a small hit though. She’s a good girl, and she’s in school. Judging from the book, she’s taking some pretty fucking hard classes. I never went that road. Not like my brother Dom. I mean, I still know my shit. I never wanted to sit in class and try to be the teacher’s pet. But I'm damn sure this broad isn't wanting a man like me.
She’s not going to want the bad boy who’s only going to derail her plans. At most, maybe she'd consider me someone to go slumming with. But my read on her isn’t giving me that vibe; she’s not the kind of woman who'd go to a dive looking for a dirty fuck to get her off, the later tell her girlfriends what she did. Her soft blue eyes stare back at me with lust, but she's holding herself back. I can tell. And I’m finding the challenge alluring.
"Yup! Bio." Her voice squeaks a little and it makes me grin. I love that I’m getting to her. I can tell she thinks this is a bad idea, and she’s right. Just like I thought, smart girl. "I--" She starts to speak, but I cut her off.
"You want to be a biologist, or a teacher?" I ask her, knowing she’d be too polite to talk over me. She blinks a few times, proving me right. "I just ask 'cause my brother went to school, but he decided to teach." I take a deep breath, then sit back in my seat as I run a hand through my hair. "Seems like a shit deal, though. That degree cost a lot, but teaching doesn’t pay dick."
My jaw tics as I realize I let a bit of profanity slip. I don't know why it bothers me. It's who I am, and this is how I talk. All I'm looking for is a quick fuck, and I think she'd enjoy my filthy mouth. Or at the very least, she'd enjoy it on her pussy. But something about cussing in front of her seems off. She's too sweet to taint.
"I have no fucking clue, to be honest," she says, and I smirk at her response. I love her blasé attitude and that her sweet little mouth can say naughty things. I’ve always wondered why people spend so much of their lives doing things that don’t thrill them. I need the high I get from my line of work. I don’t get people who work themselves to the bone for something their heart isn’t into.
"Then why do it?" I ask, and I honestly want to know. Her hesitation makes me think she doesn’t know how to answer. Then her eyes fall to the table, and her lips tug down into a frown.
Damn. That's not what I was expecting. I feel like an asshole for putting that sad look on her face. "Didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart." She shakes her head and looks back at me with a pained expression. She swallows and takes a deep breath. She’s so easy to read, and the only thing coming off of her right now is sorrow. I don’t like it. It’s not the read I got on her when she walked in.
"I'm just tired," she says. Her lips press into a sad smile. It's a lie. She may be tired, but that's not what's eating her. This is where I usually steer the conversation back to the direction of my dick, or just leave. But the fucking words come out of my unfiltered mouth with concern. "Tell me what's wrong," I say imperiously. I demand, rather than ask her for an answer, because I don’t want to give her the option not to confide in me. I want to know. Some sick, twisted part of me feels like I could fix it all.
Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t want me prying. I get that. To be honest, I’m surprised the question popped out of my mouth. Finally, she answers, "I'm just not happy with the decisions I've made for people who don't appreciate them." Vague answer, but a bit of relief washes over her. Like she’s happy just to get it off her chest. Surprisingly enough, she continues opening up.
"I keep moving my life around for my mother, who only seems to date shitty assholes who take, take, take until she's spent. And then she runs to me when she has nothing."
My heart fucking hurts for this broad. She's intelligent, beautiful, and sweet, yet she's