Prologue

She stands right nextto me.

She's not flirting with me. I'm sure as fuck not flirting with her. I'm not sure I understand the concept of flirting for the most part. I'm not in the business of making anyone giggle just to see their smile or hear them laugh.

Probably ten feet in front of us is her boyfriend.

He's got his shirt pulled from the back up over his head, covering his face.

There's some other asshole jock across from him doing the same thing.

This is what these morons do.

To them, they're hilarious.

Let's get drunk and pull our shirts over our faces and then fight each other. Real punches and all!

I don't know why I'm standing here watching this.

Oh, yeah, now I remember.

Because of her.

The one standing next to me.

The one I just said I'm not flirting with. The one I will never flirt with because I don't flirt.

I mentally pat myself on the back for telling a smooth lie like that.

I begin the mental countdown from ten. When I hit zero, I'm bouncing. This party sucks anyway. Sometimes these college things just don't work for me. It's hard to explain. Maybe I'm an old soul. Or maybe I'm just miserable, waiting for the call that I can leave PU and hit the pros. I'm not big on the university loyalty like some of the others. I'm not going to go flaunt Puckford Pirates gear or tattoo my chest or anything like that.

In my mind, I'm down to four.

That's when she sighs and starts to turn.

Her left hand brushes against my right hand.

Without hesitation - like a fucking Venus flytrap to some helpless prey - I grab for her hand.

I feel her pull, then stop.

Her inaudible gasp moves through her body, including her hand.

That's right, honey. I'll hold your hand in front of your boyfriend. Do you think I care?

I turn my head and glance down.

She's staring up at me. The centers of her cheeks are bright red with perfect circles. I've unlocked a little bit of a fantasy here for her. Being touched in front of her moron boyfriend. Someone stealing her attention while her boyfriend has a shirt over his head, throwing punches.

That guy is drunk and would rather mess around with another drunk guy.

I'm sober and I could not give one fuck about anyone else in the world right now, except her.

There's no need to speak either.

I release my hold on her hand and she hurries away.

As I spin around to follow her, there are some cheers. Someone has landed a punch. I don't look back. No need to look back.

I don't even have to push through the crowd at the party.

They know who I am. They know I'm going to walk right over them if they don't get the fuck out of my way.

Now we're outside.

She looks over her shoulder for a second and gasps.

She's not getting away from me.

I think she knows that too.

Now, hey, I get it. This must look creepy as fuck for anyone watching. But it's far from it. The truth here is that she wants me to follow her. Just like I want to follow her. That's where we are in this thing.

What thing?

Well, I'm sure you'll find out just as soon as I find out.

Just for the record, I'm not the kind of guy that does shit like this either.

She leaves the frat house and walks down a fancy sidewalk to a cobblestone path, then toward a recreational area. When there are no more lights shining overhead, that's when she stops.

I walk up to her and face her. I tower over her. She looks up at me. If I tell you what I see in her eyes you'd blush. You'd need a minute to collect yourself because this sweet, innocent one looking up at me has some really wild shit going through her mind.

"He's such an asshole," she whispers.

I nod. I'm not going to stand here and bash someone's boyfriend.

The guy has his shirt over his head, drunk, fighting.

And I'm standing here with his girlfriend who has fuck-me eyes.

"I wish it were simpler," she says to me.

I just keep nodding.

She's speaking truths.

"Or maybe not being so simple is what makes it so fucking hot," I say.

She sighs. Her lips quiver.

She's got the most kissable lips I've ever seen on someone.

This is beyond temptation now.

This is beyond right from wrong and wrong from right.

Fuck ethics. Fuck morals. Fuck everything.

I reach out and grab her by her hips.

She grabs my hands but she does not push them away. Instead, she sinks her nails into my skin, wanting me to keep holding her.

She's not a bad person. Please, do not judge her. Ever.

Judge me. I'm the asshole here.

I could just be the guy that keeps an eye on her and makes sure she gets home safely.

But life is way too short to dance around what we really want.

And what I really want is to take her back to my dorm and show her what it's like to be fucked the right way… all night long…