I. Am. On. Fire.
He clears his throat. “Next time, just make sure you answer my texts. I was going out of my mind.”
I was going out of my mind.
I roll his words around in my head. “Why are you really angry, Blake?” I cock my head. “Was it because your adult daughter was having a good time, or because she was out with me?” I ask, my smile turning feline. “It doesn’t seem like you have a problem with her drinking. It seems like you have a problem with me, Mr. Cooper.”
The way he curls his hands, with his nails digging into his palms, tells me everything.
He moves one step closer, so that we’re practically touching. I can smell him—the minty scent strong enough to discern, but subtle. There’s a hint of something else underneath it—something that’s all him. Something that makes me want to lick his skin, to breath him in, to consume him. His chest rises and falls, just like mine, and he tilts his head as he studies me closely, eyes narrowed.
“I do have a problem with you, Ms. Chambers. I just can’t quite put my finger on why.”
His words cause goosebumps to erupt on my skin, and I inhale sharply.
I was going out of my mind.
I was going out of my mind.
I was going out of my mind.
I open my mouth to retort, but I hear the toilet flush from the bathroom. I wait for Blake to move away from me, but he just takes the tiniest step closer—until he’s right up against me. I gasp when I feel something large and hard pressing against my stomach, and I swear, I nearly faint. Gasping, I move my hand to his chest to push him, but he grabs it, pulling me into him instead. Bending down, he whispers into my ear.
“Next time, don’t wear a dress that makes every man in this city want to fuck you.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m left wanting to feel him against me again.
Chapter 6
Wren
* * *
I wake up the next morning after eleven, and the smell of coffee hits my nostrils. I groan, slapping a hand over my throbbing forehead. Felicity moans from next to me, and when she turns to face me, her skin is nearly green in color, and she has her hands over her eyes.
“Oh my god,” she croaks. “I don’t remember anything from last night.”
I laugh, but the movement causes me to feel like my forehead is splitting in two. “Well, we got hammered, made friends with some German guys, danced and cried to some Taylor Swift, and then your dad came storming in to get us around three in the morning.”
She chuckles. “Oh, god. I bet that was a sight. Did you see the vein pop in his forehead? That’s how you know he’s really angry.”
No vein, but I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory of his erection against me.
So wrong. It was so, so wrong. Yet, at the time, I wanted more of it. He’s my teacher—and my best friend’s dad. How could I ever think that wanting him in that way would be appropriate?
“No, but he did yell at me.”
She lets out a frustrated sound. “Sorry. He’s overprotective.”
“He doesn’t like me,” I add, frowning.
“He doesn’t like anyone,” she responds, and we both laugh until we’re crying out in pain from the exertion.
It takes me almost an hour to feel like I’m not on a boat, about to be sick over the side. I shower and get ready. Blake isn’t here—he’d texted Felicity that he was out at one of the museums.
Sulking, probably, like a big baby.
I run down the street and get us some soup from the Chinese restaurant—it’s the only thing that sounds good, as the thought of real food makes us both want to vomit—and we spend the afternoon watching reruns of Sex and the City with Czech subtitles as we doze and eat a million fortune cookies. I use the restroom, and when I get back, I notice Blake sitting on the couch with Felicity with his arm over her shoulder. I watch them for a few minutes. He kisses her temple at one point, and it’s then that I see the TV flash to New York and Times Square.
I’d completely lost track of the days, because apparently, it’s New Year’s Eve.
I’m just about to walk back into the living area, when Blake stands. He turns, and he immediately locks eyes with me, sending a cascade of electricity running down my limbs. Striding over to me, he nods to my bedroom, and I turn to walk inside. He follows me in and closes the door behind him. Again, shivers work down my spine at the thought of his length against me.
At what he said to me.
I was going out of my mind.
Next time, don’t wear a dress that makes every man in this city want to fuck you.
“First, I want to apologize for my behavior, and for what I said last night,” he starts, placing a hand behind his neck and massaging it. “It was inappropriate, not only because you’re Felicity’s friend, but because I’m your teacher.” His eyes look at me with desperation. “Because you’re my student,” he emphasizes, and I swallow.
I cross my arms. “Thank you. I don’t really remember last night.”
Lies.
Something like shock, or perhaps disappointment, flashes on his face for just a second before it disappears—replaced by his usual, cool demeanor.
“Okay. Well, that’s good. Second, I wanted you to know that I don’t have a problem with you, specifically. It’s just that you get under my skin for some reason, and I take it out on you, and that’s unfair.”
I give him a small smile. “Thank you.”
“And third…” He sighs, looking away. “You know what? Fuck it. If you don’t remember, I’m not going to embarrass myself and apologize for—”
“I remember.”
My words cause him to stiffen. “Oh?”
“I lied. I remember everything.” I can’t help but flick my eyes to his pants briefly.
“Fuck.” He sighs, covering his face. “I’m really sorry for that.”
“Why?” The word slips out before I can even register I’m saying it. “It’s not a crime to be attracted to someone—”
“I’m not attracted to you,” he says quickly.
My face falls, and heat fills my cheeks, my chest—
I’m so, so stupid—
“I just mean,” he says with hesitation, his eyebrows furrowed, “that I can’t be attracted to you.”
The sting of his words causes anger to flood through me. Embarrassment. To push himself against me, and then tell me the next day that he can’t be attracted to me? I hate games, and this feels like a big fucking game.
I sigh. “Can’t? Or won’t?” I raise my eyebrows. “At least have the balls to admit it.”
I turn and walk out of the room.
Blake somehow convinces us to walk down the hill to the nearest bar for a New Year’s celebration. His only stipulation is that we have one drink—no more. Even though alcohol is the last thing Felicity and I want right now, we can tell that Blake really wants to make a night of it, so we oblige him. I change into modest jeans, boots, and a sweater, and Felicity keeps her leggings on, only throwing on her UGGs and an oversized sweater. I try not to laugh. She feels rougher than I do.