Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,28
because, technically, it’s not lip-to-lip contact.
Her eyelashes flutter from the contact.
“Beck,” she murmurs.
I take a deep breath, loving the sound of my name leaving her sleepy lips.
“Go back to sleep, princess,” I whisper in her ear. “I have to go, but I’ll be back later to tow your car.”
I’m not even sure if she’s awake enough to understand me, but she bobs her head up and down.
Before I leave, I check to make sure her door is locked. Then I slide open the window and slip out.
The chilly morning air encases me as I inch the window closed. I hesitate for another second or two, wanting to return to her room, but I can’t blow off work.
Sighing, I turn around and hike across the gravel parking lot to my car while checking my messages. My dad has called five times and left a voicemail. I don’t have to listen to it to know why he’s calling. It’s the same reason he’s been calling me for the last month: he wants me to come work for him. Well, wanting might not be a strong enough word. More like demanding.
I stuff my phone into my pocket without listening to the message, noting the Mercedes is parked beside my BMW. When I near my car, I curiously glance at the man sitting in the driver’s seat, texting on his phone.
As if noting my stare, he glances up and his eyes widen.
“What the hell?” I mutter. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”
He has his window rolled down, so I know he heard me. He doesn’t answer, though, simply starting up his engine and driving off like a bat out of hell.
Scratching my head, I climb into my car and let the engine idle for a few minutes to defrost the windows. I stay in the parking lot for longer than necessary, watching the entrance to the parking lot, making sure the Mercedes doesn’t come back.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but the guy looked at me like he knew me, or maybe he knew I was friends with Willow. And in a place like this, people knowing you isn’t a good thing.
Chapter Seven
Willow
Sunlight shines across my face as I open my eyes and roll over, stretching my arms above my head. My bed is empty, causing a cold emptiness to seep into my bones. But I feel refreshed, probably more than I have in a long time.
Then it all comes rushing back to me: my hands on Beck’s chest, my leg over his hip, the way he grinded against me. For a split, mind-losing second, I wanted him to do it again until I remembered the rule and why it exists.
Technically, I didn’t have a hip-to-hip contact rule. Still, that didn’t mean I felt any better about what occurred between us. That’s what I tell myself. Sometimes, I wonder if I lie to myself as much as I do to everyone else.
Thankfully, Beck shrugged off the incident. I feel so bad. After handing him a rule that we could never kiss, I violated him. Talk about mixed signals.
He probably thinks I’m crazy. Honestly, maybe I am. I don’t even know why I did it. Okay, that’s a lie. I did it because I couldn’t get the sight of his chest out of my mind.
When I closed my eyes, I fell into a dream of Beck and me kissing, my hands all over his bare chest, and my hips grinding against his. So, apparently, my body decided to act out the dream in real life.
Stupid, traitorous body.
God, I suck.
Sighing, I roll over and focus on if my mom and her friends are gone. The place is silent except for a dog howling from outside. It’d be a peaceful way to wake up if I hadn’t just sleep-fooled around with my best friend. Plus, my bedroom reeks of pot.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I look at the clock and grimace. Six o’clock in the morning and not everyone has left yet.
“Hey, mini-Paula, why don’t you open the door, get your sweet ass out here, and put on a little show for us,” a guy says from the other side of the door. “Isn’t that what you do? Dance, right?”
I fuse my lips together and close my eyes. Go away. Go away. Go away.
“That uniform you were wearing … That’s what it means … You’re a dancer at Crazy Morelliesin’s. How come I’ve never seen you there before?”