Beauty and the Mustache (52 page)

And I’d just moaned.

What the hiccup was going on?

I raised my palms to his chest and made to
push him away. This only caused his hands to still, now on the
curve of my waist, and his grip to tighten. He plastered our fronts
together more completely.

“
Um…” I cleared my throat,
found my voice unsteady. “Yeah, yeah—all better.” I
croaked.

He laughed. Actually, it was more like a
lazy chuckle.

One of Martin’s hands slipped up my back and
under the strap of my bra, where the itch had been, his fingers
splayed wide. The other went to the clip on my head and released
the spring. My hair fell like a curtain down my back and I
perceived that he was wrapping the thick length around his
hand.

I pushed him again, tilted my head to the
side and away, feeling unaccountably breathless. “I’m all better
now. Thanks for the help. Services no longer needed.” Everywhere he
touched me sent ripples of awareness and heat to my core.

My attempt at escape was a failure because,
as soon as I pressed against him in earnest, Martin tugged my hair,
encouraged me to tilt my chin upward.

Then he kissed me.

And—damn, damn, damn—he was a good
kisser.

More precisely, since I had grossly limited
experience in the kissing department, he was what I imagined a good
kisser would kiss like. The kind girls fantasize about. The guy who
just takes what he wants, like he’s hungry and you’re on the menu,
but somehow makes it epic for both parties involved.

No preamble, prologue, or preface. Just
urgent, fervent, worshipful kisses, one right after the other. I
had no choice but wrap my arms around his neck, stand on my tip
toes, and try to kiss him back. Because, honestly, the way he held
me, the way he growled when our tongues met, the way his mouth
moved over mine—he demanded it.

Also, in the recesses of my mind, I realized
that this entire situation was completely preposterous. Likely, he
was drunk or tripping on acid or was playing some kind of joke.

One day I would persuade my grandchildren to
gather ‘round while I put in my good dentures, the ones with no
space between my two front teeth. I would tell them for the
millionth time about how Hercules had once accidentally kissed me
in the chemistry lab at my Ivy League University.

The need for air eventually required our
lips to part, though we separated only inches. If I inclined my
head forward our noses would touch.

I opened my eyes as wide as they would go
and glanced at his, found his gaze alternately moving between mine
and my lips. I also noted that I wasn’t the only one who was
breathing heavy.

I said and thought in unison, my voice just
above a whisper, “What was that?”

His eyes stopped moving over my face and
instead settled, held mine captive. They were all heated and… hot
and… intense. I was starting to understand why the blood of a
thousand virgins had been sacrificed at his altar of sexual
prowess.

I tried to swallow. I couldn’t.

“
That was necessary.” He
finally said. Actually, he growled it.

“
Necessary?”

“
Yes. That needed to
happen.”

“
It did?”

He nodded once and bent as though he were
going to do it again. I stiffened, my hands moved instantly to his
chest and I thwarted his advance—because, if he started kissing me,
it was surely a sign of Armageddon. Also, I was so far out of my
comfort level, I was in an alternate dimension.

“
No-no-no-no.” I twisted
my head to the side, braced my hands against the imposing wall of
his chest. “We’re not doing that again.”

He tugged my hair—I’d forgotten that he’d
wrapped it around his hand—and bodily pressed me against the black
topped lab table. His other armed wrapped completely around me,
still under my shirt.

“
Yes.
We’re doing
that
again.”

“
No. We’re not. We’re not
doing anything unless it involves measuring the composition of
trace elements in surface water.”

“
Parker-” his hand left my
hair and slipped into my shirt again, spanning my side and
stomach.

“
Because we’re lab
partners and lab partners do not kiss.”

“
Then we’re not lab
partners anymore.”

“
You can’t switch lab
partners in the middle of the semester.”

“
I just did.”

My hands moved down to catch his wrists
because his hands were on their way to second base; I successfully
intercepted his northward progress. “Nope. I don’t do that.”

“
Do what?” he nuzzled my
neck and whispered against my skin. He must’ve known that nuzzling
was going to cause my insides to melt. I imagined he’d conducted
methodical experiments into the fastest way to female
self-lubrication.

“
I’m not one of your easy
girls, or even difficult girls.” My voice wavered, so I cleared my
throat. “I’m not even really a girl. I’m more like one of the boys.
Think of me like a boy.”

“
Not possible.”

“
It’s true. Do you kiss
boys? Because, if not, then I think you must have me confused with
someone else.”

His movements stilled and a long moment
passed. Then his hands fell away, he stepped away, and I slumped
slightly forward—a weird mixture of bereft and relieved.

“
You’re a lesbian.” He
said the words as though they explained a mystery he’d been trying
to solve for years.

My eyes shot to his. He was four feet away
and I found him watching me with a dawning something. If I didn’t
know any better it looked like disappointment and frustration.

I swallowed, successfully, and licked my
lips, shook my head. The irony of his confusion not lost on me.

My first and only boyfriend had been gay. I
just didn’t know it while we were dating through all of high
school.

I was still trying to catch my breath when I
responded. “No. I’m not gay. I’m just… not interested in you that
way.”

This was true—because I’d witnessed his path
of devastation with my own eyes.

This was also a lie—because
I was most definitely interested in him
that
way, just not the after part
where he would say it was meaningless sex, made me cry, and told me
to get over it.

His eyebrows jumped a fraction of a
centimeter at my softly spoken declaration.

“
Not interested...” He
repeated.

I stepped to the side, scaling the length of
the table, and reached for my bag. I hefted it to my shoulder,
escape now the only thing on my mind. His slightly narrowed eyes
followed my movements.

“
I know, right?” I tried
to sound self-deprecating, which wasn’t difficult because I truly
meant my next words. “Who am I? I’m nobody.”

“
You’re not nobody.” He
countered. “Your mother is a senator and your grandfather was an
astronaut.”

I cringed. I hated it when people brought up
my family. “Just because my family is famous, doesn’t mean I’m
somebody.”

He shifted forward and said with a
surprising amount of vehemence. “Exactly! That’s exactly
right.”

“
I know, right?” I readily
agreed. “See, I’m ordinary. And you’re you and I’m sure you’re used
to the deafening sound of underwear hitting the floor every time
you enter a room. But I don’t do that kind of thing, even for
Hercules. Sure, I’ll think about the possibility later when I’m
safely alone in bed, but I never cross pollinate fantasy and
reality.”

“
When you’re alone in
bed?”

I didn’t acknowledge his words because…
mortification.

Instead I said, “I’m not a fast and loose
girl. I’m a slow and steady girl. Who knows when or if I’ll ever
cross the finish line.”

He blinked at me, at my deluge of words. I
didn’t even try to read his expression because I was so focused on
walking backward out of the room.

“
You’re leaving?” He
asked.

“
Yep.” I threw my thumb
over my shoulder. “I’m going to go now. And don’t worry about the
experiment. I’ll come in over spring break and finish it up. And
when I see you after the break, everything will be back to normal.
We can forget that this ever happened. We shall never speak of it.”
My voice cracked on the last word.

“
Parker-”

“
Have a really great
spring break.”

“
Kaitlyn-” He took two
strides forward as though he were going to stop me; but he halted
at the sound of crunching glass underfoot. He glanced at his feet,
noticing for the first time the broken beaker on the floor. “What
the hell?”

I seized the opportunity afforded by his
split attention and bolted out of the room.

In fact, I ran down the hall like an insane
person and slipped into the elevator just before it closed. I even
jogged back to my dorm, didn’t begin to relax until I crossed the
threshold of the keycard access area, climbed the three flights to
my room, and locked the door behind me.

I tossed my bag to the corner of the tiny
space, threw myself backwards on my bed, and rubbed my eyes with
the base of my palms. The scene in the lab played over and over
behind my closed eyelids—him touching me, kissing me, scratching
the impossible itch.

It wasn’t until several minutes later that I
realized I’d forgotten to tell him about the dastardly plot I’d
overheard.

*END SNEAK PEEK*

Elements of
Chemistry
releases Spring 2015