Page 44 of Palm South University: Season 2
“No one confuses me more.”
Adam’s hands drop from my arms, and I watch as the number of questions in his eyes multiplies at my words.
“Goodnight, Adam.”
With that, I spin on my heels and walk with shaky ankles into the house, wondering if it was the leather jacket or the alcohol that gave me the balls to say what I just did. Maybe it was both.
Or maybe I had just lost the resolve to hold it back any longer.
IT’S JUST AFTER FOUR IN THE MORNINGby the time Grayson and I crash through the door of his dorm room, all tangled arms and heavy breaths. The alcohol still buzzing through me intensifies every touch, every kiss, and I try as hard as I can but I can’t seem to take a full breath.
Grayson pulls me back to his room, pushing me against his door to close it behind us before dragging his tongue along the skin of my neck. I moan, tiny alarms sounding in my head to no avail — his touch is too loud for me to hear anything else.
Breaking from our kiss, Grayson leans his forehead against mine. “You are so sexy in that outfit,” he breathes and my confidence disappears, a blush breaking on my cheeks. “But I bet you can’t wait to change.”
I laugh. “These pants are the worst.”
Smirking, Grayson pushes off the door and yanks open the first drawer on his tall dresser, tossing me a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Rolling the fabric in my hands, I chew my bottom lip, trying to decipher my next move. My hands trembling, I drop the clothes on the edge of his bed and slip out of my jacket, letting it fall to the floor where my eyes are fixed. Slowly, button by button, I undo my pants, finally finding the nerve to flick my eyes to Grayson. His blue pools are on my fingertips, nostrils flaring. When my hands find the hem of my crop top and I pull it up and over my head, my hair falling against my naked back, he pushes a long breath from his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.
“God, why do I have to be a gentleman?”
I pause, my voice just above a whisper. “What do you mean?”
Grayson opens his eyes just enough to grab the shirt and boxers on the bed and press them into my hands, covering my chest, though his hands hover there for a moment while he tries to steady his breathing. “Cassie, I want nothing more than to take you right now. Right here. In my bed, on this floor, in that shower…” he trails off, releasing his grip on the clothes to run a hand through his hair. “But you’re drunk. I’m drunk. And I don’t want my first time with you to be tainted with alcohol.”
My first instinct is to be upset, but the way he’s looking at me, blue eyes pained, heart beating hard enough for me to hear it — I know it’s as hard for him to say no as it is for me to hear it.
“My bathroom is right there,” he says, gesturing to the door behind me. “Get changed and then come back in here so I can hold you.”
My heart leaps and I smile, stepping up on my toes to kiss him quickly before escaping to the bathroom. I don’t catch my breath as I change, so when I join him again, crawling into his sheets as he turns down the lights, I feel like I may explode if he doesn’t touch me.
As if he can sense it, Grayson pulls me into him, my back against his chest, and a flash memory of being in Adam’s bed assaults me in the darkness. Twisting in his arms to face him, I shake the thought, focusing on the man with his arms around me, instead. We lie with our eyes locked, his fingers lazily tracing the hem of his boxers on my hip bone.
“I think I might really like you, Grayson Anderson,” I whisper in the darkness.
He swallows, taking his hand from my hip just long enough to run it back through my hair and pull me in for a kiss. “Likewise, Cassie McBee.”
And just like that, another player is added to the game.