“Hey,” he says, smirking, “if you need a subject, all you need to do is ask.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, cause that’s what the world needs; more pictures of you shirtless, admiring yourself in a mirror.”
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, smile widening. “Have you been stalking my profile, Sugar Voss?”
Jesus. Shouldn’t have clued him into that. “I should go,” I say, standing. Orgasms clearly turn into me a mindless fount of drivel.
He doesn’t argue, but he still looks smug, even when we’re slipping into our coats and he’s leading me down the quiet, dark hall. It’s cold outside, the harsh opposite of what I felt back in his room. The urge to press into his side, to feel his arm wrapped around me, is so foreign that it takes me the walk to Hayden to even realize what it is.
When I do, I wrap my arms around myself instead.
He walks me to the door, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s still a walk of shame if he’s escorting me. I’m not sure, but I’m thinking not. I don’t feel shame, anyway, I just feel weird and hyper-aware, like anything could suddenly happen in this strange, dream-like moment I’m finding myself in.
Mostly, I feel a sense of relief. No one—not even Sebastian—could possibly understand how big a deal that was for me. To be with someone like that. To touch someone like that. To expose myself to him like that.
I climb the steps and he asks, “So… did I do it?”
I frown, both at the reluctance in his voice and the words. “Do what?” A lot had just transpired between us.
He gazes up at me, the edges of his face softly illuminated in the fluorescent light of a distant lamp. “Did I prove myself to you? Did I fuck it up?”
I step back down to his level, thinking it over. He followed my rules. He was patient and calm. He pushed but wasn’t intimidating. He asked for things I couldn’t give him, and he wasn’t a dick about being denied.
He was… nice.
In lieu of an answer, I pitch forward, brushing my lips against his in a slow kiss. He leans into it, and there’s a strange intensity to the way he lingers, our noses pressed close, and I think here.
This is where he’d touch me, if he could. Maybe he’d cup my cheek, or tuck my hair back, or just wrap his arms around me.
He pulls away, burying his hands into his pockets instead. “Good night, Sugar.”
“Good night, Sebastian.” I turn away, disappearing inside the warm, dark building.
15
Sebastian
Although it never really goes away, my tense, agitated restlessness has substantially faded by the time I walk into school the next day. There’s nothing like a good orgasm to take the edge off, and my most recent was pretty damn explosive. I keep thinking about how that’s just from jerking off and watching Sugar. I can only imagine what having sex with her will be like.
Yeah, will.
That’s something I’m determined will happen, even if it’s going to take more time and chasing than I’d usually expend on a girl. I can wait. What I’ve come to realize is that Sugar isn’t just any girl. She’s special. A marathon, not a sprint. Sort of like my sweet Jasmine; I’m going to have to put in the time to get her engine humming.
I go to my locker, half-zoned out, still thinking about the way Sugar looked on my couch last night. Shit, even the type of girl I’m used to popping would have run like hell if I’d asked them to touch themselves like that. So many girls are shy and insecure. But not Sugar. I can’t quite figure her out. She’s scared of being touched, but she’s also not inhibited. Somehow all her wires seem crossed, and I plan on figuring out how to fix her the way I’m fixing the Mustang.
“Hey, Bass.”
I turn and see Sydney, suppressing a groan.
“Syd. What’s up?”
She leans against the locker next to mine. “I heard there’s a car meet up tonight. You going to be there?”
I’d gotten the text from Carlton late last night. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You think maybe I could get a ride?”
I grimace. “Yeah, I’m not sure about that. I’ve got a shit-ton of work to do this afternoon over at the garage and I’m not really sure when I’ll be able to get downtown.”
She scoots closer, tits pushed out. “I could come keep you company at the garage. Watch you work.”
I step back and close the door. “Sorry. Merle doesn’t like visitors at the garage. He barely tolerates me being there and I’m paying for it.”
“Oh, boo.” Her bottom lip sticks out and she rests her hand on my chest. “I thought you and I had a good time when we hung out before.”
No, I had a spell of total lack of judgment. I can’t even blame the concussion—it was long before that. The problem with Sydney is that she’s vindictive and a total shit-stirrer, but most of all, she doesn’t take rejection well. Reyn is a perfect example. She tried to blow up his relationship with Vandy when he wasn’t into her. My problem is that I didn’t say no the first time, so now I have to finagle every fucking interaction with her into a carefully diplomatic refusal.
“Things are kind of crazy right now, Syd. I’m still healing from that concussion, and I’ve got a lot of work to do down at the garage, along with school and everything.”
“I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me, Bass.”
Like the fucking plague. I swallow back my irritation. “Maybe I’ll see you there tonight.”
Her eyes light up like I’ve just agreed to a date. Fuck. “Definitely.” She leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Keep an eye out for me, I’ll wear something special.”
Jesus.
I glance over her head and see Sugar walking toward the arts building. The reaction is instantaneous, a heavy warmth rolling like waves down my limbs, my cock tingling in anticipation. That’s the problem when you’ve been naked and sweaty with someone you’re into. Your body just wants it again and again. I definitely want it again with Sugar, which pretty much hammers the nail in the coffin with Syd. I’ve had a little fun with her too, and I have zero interest in going back down that road.
I slam the locker door, mutter, “Whatever,” and walk off. I make a beeline toward Sugar. As I get closer, I realize she’s fussing with one of those ancient cameras.
“You know there’s one of those on your phone,” I say, once I’m a few feet away. “Digital, fits in your pocket, easy to edit.”
She looks up from the lens, and I see a pink blush spread across her cheeks as the memory of what we’d done last night flickers in her mind. I’d give anything to kiss her right now, claim her in front of the school, give her a Devil’s mark, but the way she clutches the camera to her chest like a shield tells me to hold back on my impulses.
“Digital is fine for amateurs, selfie-takers, and moms at the park.” She expertly attaches the lens, pressing some levers and locking everything into place. “Real art needs a real camera.”
“Yeah, but that’s a lot of work.” I pull out my phone and take a quick snap of her.
“Hey!”