
Evan swallows hard, shaking her head. “No.”
I freeze, not expecting that. “You’ve never had your pussy licked?”
She glares at me, trying to clamp her legs shut, but I stop her, putting a hand on each knee. I shouldn’t be surprised. High school douchebags are notoriously bad at foreplay, only looking to get their dicks wet. Hooking my fingers through the straps of her underwear, I look up at her. “Lift.”