Note to self, when a girl’s smile makes you forget your own name — you’re in some deep shit.
Weston
“This way.” I grabbed her hand and led her down the street. “So, tell me about yourself, Kiersten.” Lame. My first question was so unoriginal I wanted to punch myself. That was what freshman orientation did to a person.
“I’m eighteen.”
“No, I didn’t—” I turned and found myself under the full force of her green eyes penetrating mine. “That is, yes, I’m glad you’re over eighteen, I don’t want to get in trouble for holding your hand or anything.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t strike me as the type of guy who just holds hands.”
“You’re right.” I exhaled. “But I’m a fan of hands, or maybe it’s just yours, Lamb.” It was true. I liked her hands. Everything about her screamed innocence. I almost felt bad for corrupting her, for wanting her. Almost being the key word.
“And there’s the nickname.”
”There it is,” I agreed, then squeezed her hand more. We walked across the lawn and down to the sidewalk in silence. As we passed a few cars, the silence stretched out even further, then finally, beneath the second street lamp, she stopped, tugging her hand back.
“Look…” She shifted nervously from foot to foot, her innocent eyes darted from the ground to my face. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. I appreciate your help and stuff today, but…”
Amused, I raised my eyebrows. “But?”
“I’m not like that,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“That.” Her cheeks were stained pink. “I don’t hook up with guys.”
“Oh, that.” I grinned at her embarrassment. “I don’t either.”
“Huh?”
“Hook up with guys. I’m not like that. So now that we’ve had that particular conversation, we can be friends.” I reached for her hand again.
“I, uh—” She wasn’t able to finish her sentence, because one of my teammates had the worst timing in the universe and just happened to drive by.
“Michels!” he shouted out his window. “Party at Kappa tonight!” He honked his horn and peeled out.
“Friends?” she asked.
“Worse.” I chuckled. “Teammates.” I stopped walking and touched her arm lightly. “You want to go to a different party?”
“I should probably get back—”
“Come.” I pulled her closer to me. “Just for a few minutes. I’ll introduce you to some upperclassmen, get you some milk, and have you tucked into your bed safely by midnight.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Fine, I’ll have you tucked in alone. As in, without me.”
Kiersten looked down the street. “Fine. Thirty minutes and don’t think I won’t use the rape whistle!”
“Please,” I whispered. “Then when you return it I’ll know exactly what it feels to have your lips blowing across mine.”
She flinched. “You can’t say things like that to me.”
“Why?” I tilted her chin toward my face. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes,” she whispered.