Summer's Temptation (2 page)

“Maybe Hannah bought new lingerie for Dylan,” Josh calls from the porch.

Tyler jiggles the bag. “It’s too heavy for lingerie. Hey, Hannah, is Dylan into metal handcuffs?”

“It’s not mine,” Hannah says from somewhere behind me.

Josh snickers. “It’s Cassie’s?”

Heart thumping, I skid to a stop. Tyler squints at me as though he can’t believe the bag is mine. His index finger skims the inside of the sack, and he barely pushes it open.
Please don’t look. Please don’t look.
To my utter shock, he seems to think better of it. Bless the man, he just winks at me and hands it over.

“Thanks.” Heat rushes up my neck toward my cheeks.

I hug the bag protectively, wondering why Tyler didn’t sneak a peek. Josh sidles up to me and peers over my shoulder to try to see inside the bag, but it’s smooshed closed, and no one—I repeat, no one—will pry it from my fingers.

“Who are you buying lingerie for?” he asks. “I thought your boyfriend dumped you for Debbie Ding Dong.”

I stifle a groan, hating that everyone knows about my disastrous love life.

Hannah purses her pink lips like a schoolmarm. She rises on her tiptoes and smacks Josh’s head. “Don’t you have a filter?”

“Ow!” Josh rubs his reddening temple, looking dumbfounded, which isn’t hard since all the beer has killed most of his brain cells. “What? What’d I say?”

Tyler gives me a sympathetic smile and punches Josh in the arm. “Dumbass.”

I’m not sure what hurts worse: Josh’s words or Tyler’s sympathy. I sigh then take a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, to let go of all the negative energy. I’ve been holding on to too much of that lately. Besides, I have more important things to do than stand here and analyze my feelings. My new lover needs his batteries installed.

I stride toward the house, not feeling the least bit guilty for letting Liz stash the groceries. That’s what they get for throwing me under the bus. Once inside my bedroom, I lock the door and drop the bag on my bed, next to my collection of sock monkeys I haven’t put away yet.

The yellow cotton curtains I hung yesterday are shut tight, and I’m a little giddy from all this privacy. I’ve never had a room of my own. At home, my sister and I bunked together. My first two years of college, I lived in the sorority house, sharing a room with up to five other girls. I’d like to say we were up all night talking about boys and bonding over chocolate chip cookie dough, but the girls snored as loud as boys do and they slept with their cells in case their boyfriends called. Snoring combined with phones going off all hours of the night equals dropping GPA. Not a happy combination. Hence why I moved out.

Basking in my newfound privacy, I push aside a constellation map I haven’t had a chance to hang and sit on the bed next to the stuffed monkeys. After pulling the vibrator out of the bag, I get to work making it usable. A minute later, I push the last battery into the base. As I’m screwing the top back on, someone knocks softly on my bedroom door.

“Just a sec!” I put the vibrator into the top drawer of my nightstand then stroll past a half-dozen unpacked boxes toward the door.

When I unlock and open it, Tyler’s standing with his arm propped on the frame. His wicked smile makes my insides flutter. The curve of his mouth is framed by a perfect Greek nose, broad cheekbones, and an angular jaw that’d make Channing Tatum envious.

“You gonna tell me what’s in the bag?” he asks with a southern drawl that weakens my knees.

I lock my legs and remind myself that though Tyler Mason is talking to me as if we’re best buds, I don’t know him well. For the last two years, he’s flitted around the fringes of my life, but we haven’t conversed beyond exchanging pleasantries. He’s the bad boy who jumps from girl to girl. I’m the good girl who in a previous life, the one before I swore off boys, would have gotten married before I graduated.

I bat my eyelashes innocently. “Why would I tell you?”

His wicked smile turns playful. “Because I didn’t peek?”

I chuckle and, against my better judgment, decide to humor him. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

His dimples deepen as his smile widens. “Girl on girl porn?”

I roll my eyes while I stroll to my bed. “Not likely.” Given the subject matter, I’d expect Tyler’s eyes to smolder. Instead, they’re full of humor, so I play along by opening the empty bag and peering inside as if I’m taking inventory. “Manacles, a whip, and nipple clamps.” I smile deviously. “Wanna play?”

He frowns and shudders. “I’ll pass.” He pushes off the jamb, but instead of leaving, he strides into my room. He stops in front of my bed and stares at my pile of stuffed animals. “Do you have a monkey fetish?”

“No. I have a
sock
monkey fetish.” I try to see the pile from his perspective. It must look ludicrous with pink, yellow, and purple sock monkeys, a few oversized ones, several dozen traditional tanned ones, and even one with blue lips instead of red. In all, I own thirty-two. Over the last decade, my friends and family have bought many of them for me. I also made about ten, mostly after Wyatt dumped me. Stuffing socks with batting is therapeutic.

Tyler picks up a traditional sock monkey. “Something’s wrong here.” He points at the dangling legs. One’s a good two inches longer than the other.

“First attempt.”

His expression becomes a little awed. “You made them all?”

“Just a few.”

He drops the monkey into the pile and scratches the back of his head. “Where are you putting them?”

Good question. My room isn’t big. The furniture takes up most of the space, and a collection this size will eat up a lot of real estate. But I’ve thought ahead. I saunter to the dresser, grab a mesh sling that’s still in the package, and hold it up. “Animal hammock. I just have to install it.”

“You realize you’ll need a power drill.”

“So?”

His wicked smile comes back full force, and the glint in his eyes indicates he thinks he has me right where he wants me. “If you’ll tell me what’s in the bag, I’ll install it.”

I throw the hammock back on the dresser with a loud thump and plant my fists on my hips. “Are you insinuating I can’t handle a power tool?”

He nods. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Just because I have breasts doesn’t mean I’m mechanically challenged. “I got it covered.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow that’s perfectly arched, though I doubt it’s ever seen tweezers. His silver bar piercing rises with it. “Do you even own a drill?”

“Of course.” I take a moment to bask in his look of approval, then I step behind him. I take another moment to admire his rear view before placing my palm on his lower back and shoving him toward the door. “Stop insulting me and get out.”

I can’t budge a guy his size unless he lets me, and I’m relieved when he moves in the right direction, even if he grabs a handful of Skittles from my candy bowl on the way.

As he strides away, he peers over his shoulder at the Priscilla’s bag and says, “One of these days, I’m gonna find out.”

From the resolve in his voice, I have no doubt he will, but not today and never from me. He pops a few Skittles into his mouth and chews as I continue to “push” him forward.

“Not going to happen, Mason,” I say.

He keeps walking, but his shoulders stiffen and his jaw stops working on the candy. It’s common knowledge at Vandeveer that a guy never gets laid by a girl who calls him by his last name. What we’re doing is very close to flirting, and my days of leading a guy on are over. I’ll never follow through. Ever. At least not until I graduate.

Chapter 2

L
iz and I stand in the middle of our living room, about to leave for the party next door.

“Should I wear my hair up or down?” she asks, smoothing her black, shoulder-length locks into a sleek ponytail. The bleached stripe gives her a rebellious air that goes well with her skinny jeans, one shoulder T-shirt, and chunky metal-studded belt. I’m sure every guy will be vying for her undivided attention.

“Up,” I say, watching her dig into her pocket for an elastic band. “You look hot.”

After securing her hair, she twirls, arms stretched wide like a dancer. “I know, right?” When she comes to a stop, she swivels her hips, obviously pleased with herself.

I wish I had a quarter of her confidence. The aggressive way she dominates every situation makes men fall at her feet. Nothing’s dominant about me. I’ll be a people pleaser till the day I die.

With her hands on her hips, she smiles as she scans me from head to toe. Her grin turns into a scowl when her eyes reach my feet. “You look fuckable, but lose the flats.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone.” This is the first party I’ve been to since Wyatt and I broke up a month and a half ago. I don’t intend to stay for more than an hour.

She stabs a finger at me and shakes it up and down. “Just because you’re dating your dildo doesn’t mean you can’t flirt with the real thing.”

I peer down at my black ballet flats with the cute little patent leather bows. “These are comfy.” I make sure to pout so she’ll feel sorry for me and let it go.

“You look like a ten-year-old in those things. Are you trying to bag a pedophile?”

“I’m not trying to bag anyone.”

“Stop being mopey and slut it up a little.” She grabs my shoulders, turns me toward my bedroom, and shoves me. I’m surprised she doesn’t kick me in the butt for good measure. “Find something with heels. You can borrow my black Louboutins. I never wear them.”

I shudder at the thought. Expensive shoes make me nervous. I’m always afraid I’ll scuff them up or snap the heel. “No, thanks.”

A few minutes later, I’m back wearing inexpensive high-heel sandals that coordinate with my black miniskirt. If she doesn’t approve of these shoes, I’ll have to dig through my closet for the stripper heels I wore last Halloween.

Liz nods. “Nice. Now let’s go find you a magic stick.”

“I already have one,” I mutter. “It even has different speeds.”

Strutting in her high-heeled boots, she leads the way out our front door. “The ones at the party have different speeds too. You just have to use their butts as the remote control.”

“What if their butts are hairy?”

“Then you picked the wrong guy.”

They’re all the wrong guy,
I want to tell her, but I bite my tongue. Over the past few days, her annoyance over my decision to swear off men has been building. After all, what good is a wing-woman who refuses to flirt?

Ten minutes after arriving at the party, I have a beer in my hand and no one to talk to since Liz has already ditched me for a blond, buff hottie. She left me in the kitchen between a couple making out and two guys talking about the strip club they visited last weekend. I shift from foot to foot. This reminds me of the times I got separated from Wyatt at his frat’s parties. I’d always feel abandoned, and when Wyatt finally meandered back to me, I sulked. That must have annoyed him. I don’t want to be the girl who needs a man or a friend to feel comfortable.

After drawing a deep breath, I will myself to relax. I’m taking a long pull of beer and trying to figure out what to do next when I sense someone watching me. I stand a little straighter and brush my long bangs farther to the side to free up my peripheral vision. The kitchen’s bright, making it hard to see into the dimly-lit living room, but the longer I stare, the more my eyes adjust.

About a dozen people fill the room, some sitting on the couch, some standing by the front door, and others messing with the stereo’s sound system. Tyler’s sitting on the fireplace ledge, long legs stretched in front of him. He taps a pack of cigarettes on his thigh while he stares at me. To his left sits a guy a few years older with the same dark hair and Caribbean ocean eyes. He’s beefier than Tyler, with a thicker neck and arms, but he’s just as handsome. His eyes come to rest on me too, and I feel as if I’m on a stage with the audience waiting for my performance. I have no idea what kind of entertainment they’re expecting.

This is getting uncomfortable. Tyler’s doppelganger moves his gaze to Tyler then back to me as though he’s trying to figure out what Tyler finds so fascinating about me. It’s as if he’s watching a tennis match and waiting for someone to scream
deuce
! My inclination is to flee to the backyard, but since this is my first foray out in weeks, I decide to try acting normal instead.

I step to the wide entryway between the kitchen and living room and lean against the frame. “Staring’s not polite,” I say loud enough for Tyler and his friend to hear over Nicki Minaj’s blaring voice.

Tyler blinks a couple of times, and his eyes sharpen as if he’s noticing me for the first time. He acts as though he’s coming out of a daydream and I just happen to be standing here, startling him with my presence. He recovers quickly, his lips turning up in a lazy smile that doesn’t match his guarded gaze. “Mom raised feral kids. We spent most of our time with the Labradors, digging holes in the backyard.”

The beefy guy tilts his head back and laughs. “They weren’t holes. They were artillery craters from our G.I Joe tanks.”

I stroll forward and stop a few feet from the fireplace. “I should have guessed from your eyes you were brothers.”

Tyler shoulder-butts his sibling. “Cassie, this is Brian.”

I hold up my beer in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Brian.”

He nods. “Same.” His smile is kind and lacking his brother’s roguish edge. If there’s a good son and bad son, Brian is definitely the former.

“I’ve never seen you on campus. Did you transfer from another school?” I ask.

“Nope. I’m in med school at the University of Texas.”

“Impressive. I barely passed biology. All the mitochondria and ribosomes confused the heck out of me.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Tyler says. “She’s a math major.”

I don’t know what to say. I had no idea Tyler knew my major. Heck, with the revolving door of girls prancing around him, I’m surprised he even remembers my name. Shrugging off my confusion, I focus on Brian. “I’ve heard Texas’s medical school’s hard to get into.” I turn toward Tyler. “You must be proud of your brother.”

“It gets him laid,” Tyler says sarcastically.

Brian frowns and shakes his head, but Tyler seems oblivious to his brother’s subtle admonishment. That, or he chooses to ignore it.

Brian turns to me, and his eyes light up with something akin to hope. “So how do you two know each other?”

“Neighbors,” I answer.

He smirks, but his optimism fades away. “Ah, I feel sorry for you already.”

Tyler’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “So do I.”

Brian does the visual tennis thing again, but this time, he’s even more assessing, staring at his brother for a shake too long. I get the impression he’s trying to decide if Tyler and I have more going on than we’re letting on. He gets his answer when a strawberry blonde with a smattering of tiny freckles dotting her nose stops in front of Tyler. She’s wearing a low-cut tank-top and barely-there shorts that show off long shapely legs. I think she’s a Beta Nu sophomore, but I’m not positive. I have a hard enough time keeping track of the girls in my own sorority.

She smiles at me. “Hi, Cassie.”

I smile and nod, feeling bad I don’t know her name.

She bends over, places her hands on her knees, and smiles at Tyler. “Wanna draw me?” She punctuates the last word with a pop of her gum.

Tyler leers at the cleavage spilling out her top. “What part do you want me to draw?”

She winks at him. “Does it matter?”

The most sinful grin I’ve ever seen curves up his full lips. “Absolutely not.”

She lets out a seductive giggle I’m sure she reserves for boys like Tyler. When she straightens, her boobs bounce back into her top where they belong. Tyler holds his hand out to her. She clutches it with both of hers and pulls him up to his impressive height.

“Later, bro,” he says to Brian then nods at me and takes off.

I settle into Tyler’s vacated seat. “Aren’t bros supposed to come before hos?”

Brian watches them leave, his jaw ticking as though he’s pressing his teeth together too tightly. “That’s never been Tyler’s motto.” He looks at me then takes a long pull from his beer, and his gaze returns to the retreating couple until Tyler’s bedroom door shuts behind them.

I should probably be offended that another girl took him away so easily, but I’m surprised he wasn’t banging a co-ed when I arrived. Looking at my watch, I shrug. “He must be off his game tonight. Usually he’s got a chick in the bag by ten.” I have no idea if that’s true or not, but this situation is uncomfortable enough without the awkward silence.

Brian’s laugh is forced. “The way he was staring at you, I thought you two were an item.”

“Wouldn’t he tell you if he had a girlfriend?”

He shrugs. “We don’t talk about women much.”

“Well, it’d be impossible for Tyler and me to be together. He doesn’t do relationships, and if I never date again, it’ll be too soon.”

He taps my leg with his beer. “Bad breakup?”

The cold makes me flinch more than his words, which is new. Lately if someone asks about my love life, I bite back tears or a string of obscenities. Right now, I don’t feel the need to cry or curse. Maybe I’m finally moving on. Or the beer is numbing me.

“The worst,” I answer.

“Happens to everyone.”

I stare toward Tyler’s room. “Not everyone.”

His cold beer bumps my leg again. Once he has my attention, he tilts his head toward Tyler’s door. “Everyone.”

I can’t imagine Tyler caring for a girl enough to get hurt. I have the urge to beg for details, but Brian sets down his beer, plants his palms on his thighs, and stands. He’s not as tall as his brother, but he’s wider. He looks as though he hasn’t missed a day at the gym in years.

“Well, I just came up here to see my brother’s new place and check how he’s doing. Obviously he’s fine, so it’s time I head out.”

“You’re driving to Dallas tonight?” That’s a four-hour drive, which is a bad idea this late. He might fall asleep at the wheel. Not to mention he’s been drinking.

“Austin to stay with a friend.”

Austin’s only an hour away, but I eye him warily, looking for bloodshot eyes or wobbly legs. “Should you be drinking and driving?”

He points to the bottle sitting next to me. It’s only half drained. “Token beer.”

“Good. Now I don’t have to take away your keys.” And shove them into my bra where he won’t try to fish them out.

He chuckles and dimples as deep as Tyler’s appear. “Nice meeting you, Cassie.”

I smile. “Same.”

He turns and heads away but stops after only a few steps. He peers over his shoulder at me. “Never say never.”

His meaning doesn’t dawn on me until he’s walking away again. I’m overcome with the impulse to yell, “Never! Never! Never! I will
never
jeopardize my scholarship again!” But he’s gone, and I doubt he cares what I do anyway. I realize I’m fisting my bottle so tightly that my knuckles have turned white. I relax my hold, finger by finger, and set the beer next to me.

Liz appears in my periphery. She sits next to me and taps my knee with hers. “You look pissed.”

“I’m fine.”

She adjusts her shirt to show more shoulder, and when she seems appeased by how much skin she’s flashing, she grabs Brian’s beer and takes a sip. Liz is known to steal my beer on occasion, and I figure she’s mistaken Brian’s bottle for mine.

I snatch my beer and hold it up. “Uh, Liz,
this
is mine, not
that
one.”

Her face screws up with disgust, her red lips puckering. She stares at the lip of the offending bottle, and I bet she’s imagining all the germs swimming around the rim. “Yuck. Whose is this?”

“Tyler’s brother.”

She seems relieved and shrugs. “It’s still cold. Is he coming back?”

I shake my head. “Headed home.”

“Where’s Tyler?” She takes another sip.

My eyes go to his bedroom door, and I frown while imagining Tyler and Miss Freckle Nose. I doubt what they’re doing involves a sketchpad and charcoal pencils.

Liz nods. “Come out back with me. There’s a tall delicious piece of ass out there you have to meet. I saw him staring at you earlier.”

I cringe. The last thing I want is a conceited cutie who thinks he can woo me by doing a keg stand. “No, thanks.”

She shrugs. “Well, if you don’t want him, I call dibs.”

That’s doubtful. Liz likes her men short.

She takes a last sip of beer and sets the now nearly empty bottle next to me. “Find me when you get bored.” She stands, smooths down her shirt, and strolls out the back door.

I sigh and turn my attention to Tyler’s door. Taped to the wood is a sketch of a curvy girl, head tipped back, breasts thrust forward. Beneath her, penned in perfect calligraphy, is
If you’re female, no need to knock
. The drawing thumps a memory loose from my brain.

I’m eighteen, heading home from class on an unusually warm day in February that draws everyone outside for a stroll. My fingers are intertwined with Wyatt’s, and I’m proud to be by his side. He’s only a sophomore, but he’s already a “mover and shaker” on campus, involved in student government as a Greek Life consultant to the Student Activities Coordinator. He’s also an Interfraternity Council Officer, and everyone expects him to be the Alpha Sig president his senior year.

He’s wearing black chinos, a red long-sleeve polo, and a gray military jacket. His blond hair is stylishly messy. It looks natural, as if he rolled out of bed, ran a comb through it once, and turned it into a sun-kissed glorious mess. But I know for a fact he spent fifteen minutes shaping it that morning, because I helped him tame a cowlick.

He smiles at me, and I blush because he’s immaculate and devastating and mine. I’m honored that out of all the girls on campus, he chose me. Hannah always says people watch us, even take their cues from us. I’ve never fully understood what she means, but I’m aware of being observed when Wyatt and I are together, as if we’re the Brangelina of Vandeveer University. I hate to admit I kind of like it because that would be shallow, but, well, I do kind of like it.