the urge to do something stupid, like bring it to my nose and see if it smells like him.
No. Don’t swoon, you idiot. You should be mad. He doesn’t get to give you emotional whiplash.
Tossing it onto the passenger seat, I climb in, drop my phone into my lap, then stick my key into the ignition. Before I can back out of my spot, my phone buzzes between my thighs.
Keep your window open tonight.
The number is one I don’t recognize, but there’s only one person it could be. Nerves and excitement tangle together at the promise of seeing him. Ugh. I’ve never met someone so hot and cold in my life, not to mention infuriating, impossible, and entitled.
Try telling that to the butterflies in my stomach.
The rest of the night dragged on mercilessly slow. I’m sure it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that I spent every agonizing second anticipating whatever Thayer was up to. Did he plan to break this thing between us off? Did he plan on coming back for another taste like nothing happened? I told myself I wasn’t going to open my window, that I wasn’t going to be that girl who did whatever he said with no questions asked. But in the end, I left it open, with a promise to myself that I’d have a real conversation with him about how I felt. No touching. No sex. At least not before I’d gotten some real answers.
I stand in my walk-in closet, wearing sleep shorts and a matching lace camisole. No. This won’t do. I need more clothes. Something frumpy and…unattractive. I don’t want him getting cocky, thinking I wore this for him. I shove my shorts down my thighs and pull my top off before switching it out for a pair of baggy sweatpants and a pastel tie-dye sweatshirt. I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my closet, rolling the waistband a few times so they stay in place. My face is stripped of makeup, hair in a messy bun. I look borderline homeless. Perfect.
When ten o’clock rolls around and he’s still not here, I start to suspect he’s not coming. I climb into bed, swipe my phone and earbuds off the bedside table, and find an episode of my favorite podcast to pass the time. Five minutes. I’ll give him five more minutes.
I don’t know how long has passed when I jerk upright, finding Thayer standing inside my window. Shit. I must have fallen asleep. I can only see his silhouette standing there, his frame tall and imposing. I flip the switch on the small lamp next to my bed, bathing the room in dim light, then I swing my legs over the side of my mattress, moving toward him.
“Hi,” I say, the butterflies from earlier returning full force.
“Hi.”
We lock eyes, taking each other in, and suddenly, everything I had planned to say dies on my tongue. It’s only been a week, but I’ve missed him. His dark hair is perfectly disheveled, his lightning tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his t-shirt. I guess he doesn’t care to cover it up now that I’ve seen it. I don’t know who moves first, but all of a sudden, I’m jumping into his arms, his hands gripping my ass as my legs wrap around his waist, our mouths colliding.
Thayer groans appreciatively, his hands squeezing my ass before he hitches me up higher, never once breaking our kiss. He flips us around, slamming my back to the wall next to the window as his tongue continues to fuck my mouth. He’s never kissed me like this, his tongue moving slow and sure in a way that consumes me. I’d say he missed me, too.
“Wait,” I say, pushing on his shoulders. “No kissing.”
“Yes, kissing,” he argues, his lips finding my throat. “I want to kiss other things, too.” His words send a jolt straight between my legs, and I arch for him, giving him better access. He’s hard between my legs already as he nips and sucks the sensitive skin between my neck and collarbone, and I can’t keep from rolling my hips into him.
“I’m mad at you,” I say aloud, and I don’t know if I’m talking to him or trying to remind myself.
“I know.” His warm palm slips beneath my sweatshirt, his thumb brushing against my piercing making me shiver, my nipple tightening beneath his touch.
“Explain.” My head falls back, every nerve ending tingling.