How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,40
I should have had a response, something witty and tart. But my words had left me. So I let him kiss me, and I didn’t say anything at all.
Seventeen
Megan
I wanted to put his shirt on afterward. When I went to the bathroom to clean up, I saw his white t-shirt crumpled on the floor, and I wanted to put it on, even though I had six feet four of the real thing, naked in the bed behind me. That was how pathetic I was. But when I came back out of the bathroom, I grabbed a small blanket from the spare bed and wrapped it around my shoulders instead.
He was lying on his back on the bed, one arm behind his head, the other bent with his hand resting lightly on his stomach. Every inch of him was perfect, from the long, strong lines of his thighs to the dip of skin in his clavicle, which was damp with cooling sweat. I tugged the blanket around me and sat on the bed. His cock, which was relaxed and temporarily satisfied, was still fascinating, and I found my gaze drawn to it.
He lifted the hand from his stomach and tilted my chin, and I looked up to find him grinning. Sex, I realized, put Jason in a supremely good mood. He was a complicated man in some ways, a few of them surprising, but this wasn’t one of them.
I was tempted to feel as good as he did. My body sure as hell felt good, but my brain, of course, had to tie itself in knots.
“Spill it,” Jason said, because apparently he was freaking psychic when it came to me.
The words came out before I could stop them. “You don’t think I’m using you, do you?”
He didn’t even blink. “You mean, do I think you’re just using my dick?” He grinned again. “You do seem to appreciate it.”
I felt my cheeks heat, which was ridiculous, and then I realized he was fishing for a compliment. “Fine,” I said. “I suppose it’s… okay.”
“Okay?”
“Acceptable.”
“Keep talking dirty. I like it.”
My cheeks went even hotter, but I had to say what was on my mind. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression,” I said. “That isn’t… I mean, that isn’t how I feel.”
The teasing went out of his expression. “Relax,” he said. “That isn’t what I think. Besides, I get a lot out of this, too. You may have noticed.”
I waved a hand. “You get laid,” I said. “I think you pretty much get laid all the time.”
“What?”
“Oh, please. Don’t tell me it isn’t true.”
“It isn’t.”
“Jason, come on,” I said, rolling my eyes, trying not to think about it. “You can just be honest, for God’s sake.”
To my surprise, he sat up, his expression solemn. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked for his boxer shorts, sliding them on.
I blinked. Jason seemed almost impossible to offend, but that was what had done it? I’d somehow touched a nerve. “What is it?” I asked him.
“You don’t want to know.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me. He’d put his boxers on, but nothing else yet. He hadn’t yet stood and walked away. I still had a chance to fix this, whatever it was.
I scooted across the bed until I was next to him, my knees under me, the blanket around me. “What is it?” I said again. When he didn’t answer, I added, “I told you my thing. So tell me.”
He turned and looked at me. His gaze was assessing, as if he was figuring something out about me, trying to read me like words. “It’s embarrassing,” he said.
“More embarrassing than how drunk and stupid we were at that party?”
“Maybe.”
He was worried. That I would laugh at him, maybe. He had no idea that laughing at him was the last thing I would do. “Just tell me,” I said.
He sighed and gave in. “Do you know how many times I had sex with Charlotte?”
“No.” The word came out as practically a shout. I did not want to hear this. “Noooooo…” I said, lifting my hands toward my ears to block him out.
“Seven.”
I froze. “What?”
“Seven,” he said again.
“Seven times?” I stared at him. “Jason, you were dating for four years.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Here’s how it breaks down.” He counted on his fingers. “Twice before I joined the Marines. Once a year while I was deployed. Once when I got home. Seven.”
There