“Yeah, which one?” I look over her head, eyeing all the partygoers.
“No idea, but apparently he has amazing blue eyes.”
“Amazing, huh? Has to be Gunner. I was even stunned by his eyes when he was recruited.” No joke, the dude won the lottery for irises. I’m even jealous with how . . . aqua they are.
“Not ashamed to admit that?” she asks, shifting on her heels.
“Not even a little.” I give her another once-over, taking in her long, toned legs, her smooth stomach, thankfully visible due to her why-bother-wearing-me top. Her body is drop-dead gorgeous, but when you reach her eyes, they speak nothing of vixen, rather more like pure innocence. A total contradiction that has my mind reeling. “So, what are you supposed to be? A cat?”
She glances at her outfit and sighs, taking another sip of her beer. She almost seems bored to be at the party. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be a panther but my roommates fell short in the costume department.”
“Yeah, really short,” I add, eyeing her barely-there skirt. “Please tell me you’re wearing something under that.”
“Nope,” she answers, sipping her beer and then smacking her lips. “I like to feel the wind in my undercarriage when I’m walking.”
I wince. “Undercarriage? Fuck, I don’t want you to call it that.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I’m not a lady of the night, Knox. Of course I have something under this skirt.” She lifts up the side, flashing tiny black boy shorts. “Honestly, I’m going to be a librarian. I need to be sensible.”
Sensible? More like hot as fuck. I saw partial ass cheek.
I grip my beer close to my mouth and take a deep breath. “A sensible librarian wouldn’t flash a horny college guy her underwear.”
“Well, maybe I’m more of a modern-day librarian then.” She winks and starts to walk away.
“Hey, where are you going?”
She looks over her shoulder. “I have more people to flash. Don’t think you’re the only lucky one.”
Damn, that doesn’t sit well with me.
Not one fucking bit.
Chapter Four
EMORY
“The first week was great, so you have nothing to worry about, Mom.”
I try to keep my voice down as I walk through campus, not wanting to look like one of those students with a homesick mother—I’ve heard the phone calls in passing before.
No, Mom, I’m not drinking.
Yes, Mom, I’m staying out of trouble.
Of course I’m taking my vitamins.
I haven’t even touched the condoms you gave me.
“And Dottie and Lindsay, they’re showing you around?”
“Yes,” I say in exasperation. “They’re my best friends, who changed dorms to make room for me, do you really think they were going to throw me in a frat party and say good luck?”
“Maybe,” my mom answers.
“We worked through everything with Neil. They’re happy I’m here, trust me; if anything, they’re helping me have more fun.” Like going to baseball parties where there are hot baseball players I should stay away from, one “horny” one in particular.
“Oh? What kind of fun?”
“You know, getting me to crawl out of my shell. Experience life.”
I don’t need to mention the whole boob in the hand, passing out with a stranger kind of fun. Nor do I mention the party we went to this past weekend, because there are things parents need to know and things parents don’t need to know. Partying with a bunch of jocks with healthy libidos is not something a mother needs to know about her daughter.
Even if nothing happened.
I don’t need the pregnancy lectures, or the packages sent from home full of contraceptives and pamphlets on being a young, single mother.
Or a letter stating my mom is not ready to be a grandmother yet.
Yup, all things I’ve received in the mail before, even when I was living at home. I love my mom, but she likes to make a point with a flair for dramatics.
“As long as you’re being safe then, have fun.”
“Of course I’m being safe,” I sigh just as I spot a familiar sweatshirt out of the corner of my eye. I glance to the right and make eye contact with Knox Gentry. A smile graces his handsome face, his hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he’s making a beeline for me. Oh hell. “Hey Mom, I have to go. I’m heading into class.”
“Okay, sweetie. Give me a call later this week so we can catch up some more.”
“Sure. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up just as Knox reaches me and slings his arm around my shoulder for a brief side hug. “How’s my favorite panther?”
What’s that heavenly scent?
Man . . . that’s what it is, just pure man.
Or Ralph Lauren.
Because I’m not an ice queen, I return the hug and then pull away while subtly taking in a long whiff of his fresh scent. “Favorite panther? Really? I thought that was the girl you were making out with on Saturday.”
Yup, after he was all buddy-buddy with me, I saw his lips doing work elsewhere. Not that it matters, we are by no means dating, but it’s nice to know that although he put himself front and center as my welcoming party, he’s not actually caught up in me. I can see now that I lost sight of who I was when I dated Neil. Our worlds revolved around each other a lot. But here, I’m me. I’m not part of Neil and Emory, and I like that freedom. I refuse to believe I caused Neil’s cheating. Sex with him was mediocre at best, and I’ve been released from pretending now. Kind of liberating. So, Mr. Gentry can lip lock with whoever he chooses.
Not even showing an ounce of shame, he says, “She was a jaguar, huge difference, and we weren’t making out. She kissed me once and I returned it because, why not?” He tugs on my jacket. “Why? Jealous?”
“Not even in the slightest,” I answer, turning around so I can talk to him while walking backward. “Was interesting seeing your type.”
“Yeah, and what do you think my type is?” he asks, chin lifted.
“Really short skirts.”
He chuckles and then eyes the plaid skirt I have on today—with stockings. “They don’t have to be really short necessarily. I’m good with mid-thigh.”
Without even thinking about it, I tug on my skirt that lands perfectly at mid-thigh. “Don’t you think you should get to know a girl before you start mentioning skirt length?” I ask, just before I trip over someone behind me.
Knox reaches out and grabs my hand, steadying me before I take a tumble. He waves to the person I ran into, points at me and says, “Still hungover from Sunday Funday.”
The guy I ran into doesn’t say anything but instead makes a snotty face and takes off in the other direction.
“Man, he’s rude,” Knox says before draping his arm over my shoulder again as we continue to walk to the class we share. “When are you going to give me a chance to get to know you, Em?”
His addicting cologne entices me to stay under his embrace, instead of shrugging him off like I should. But, God, it’s like bathing in a bag of pheromones over here. “You have now.”