The Queen B* Strikes Back Page 7

  Brett lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered the lyrics of the current song in my ear, interrupting my thoughts. When he got to the part about making banana pancakes, my heart melted just a little more. Of course, he’d reminded me of the weekend and how I was the only person he’d ever made pancakes for outside of his family. I slid my hands over his and lost myself in the moment.

  He pressed his lips against my temple in a soft kiss. I glided one hand up his arm and reached behind me to his neck while I listened to the lyrics of the next song. I’d always liked this song, but for some reason, it resonated with me louder than it ever had before. If Brett and I came out as a couple, it would turn everything upside down, but moments like this proved it wasn’t impossible for us to be together. I didn’t want this feeling I had being with him to go away. And when the singer got to the end of the song, the last few lines repeated the same question about how things were supposed to be.

  Even after the last chords faded and the audience erupted into applause, the question echoed in my mind. I had never come close to having a boyfriend, much less experiencing the complicated emotions Brett stirred up inside me.

  I needed to know.

  I turned around and faced him. Much to my surprise, I watched the same complicated confusion play out on his face as he looked down at me. At least I wasn’t the only one confounded by teenage hormones and this crazy attraction that neither of us could deny.

  “Lexi?” His voice was strained and raw, and I could barely hear him over the crowd, but the question came in loud and clear.

  He was waiting for my permission before he kissed me.

  And I nodded.

  I’d barely had a chance to close my eyes before his lips were on mine. He started out soft and tentative, as though he expected me to go premenstrual and slap him.

  I pulled him closer and let him know in no uncertain terms that I wanted more.

  His laughter vibrated from his chest into mine, and he deepened the kiss.

  Everything around us seemed to stop and fade away. I was fully encased in the world Brett created with his lips, his mouth, his arms. My heart pounded in my ears, and I was almost afraid to breathe because it might ruin the moment to gasp in life-sustaining air. I wanted to inhale him—his smell, his taste, his warmth. They all became part of the wonder and excitement and frustrating intoxication that was Brett, and I couldn’t get enough.

  I tightened my hold on him as my knees turned to Jell-O. His arm squeezed around my waist, pulling me against him until I had no idea where I ended and he began. We were locked at the lips, and our bodies merged together with such perfection that the silly romantic notion that Brett was made just for me crept into my mind.

  Yeah, I was in way over my head, but at the moment, I had no intention of fighting it.

  I had no idea how long the kiss lasted or how much of a spectacle we were making on the center of the dance floor, but the steamy bubble around us suddenly burst when some disgruntled asshole shoved Brett and muttered something about us getting a room.

  Our lips parted, and I had to blink several times to get my bearings. I was clearly drunk on Brett’s kisses, but at least one positive came out of this encounter. Unlike our first kiss, I’d managed to keep my shirt on.

  However, it was just barely on. Brett’s hands were all the way up to the back of my bra, and I was pretty sure he would’ve succeeded in removing it if we’d continued for much longer. As for me, I had one hand plastered against the back of his neck and the other shoved into the back pocket of his jeans where I had a brazen hold on his firm ass.

  Yeah, not my finest moment.

  And yet, even though I’d been caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar (or in this case, Brett’s pants), I made no effort to remove it. It was the furthest I’d ever gone with a guy, and I was glad it was with someone like him.

  Brett grinned at me and moved one hand to mirror mine.

  I jumped from the squeeze, but as the initial shock wore off, I kind of liked his hand on my posterior. It carried the same possessiveness he’d demonstrated all night, and if he was trying to make a claim on me, I’d allow it.

  At least for tonight. Once school started in the morning, I’d have to go back to enforcing the “just friends” stance for both our sakes.

  As my gaze swept out past him, I realized the show was over, and the lights were up. Everyone could see us like this. My cheeks flamed, and I tried to back away.

  “Don’t,” he murmured, doubling the strength of the tangled arms he’d secured around me.

  “But it’s time to go home. Besides, we have school tomorrow.”

  His mouth formed a thin line of challenge, but he released me. “Fine.”

  Before I could stop myself, I’d threaded my fingers through his. I knew I needed to go, but I wasn’t ready for the magic of the evening to end. I didn’t trust my tongue to express what the rest of me was trying to sort out, so I let my actions do it for me. I looked into his eyes and smiled.

  The corners of his mouth rose in response. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your car. This area can be rough at this time of night.”

  We wandered through the streets of SoDo, hand in hand, to where I’d parked near Safeco Field, but when we reached my little Prius, Brett refused to let go.

  “I had a good time tonight,” he said, swinging our arms until I wasn’t sure if he wanted to dance or pull me into a game of “London Bridge.”

  I stiffened my arm to halt the motion, but my voice was soft as I replied, “I did, too. You know, all things considered.”

  He came closer. “Meaning?”

  “You certainly know how to take a laid-back event and…” Ruin it. Mess it up. Uncover one of those secrets I’ve hidden from the world.

  He kept coming closer until we touched. He ran his thumb along my lower lip. “And what?”

  I couldn’t hold back the shiver that cascaded down my spine. My breath shook, and my hands trembled. My answer tumbled out in a rush. “Make it better.”

  “Same here.” He leaned in and kissed me one more time. Unlike at the club, he seemed to make an effort to stay in control, to keep the kiss at the good-night level rather than the let’s-get-it-on level. He pulled back a few inches and combed his fingers through my messy curls. “We should do this again.”

  My pulse quickened. He wanted to go out with me, to dance and kiss under the stars and oh my God, I wasn’t ready for this. I immediately went into defense mode. “Well, I don’t think he’ll be back to Seattle for at least a few months—”

  “I’m not talking about a concert. I’m talking about a date.”

  “This wasn’t a date.”

  “No, of course not. It was just two friends enjoying a concert together,” he repeated, his dark eyes teasing me as much as the tone of his voice, “and ending with some hot and heavy kissing.”

  “I’d hardly call that hot and heavy,” I replied, trying to make light of what had been the hottest “date” I’d ever been on.

  “You were the one with your hands in my pants.”

  Of course he’d throw that back at me. I now wished I’d gotten my fake ID to say I was twenty-one so I could blame my behavior tonight on too much alcohol. I wiggled free from him, but he braced his arms on either side of me and captured me between him and my car.

  “It doesn’t have to end tonight, you know,” he said.

  My throat tightened until it was hard to swallow. “You know why I can’t. Your friends will give you hell if we went out.”

  Not to mention, I’d risk getting hurt if I let him get too close. I’d built that hard shell around me for a reason.

  “And I’m determined to prove you wrong.”

  His breath bathed my ear, and I lost all will to fight him. A whimper escaped my lips. He’d discovered how to push all my buttons, to get under my skin and past my defenses.

  “Think about it.” He pushed off my car and walked away without looking back. He’d thrown down the gauntlet, and
he left it up to me to accept the challenge.

  I got in my car and locked the doors before I lost my mind and chased after him. Or worse, pulled him into the cramped backseat and did something really stupid. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the night. I replayed every little detail on my drive over the lake back to the Eastside suburbs. The smell of his skin. The way he varied the pressure of his kisses from feather light to firm. The fact that he’d held on to me in one form or another from the moment we ran into each other until we got to my car. The soft way he sang the song to me and how each lyric seemed to apply to us.

  If I’d been looking for a sign from some divine providence, this evening would be it.

  Unfortunately, I was too stubborn even for a higher power’s intervention. That didn’t mean, however, that a few more cracks hadn’t formed in my tough outer shell.

  And I had a feeling Brett wouldn’t let up until it was completely demolished.

  Chapter Eight

  I froze the moment Brett stepped into the classroom. Our eyes locked, and he gave me a cocky grin.

  Damn him!

  It was fourth period, and just as he’d done for the last two weeks, he took the seat next to me.

  “Get enough sleep?” he whispered.

  The house was dark and quiet when I’d gotten home from the concert last night. My mom trusted me so much, I didn’t even have a curfew. Apparently, she didn’t think I had enough of a social life to get into trouble. The same didn’t apply to my sister, who whined every time my mom reminded her of what time she had to be home. I’d cuddled with Brett’s T-shirt and dreamed of a certain dark-haired swoony guy singing laid-back surfer rock songs to me.

  Today, I was facing the reality of What the hell had I been thinking?

  “Of course.”

  The bell rang, and as soon as I booted up my tablet, I messaged Brett. Not a word about last night to anyone.

  Too late. I already spray painted it on the side of the school.

  He was joking…I hoped. Seriously. Not a word.

  Why? he typed back. Scared people will think we’re fuck buddies?

  Ugh! He would throw that back at me. I’d accused him and Summer of being just that, and even though he denied they were, I didn’t think Summer had ever gotten the memo.

  Do you want people to think you’ve lost your mind? I typed.

  Maybe I already have. Then he clicked out of the instant messaging platform and focused his attention on whatever Mr. DePaul was talking about today.

  I tried to listen to the lecture on date rape drugs, but my mind was too frazzled to even care. The appointment on my calendar kept reminding me that Brett was supposed to come over to my place after class to work on his essay. Would we be strictly business? Or would we finish what we started last night?

  I went through all the reasons why I couldn’t date Brett. They didn’t seem as strong as they were last week. Yes, my reputation as a hard, cruel bitch would suffer. Yes, his friends would probably think he’d lost his mind. Yes, we’d probably turn the whole school upside down if we were officially a couple. And yes, I’d make myself vulnerable to getting hurt by someone close me to me.

  But if we could walk down the hall holding hands…

  If we could go out to dinner or the movies or a concert without the fear of getting caught by our friends…

  If we ended every date with a kiss and not felt guilty about it, would it be worth it?

  I doubted Brett suffered the same hang-ups I did, though. After all, he was the Golden Boy. He never did anything wrong.

  The bell rang, and Brett leaned over to whisper, “See you in half an hour.”

  He was still coming over to my place.

  It wasn’t a date, though. It was just a study session.

  Now, if only I could keep reminding myself that.

  ***

  Brett was over an hour late.

  By the time he pulled into my driveway, my nerves were shot. I’d nearly worn a path in my mother’s prized Oriental rug from pacing. I went from being worried that he’d stood me up, to sad, and then finally angry.

  It was my rage that greeted him when he walked through the door. “A call would’ve been appreciated.”

  “Sorry. Summer needed help with her car, and I didn’t think you’d want me to expose our dirty little secret by calling you.” He went straight to the table and pulled out his tablet, keyboard, and journal.

  I trailed after him, my entire body rigid with indignation. “ ‘Dirty little secret’?”

  “What else should I call it? You’re the one who doesn’t want to be seen in public with me.”

  Oh, snap! “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what is it?” He turned to face me and crossed his arms. “I’d be totally cool with meeting in the library to work on my essay, but you’re the one who insists I sneak over here.”

  “I-I—” I stumbled for something to prove him wrong, but I couldn’t.

  “So why do we have to meet here?” he asked.

  “It’s quiet.” I scrambled for another reason. “No distractions. No airhead, manipulative twits like Summer asking you to help them with their brand-new BMW.”

  “Don’t turn this into a bashing session, Lexi.”

  “And don’t call me that.” I was on fire now, and I wanted to prove my point. “What was wrong with her car, anyway?”

  “She said it was riding funny.”

  “Then she could’ve taken it to a mechanic.”

  “She just wanted my opinion.”

  “And to monopolize you for an entire hour.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “What is the story between you two? Are you jealous of her or something?”

  I was tempted to tell him everything, but the way he kept coming to her defense made me wonder if he’d even believe me. “We’ve already wasted enough time. Just show me what you have.”

  He handed over the journal I’d given him on Monday without a word.

  I opened it up, half expecting to find nothing more than a few scribbled notes on the first page. Instead, I found page after page of notes, ideas, arguments. My lips parted with an inaudible gasp as I read the first few pages. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” he shot back with a hefty note of sarcasm.

  As I read through the journal I saw he’d done exactly as I’d asked, taking each topic and writing down an idea with a few supporting details. But there was still something missing. “You didn’t list anything for the failure topic.”

  “Because I don’t fail.” He snatched the journal back from me. “I know what I want, I make a plan to get it, and I carry it out.”

  His boasting reminded me of the conversation I’d had with Summer the other day. Just like Brett, she always got what she wanted, and today’s “car trouble” was probably all part of her plan to keep him away from me.

  Of course, I couldn’t forget that one comment she’d made about Brett lying. Was he really trying to help her figure out what was wrong with her car? Or had he stolen away for a quickie with her? Was he as much of a player as Sanchez?

  But his arrogance held my attention for now. “You mean to tell me you’ve never suffered disappointment?”

  “I never said that. I just said I’ve never failed. If something isn’t working, I adjust my strategy and go from there.”

  “You know, they ask about failure because they want to know you don’t think you’re completely perfect.” I grabbed the journal back and reread his notes.

  I never saw him approach me until he was inches away and murmuring, “Do you think I’m perfect?”

  I got the same little flutter of glee I always got when he was near me. Damn him for having that effect on me. “Keep dreaming.”

  My comment did little to scare him away. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist like he had last night. “That’s one of the many things I like about you. You’re brutally honest.”

  He liked many things about
me? My giddiness tripled, along with my pulse. If I hadn’t been disappointed by so many people, I might’ve fallen completely under his spell. But I hesitated to relinquish my title as the Queen B* for some idle flattery. “I’d settle for brutal.”

  He laughed again and locked me even tighter in his embrace. “So, which one should we work on?”

  “Work on?” I mentally cursed as soon as the words slipped out. I’d been so distracted by him that I’d forgotten what I’d read. Of course, having his body pressed up against mine didn’t make staying focused on anything easy.

  “My essay.”

  I glanced down at the page that was open. Brett had scribbled some notes about how he’d gone into a game as a second-string underdog his sophomore year and carried the team to victory against Skylake, our cross-town rivals. It was an accomplishment he was proud of and demonstrated what he’d told me moments before. He saw the problem and found a way to solve it. He refused to fail, despite the odds.

  I tapped the page. “This might work.”

  “Great.” He released me and took the journal back. “I’ll start working on this after practice, and maybe we can meet up over lunch or dinner this weekend to go over it.”

  That snapped me out of my daze. “Lunch or dinner? Are you trying to turn a tutoring session into a date?”

  “It’s like I told you before,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “When something isn’t working, I adjust my strategy.”

  And I’d been stupid enough to fall into his snare. “I can always review your essay by email.”

  “And miss out on a meal with me?” He gave me a smoldering pout that might have worked on dingbats like Summer, but it only pissed me off.

  “You have an overinflated opinion of yourself.”

  “Do I?”

  The way he was staring at my lips revived the memories from last night, and if he tried to kiss me again, I would’ve let him.

  I didn’t have to wait long, but it wasn’t what I’d expected. He brushed his lips on my forehead.

  A rebellious and disappointed whimper escaped before I could stop it.