A muscle along his jawline flexes and his lips tighten. He pulls me into him, and he’s big and hard through his jeans.
“No, I mean in an ‘I want to fuck you’ kind of way,” he says sharply. “Any other questions?”
My heart stops beating for a microsecond and then rushes out of the blocks, sprinting so far ahead my brain can’t catch up.
“Tonight?” I press my hand to my chest, hoping to soothe the rapid rate.
“Yeah, tonight, if you want.” He links his fingers with mine and presses his hand to my chest. “Your heart is racing.”
Embarrassment burns under my skin and spreads over my cheeks in a flush, confessing my self-consciousness. Another way this body has betrayed me. The freshman fifteen. Sophomore seven. Junior jelly belly. Senior cellulite. With each year at Kerrington, I accomplished my goals and my confidence grew, but so did my waistline. My confidence has never been dictated by the number on the tag in my jeans. I know what I am and I know what I’m not, and I’ve made my peace with that. But these things Jared’s saying . . . they confuse me. They mix things up again and reignite the futile hopes of that chubby girl sitting beside the most beautiful guy at freshman orientation. The guy who probably remembered the pencil I gave him more than he remembered me.
So, yeah. This is strange, and I don’t trust it. When Jared and I started studying together this semester, I put my crush in time out. I disciplined it. I locked it in its room with no dinner.
I starved it.
Now he’s feeding it with impossible words and heated looks and urgent touches. He brings my hand to his chest. His heart beneath my palm thuds fast and heavy.
“Feel,” he says, twisting our fingers together over the tight muscles and ungiving bone. “My heart’s racing, too.”
His heart is racing.
And his breath is short, panting.
His eyelids half-mast over the desire smoking his eyes.
His body is giving me clues, but I’m still having trouble putting it all together.
“This could be our last night together, Banner,” he says softly.
Since elementary school I’ve been focused. Perfect attendance from kindergarten until high school graduation. Charity work, skipped grades, extracurricular activities, and always the highest GPA. I’ve dated very little and ended any relationship as soon as it started distracting me.
The guy I’ve crushed on since freshman year wants me. I have no idea why or how, but he does. His racing heart beneath my hand attests to it. What if tonight, for one damn night, I do what I want to do instead of what is required? I don’t know how all the pieces fit together, but I do know I’ve denied myself many things over the years pursuing my goals. I want this. I want him, and for once, I’m going to indulge.
“Okay,” I say, my answer clearer than my thoughts.
Surprise and relief skitter across his expression, and he isn’t the guy always outfitted in assurance, surrounded by campus elites well beyond my social reach. It’s just us, Jared and Banner. When I say yes, he looks at me like this is too good, like I’m too good to be true, too. He recovers quickly, resuming control, sliding his hands down my back.