Summer's Temptation (10 page)

“I want you to be my hug buddy,” I blurt.

“Your what?”

I can tell by the tense set of his mouth and the crinkles around his humor-filled eyes that he’s trying not to laugh. If I were him, I’d be doing the same, because what the hell is a hug buddy? A stupid name Hannah came up with.

“Fuck buddy. I meant fuck buddy.” I inhale sharply, horrified I’ve let those words loose without explaining. I’m going about this all wrong, and I’m sure of that when I see the shock in Tyler’s eyes. Of all the things I might ask of him, I bet he never expected that. “Let me clarify.”

Tyler stares at me, mouth slightly ajar. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him dumbfounded, and the emotion is unsettling on Mister Cool and Confident. I open my mouth to continue, but he holds up his hand.

“No need to explain.” His face tightens; the lines around his mouth and on his forehead deepen.

I can practically see the gears in his brain churning. He’s considering my offer. I know the second he makes his decision because his eyes darken, and his gaze goes from my face to my body. It touches every part of me with an intimacy that feels like a caress. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by the passion in his stare. Dear God, no wonder girls flock to his bed. That stare alone would entice me onto his big king-size mattress, and I wouldn’t spare a second thought to how many girls he’s taken on the same sheets.

I clear my throat to speak again and to explain that I have rules to go along with my offer, but he rises like a jungle cat, all sinewy grace, and I’m speechless again. I watch him knowing I can have him, maybe even tonight. He strides toward me, eyes darkening even more. The sight of him sends a shuddering thrill down my spine. Is it really this easy?

He stands so close to me the toes of our shoes touch. I stare up into his big blue eyes, wondering if he’s going to kiss me. My breathing’s uneven, and I’m sure my cheeks are flushed.

He wraps his fingers around my upper arm and tugs me toward the door. “Time for you to go, Cassie.”

Wait. What? “Excuse me?”

“My answer’s no. You need to leave.”

My mouth opens and closes like a fish. I try to form words, but I have no idea what to say. He drags me forward, not even letting me state my case.

“Why?” I shake his hand off my arm and widen my stance to make it harder for him to move me.

He grabs my arm again. “Doesn’t matter.”

I don’t have time to be humiliated. I’m too shocked that he’s not even considering my proposal. “You’re a guy. It’s sex. You have no qualms about fucking half of Vandeveer. Why not add me to the list?”

He’s not even looking at me anymore; he’s too busy trying to throw me from his room. “You’re not my type.”

I bristle and dig in my heels. “What’s your type? Bimbo, brainless, and big-boobed? Only one of those things can’t be faked, and I’ve got
that
. I can feign the rest.”

He stops marching toward the door and turns on me, his face harsh, almost angry. Behind the furious edge, I see his disappointment in me. “Why, Cassie?”

I try to wrench my arm from his grasp. “If you’d stop forcing me to leave, I’d tell you.”

“Never mind.” He tugs me toward the door again. “Just leave.”

“Give me two seconds—”

“No.” He throws the door open.

“But—”

“No!”

An expression of disgust crosses his face, completely undoing me. I feel worthless and naive that I’d even think he’d consider having sex with me. He lets go of my arm, and I stalk into the hallway, humiliation bearing heavier on my chest with each step. If he were a gentleman, he’d give me a reason for refusing my offer, allowing me to make it through the evening without a mental breakdown. That’s obviously not his style. He’s too much of a jerk to let a girl down easy.

“Asshole,” I mumble. I blink rapidly, my eyes stinging, and peer down the hall to see if anyone’s watching. The two Tyler groupies sit on the living room couch, staring at me. I hang my head to avoid their eyes and march away.

“You’re not as smart as I thought you were,” Tyler calls.

I figured he’d shut the door already, so I’m surprised to hear his voice. I twirl on my heels and grab onto the anger coursing through my veins because it’s the only thing keeping the tears of humiliation at bay. “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

He stands in the doorway, arms crossed and thumbs tucked under his armpits. “If you had a brain in your pretty little head, you would’ve figured out I’m a dickwad a long time ago.”

The girls behind me snigger. He shuts the door in my face, and I’m left staring at a sign that reads,
No shirt, no skirt, no problem.

Chapter 10

B
ack at the house, I pace between my bookcase and dresser, stabbing the air with a bamboo backscratcher. “Who the hell does Tyler think he is? Some god who can dole out sex to everyone but me? He’s such an asshole!”

Liz reclines on my bed, listening to my rant. When I’d stormed out of Tyler’s house, she hurried after me, but it took her twenty minutes to pry a confession from me. I’d been too embarrassed to even tell my best friend that Tyler wasn’t interested.

Now that I’m owning up to my disgrace, I can’t stop. “I hope he gets gonorrhea from one of his little skanks.”

“I just don’t understand,” Liz says. “No guy out there would turn you down for no-strings sex.” She sounds as though she really believes her words, but since she’s just been proven wrong, I’m not sure where her conviction comes from. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said I’m not his type.” Apparently Tyler has standards, and I fall well below the mark.

“Fuck that. You’re every guy’s type. Especially Tyler’s.”

If that were true, I wouldn’t be stabbing at an imaginary Tyler heart. Screw his heart. I aim lower for his teeny, tiny balls. “How am I going to face him again?”

“You’re not. At least not for a while. We’ll avoid their parties, and if he tries to come over with Josh and Dylan, I’ll steer them back out the door.”

I straighten from my fencing stance and look at Liz. “You’d kick them out for me?”

She nods and sits up, kicking her feet over the side of the bed. “Of course I would.”

“Thanks, Liz.” I sigh, dropping the backscratcher on my dresser. In an instant, the fight’s gone out of me, and all I want to do is curl under my comforter and forget about the stupid boy next door. I plop down next to her.

“It’s the least I can do.” She pats my leg in a rare show of affection. “After all, this is my fault. I should have kept my fat mouth shut and never told you to get a fuck buddy.”

“If I hadn’t thought it was a good idea, I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“I know, but I could have found a better candidate than Tyler.”

“Let’s make a pact to never say his name again.” I hold out my hand.

Liz shakes my hand. “Deal. Now get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.” She pats my leg one last time and stands. “Come get me if you can’t sleep. We can watch
Gossip Girl
or gay porn. Your choice.”

“We have gay porn?”

She nods. “Apparently Josh got so drunk he crawled into bed with Tyler a few nights ago.”

I cringe when she says Tyler’s name.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, sorry!”

“Just refer to him as
the jackass
.”

“No problem. Anyway,
the jackass
couldn’t get Josh out of his bed, so Josh woke up in the morning with a blow-up Bob doll tucked next to him and a stack of gay pornos beside its perky little blow-up balls.”

I smirk. That sounds exactly like something
the jackass
would do. Then I groan because I’m grinning over something he did. “Do you think we could talk Josh and Dylan into kicking him out and getting a new roommate?”

She chuckles. “Josh would do anything for a case of beer. Dylan might be a little harder to convince.”

“We can use Hannah against him.”

She saunters toward the door, shaking her head. “Sleep, Cassie. Everything will seem less weird in the morning.”

I seriously doubt that, but Liz has dealt with enough of my emotional outbursts for one night. As she grabs the doorknob to close the door, I let curiosity get the better of me. “How did you end up with Josh’s porn?”

“He asked if I wanted it. How could I say no? I mean, gay porn is fucking awesome.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’ll be in the living room watching guys get it on if you need me.” With a sympathetic smile, she closes the door.

The tequila shots I did earlier are making me woozy, and I’m grateful they’ll help me sleep. After I change into a pink pajama tank top and matching shorts, I crawl into bed and cozy up to George, my giant sock monkey with vintage tortoise-shell buttons for eyes. I tell myself there’s no point in obsessing over what happened with Tyler. As soon as my eyes close, I obsess anyway.

The situation kind of reminds me of the Sadie Hawkins dance in eighth grade. I’d spent a week working up the courage to ask my crush, Greg Siddons, to be my date. On Friday, I’d carefully brushed my hair and placed a red barrette in my long locks. To match my red turtleneck sweater, I borrowed my mother’s Forever Scarlet lipstick and dabbed it on sparingly so she wouldn’t complain that I was making myself look too old. I’d painted my nails red the night before.

When I got off the bus that morning and walked nervously into the cafeteria, where all the students waited before classes started, I saw Greg. He was sitting with his friends at a table by the only window in the large room, playing on his Nintendo DS. Though my hands were sweating and my hearts was thumping, I walked up to the table full of guys and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” I asked.

He didn’t even look up. Still playing his game, he said, “I know what this is about, and my answer’s no. I don’t want to go to the dance with you.”

I’m pretty sure I blushed as bright as my outfit, which only made the moment more mortifying. Everyone at the table was staring, and Greg finally looked at me. He laughed. At me. The blood that had colored my cheeks instantly drained away, and I turned on my heels and hurried toward my friends at our usual table.

As I darted across the cafeteria, my phone chimed. I pulled it out of my purse.

Ask me,
Jacob had texted. He was Greg’s best friend and was sitting at the table.

I wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten my number. I texted back,
So you can laugh at me too?

No. Ask me because I’ve wanted you to all week.

So I did. We had a great time. Turned out Greg had been waiting for Felicity to invite him to the dance, and she never did.

Greg might have been the first boy to humiliate me, but he obviously wouldn’t be the last. I snuggle close to George and wish I had a Jacob to ease my mortification. I’m on my own this time.

One eye pops open. My room is dark except for a few slivers of light filtering through the blinds. I roll over and check the time.
Three a.m.
Having no idea why I woke, I yawn and stretch while wiggling my toes.

George is still by my side; his wide button eyes stare at me. I draw his cuddly body closer and close my eyes. I’m almost asleep, in that dreamy place where reality blends into unconsciousness, when I hear arguing coming from the living room.

“You put her up to this,” a guy says, his voice rough.

“I planted the seed.” Liz sounds contrite. “She made the decision herself.”

“It never would’ve crossed her mind if you hadn’t opened your big mouth.” The guy sounds suspiciously like Tyler.

“Get the fuck out of my house if you’re going to talk to me like that,” Liz snaps.

Pounding footsteps approach my room.

“Tyler! Come back here!” Liz calls.

Oh no, it
is
him! My heart stutters.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Liz says.

My door opens, and light spills in from the hallway. All I can think of is escape, but it’s too late to crawl under the bed with the dust bunnies. I squint against the brightness and sit up, pulling the comforter to my chin. I’m not wearing a bra, and my tank top is too thin to hide the contours of my breasts.

“Tyler Mason, get the hell out of her room!” Liz bellows.

“Can I talk to you, Cassie?” Tyler asks.

My eyes adjust to the light from the hallway. I notice how disheveled he is, his cranberry shirt wrinkled and his dark hair a messy mop dangling in his eyes. His shoulders hang a little lower than usual, and the normally shallow lines around his mouth seem deeper.

Is this a dream? I blink hard. Once. Twice. Three times. Nope. Not a dream. I doubt I’d be able to conjure a remorseful-looking Tyler.

“Please,” he says.

I slump down, the last remnants of sleep washed away by an invisible tide brought by Tyler. On its tail, a wave rushes in with the memory of the night’s events. Humiliation humbles me as I stare at him. My raw emotions make me want to hide under my covers, but I’m also curious why he’s here and why he seems so contrite. Curiosity wins out, and I nod once.

“I don’t mind dragging him out of here.” Liz’s hands are fists by her sides.

I get the impression she’s not above punching him. Her fierce loyalty makes me love her even more.

“It’s okay.” I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and blink one last time just to make sure Tyler’s really in my bedroom. Yep. Still here. I push George farther under the covers so he can’t see I still sleep with a stuffed animal, and I turn on the lamp next to my bed.

Liz tsks. “You’re a pain in the ass, Tyler.”

“That’s not exactly a news flash,” he says.

“Scream if you need me,” she says to me then turns an icy glare on Tyler. “I have pepper spray in my room, so watch your step, asshole.” With a huff, she shuts the door.

Tyler stares at the door as if he’s afraid she’s going to barge back in with a shotgun. “She’s a scary woman.”

“Only if you piss her off.”

We both go quiet. I smooth down my hair, knowing it gets a little crazy when I sleep. I stop mid-stroke, hating that I want to look good for him after the way he treated me.

He shoves his hands deep in his jeans pockets, and his shoulders slump far enough forward that his chest caves. “I was a jerk to you tonight.”

It’s not an apology, more a statement. I’m not sure why he’s reiterating what we both already know. He rocks back on his heels, eyes sliding over my hanging net full of sock monkeys. When he’s done inventorying my collection, his gaze goes to the cherry dresser next to the closet.

Over a minute passes as he surveys my room, and I’m growing impatient. I’m tired and don’t feel like waiting all night to figure out what he wants. “Either tell me why you’re here or get out.” I was going for harsh, but my voice comes out small instead. I can’t seem to do anything right tonight.

He turns toward me, and his gaze fixates somewhere over my head. “Why would you want a fuck buddy? I mean seriously? Girls like you don’t do that shit.”

“Girls like me?” I balk. “I don’t know why you think I’m so different—”

“Because you are. And nothing you can say will make me think otherwise.”

I want to yell at him,
I’m not different
. I get horny like any other girl. I get lonely too. Sometimes I just want a guy to distract me for a few hours, but I guess one thing makes me different from Tyler’s groupies. Up until two months ago, I had a boyfriend to take care of my desires.

All those words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t make myself say them. “I tried to tell you why I want a fuck buddy, but you kicked me out.”

He draws in a long breath and stares up toward the shadows my lamp casts on the ceiling. “You surprised me. I don’t surprise easily.” The muscular column of his neck moves as he swallows.

“Surprised or not, you didn’t have to be mean about it. You could have let me down easier. You know, say something like, ‘I only do a girl once.’”

He rubs the back of his neck, his fingers so long they nearly curl from one side to the other. “That’s true, you know. I mean, occasionally I make an exception, but not often.”

“See, there’s a great excuse.”

He finally turns his gaze on me, and the intensity in his blue eyes makes me swallow back a sandpapery lump. “I didn’t want to lie to you. When I told you you’re not my type, that was the honest to God truth.”

I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the gut and then sucker punched for good measure. “So I’m just a freak show you can’t stomach banging?” He’s such a bastard. I’m seriously thinking about calling Liz in to knee him in the balls. Someone should have taught him how to fib to save feelings.

“If you’d let me finish, you’ll understand what I’m saying.” When I don’t interrupt him, he asks, “How many guys have you been with?”

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. “You think I’m bad in bed?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Answer the question.” He leans against the wall by the door, both hands in his pocket, and waits for my answer.

Now that I have his full attention, I wish he’d go back to inventorying my sock monkey collection.

“Well?” he says.

“None of your business.”

“It’s two, right?”

My eyes widen. How can he know that? I wipe the astonishment from my face, but I must be too late.

He smiles smugly. “I’m right.” He doesn’t seem remotely surprised. “All the girls I’m with are heading into double digits. Now do you understand why you’re not my type? You don’t do casual sex. I get that. I even like that about you, so why would you want to stoop to my level?”

“You’re putting me on a pedestal.”

“I like putting some girls on a pedestal. They give me an unobtainable fantasy.”