crazy sex,” I say to the dress with a little sigh as I plop back down on my bed. I keep a small sewing kit in my desk, and I make a mental note to see if I can fix the tear. If I can’t, I’ll send it to the alterations place across the street from BB’s.
Annoyed and frustrated, I fluff up my pillows, flop down, and turn on HBO.
“Game of Thrones,” I snap into my remote. I need Jon Snow, stat.
I’ve gone through one drink and an entire episode of my re-watch, and I’m at the part where a zombie shows up—
Someone bangs on my door.
“Great timing! Almost pissed myself,” I mutter. Setting my drink on my desk next to me, I dash to the door.
“Who is it?”
“Z.”
My stomach clenches. He came after me? I put my hands on my hips. “Shouldn’t you be at the party?”
“I left. Went for a run.” His voice is low.
“But it’s Eric’s birthday.”
I hear a sigh. “The last I looked, Eric was with twins, one on either side of him. He won’t even miss me.”
There’s a long pause.
“Are you going to let me in?”
I chew on my lips. “Not a good idea.”
“Are you afraid we’ll have mind-blowing sex again?”
My teeth snap together. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we said we wouldn’t.”
“I knew we would.”
“Well, I thought we were on the same page.”
“We might have been, but then you walked into my house—”
“I have neighbors you know. They tend to listen.”
He lets out a small laugh, but I sense the strain underneath. “Come on, Sugar, let me in.”
But here’s the thing—there is no fixing this, because he’s hot and sexy and even now my body is practically pressed against the door. I have no control. None.
“Plus, I need to give you your shoes and coat. You ran off without them.”
“You ran with my stuff?”
“I wore a backpack—just for you.”
“Fine. Put them by the door.”
A few seconds tick by and I’m wondering, dying to know what he’s doing.
“What’s all the moving around? You still there?”
“Yep. Just sitting down. Not going away until you let me in to apologize.”
“For what? Be specific.”
He sighs and I hear the clack of the heels as he sets them on the tile beside my door.
“Things.”
“Uh-huh.”
He exhales. “I’m sorry I flew off the handle when you brought up your ex. It’s just…I don’t like to think about you being with him.”
“Why?”
“You know why.” His voice is terse. He sighs. “I’m sorry I called you the girl of the month. There is no such thing, I swear. Some jersey chaser made that up to be cute my freshman year and it just stuck. Now we just make jokes about it.” He pauses. “I’m not the testosterone-addled asshole you think I am. I’m just a mostly normal dude who happens to be really into you.”
I fidget from one foot to the next, my head going back to the dragon tattoo I saw tonight. Placed on his left shoulder with the head lying over that side of his chest, it was massive and colorful, inked in shades of royal blue and yellow with orange flames coming from the mouth.
I chew on my nail. “When did you get your tattoo?”
He lets out a sigh, part weary, part amused. “Truly, it’s a fine story, how I came to have this wonderful tattoo, but it’s one that should only be told face-to-face.”
I cross my arms. “You are not getting into my room.”
“Because you’re too chicken to be alone with me?”
I huff. “I am not—”
“You’re afraid you’ll take one look at my incredibly muscled, naked chest—”
“I’ve seen some chests, and yours is not the most incredible.”
“And you’ll faint like those ladies in the Jane Austen books—”
“How do you know what ladies do in Jane Austen books?”
He sighs. “I know my books.”
I smirk. “Quote me something from one of your books.”
He clears his throat. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. That’s Mr. Darcy speaking to Elizabeth Bennet.”
“You probably saw it on a coffee mug,” I say, but he has my attention. I happen to adore Mr. Darcy.
He huffs. “My mom used to read the classics aloud to me and my brother. She was a high school English teacher.”
I sniff. “Well, fine, you know Jane Austen. Do you know anything else?”
He pauses, and I picture him thinking—
“Are you Googling stuff?” I ask.
“No. I’m racking my brain to come up with some kind of quote, but Jane isn’t my favorite. I know