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Everything about him is too something. Too rugged. Too unpolished. Nose too broken. Eyes too serious. Hair too disheveled. Forehead too scarred. Ears too bent. Ears too bent? God I sound like an asshole. But I like that he is kind and charming and southerly sweet. A gentleman.
I plop back down but, sympathetic, reach across the table and squeeze his forearm…his warm, solid, strong forearm. I’m tempted to wrap my palm around it for good measure.
God, I’m as big a douchebag as those assholes he hangs out with.
I’m quickly learning that Rhett Rabideaux isn’t most guys. Tres inconvenient.
I purposely brush against his hard, athletic body like a cat—it can’t be helped! He barely left me any room to enter; obviously I had to touch him.
“Laurel?” His face inches closer. I suck in a breath. This is it—he’s going to kiss me. “Yes?” “Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” “I don’t know what that means,” I say in a breathy whisper. “What are you hopin’ it means?” Our mouths are a sigh apart, the air between us tickling my lips. His powerful chest brushes my breasts and this time, he doesn’t move away. “Say it again.” “Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” His mouth is hot, near my ear, warm breath sending a spark up my middle, dampening my underwear. “Dis oui, s’il te plait.”
This creeper session is seriously better than porn. The only difference is, this boy? He’s real, not unattainable, and lives only nine houses away. I imagine all the sneaking around we could do on our roommates. I imagine him crawling through my window, waking me up with his face between my legs. His hands running along my skin, up under my sleep shirt, sliding into my white eyelet shorts. Imagine myself running my hands under the straps of that black singlet, sliding them down his brawny biceps, hands dragging down his damp, sweat-covered chest.
You can’t argue with stupid, so I keep my trap shut.
“You were the first person I thought to call.” Because if there is one thing I’m learning about Rhett Rabideaux, it’s that I can count on him. He’s steady and strong and dependable; I know it from the bottom of my soul. He has qualities I’m coming to realize are more valuable than blatant sexual appeal.
I want to sob when his mouth finally opens, tongue touching mine, low groan escaping his chest; it’s long and loud and primal. Almost a whimper. Painful. He’s shaking.
My hands fall limply to my sides, weightless, body and nerves losing all center of gravity, knees wobbling when his mouth hovers over mine and his delicious tongue agrees to get acquainted. Our heads slant for a better angle. God, I want to run my fingers through his shaggy hair. Kiss his face, his eyebrows, his broken nose.
Rhett kisses me like he means it, hard but gentle. Lazy but controlled. Firm and soft and then, “Tu sens merveilleuse.” His raspy French murmur sends a tingle shooting straight down my spine, down to my toes. Whatever the words are he’s whispering, they send a ripple of desire through my core, getting me—oh God—so hot. I want to curl up inside those words. Get naked in them.
Everything with Rhett and me started off so wrong in the worst ways, and now being with him just… It’s right. I like him. Really like him.
The truth is: I want her so fucking bad. I want her to like me in ways that have nothing to do with friendship. I want… I want to kiss her and touch her and God do I want to have sex with her.
This is nothing like that awkward kiss on her front porch; it might be tame, but it’s life-altering.
When her mouth forms a little O of understanding, my inner bitch does a fist pump, throws a parade, and waves at the onlookers. Yes, that’s right—he’s mine.
Rhett tastes like spearmint toothpaste, hard work, and good decisions. A sure thing. Commitment.
Screw it. I’m going for it. I’m going to make him so hard he’ll be cross-eyed.
His warm breath doesn’t just melt my girl parts; it makes them squirm. Huge hands part my legs, the rough patches on the pads of his fingers a tingling contrast on my skin. He hasn’t even put his mouth on me yet.
His lips kiss my temple. “Did I do that right?” “I think I just died.”
I’m nice like that.
I didn’t come here to watch a movie; I came here to spend time with him, get to know him better. Weasel my way into his heart.
“I’m desperate for you,” I moan in between kisses. “Desperate.” God, I like him so much. Drown in his goodness. His kind spirit and pure heart. The romance of his second language. Sweet brown eyes and beautiful smile. “You are?” “Yes Rhett, I am.”
“Do you want me to…” His gulp is labored, Adam’s apple bobbing. Stares up at my breasts, then at the door. At the floor. “Do you want me to…pick those up off the floor?” I kiss his jaw, sucking on his lower lip. “I think we’re ready to take the next step, don’t you?”
I’m so outside his comfort zone, it’s laughable. Yet, here we are.
I wonder if I should suck him off, get him to come quick so when we finally get to the business of having sex, he lasts longer. I’m selfish like that.
Impatient. “I can’t stand it anymore. Hurry.” Trembling, I reach down, grabbing my cock, guiding it into her heat, hoping like fuck I stick it in the right hole.
When we come, it’s together—mouths falling open, two sets of wide eyes bonded, intense—something I assumed was only reserved for movies. For cheesy romance novel bullshit. For my dipshit friends and their relationships. Not for me.
“Uh, okay.” Translation: I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.
God, how could I have ever thought he wasn’t attractive when now, he’s the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen? It breaks my vain heart knowing how I acted—like an asshole. I’m not out of his league; he’s out of mine. I swallow the hard lump of emotions in my throat, adapting a forward pose, just like his father, waiting for Rhett to step center ring, under the lights, his pale skin already glistening from perspiration.
My dad might wear the pants, but Mom controls the zipper.
“Laurel couldn’t take her eyes off you tonight—she really likes you. I hope you realize that.”
“Want some birthday cake?” I whisper. “Yeah.” He grins. “Is it as sweet as your cookies?” “Sweeter.”
My body is not my own. My soul? His.
“Not all guys are as amazing as you, okay? You’re a unicorn boyfriend.”
“What the hell is a unicorn boyfriend?” “Rare and hard to find in the wild. And you’re mine,”
His beautiful heart belongs to me. And mine belongs to him.
I don’t know what will happen after we both graduate next spring, if I’ll move back to Louisiana or…someplace else, but we both know we want to be together. And knowing that is enough.
