Chapter 11

Dinner at the diner turns into drinks at Malone’s, the sports bar in town. Conor invites some of the guys from the team to join us. Likewise, some of my other Kappa sisters show up. In the back room near the pool tables and dartboards, we push a few tables together to accommodate our expanding party. While Conor’s teammates have playoffs to worry about and are keeping their alcohol consumption to a minimum, the girls have no such restrictions.

My fellow Kappas have become emboldened by their hormones and are well on their way to getting loaded. Except for Rebecca, who ordered a Diet Coke. She’s a few seats away and hasn’t looked my way once. I was surprised she even came out tonight, but I suspect she hadn’t known I was here when Lisa invited her. Since pledge week she’s basically run the other way any time she saw me coming.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Conor sits down beside me with our drinks that he just got from the bar. There’s some trepidation in his eyes. Like maybe he’s just realized that crashing dinner and inviting himself to drinks is more invasive than charming.

“Not mad, no.” I eye him over the rim of my drink. “Curious, though.”

“Oh?” A hint of his trademark playful smile resurfaces. “About?”

“What prompted you to hunt me down and subject yourself to the rabid hungry gaze of my sorority sisters. Surely you have better things to do.”

“We’ve got to keep up appearances, right?” He’s trying to play it cute, flashing his cheeky grin and flirtatious charms, but I’m not buying it this time. Something’s up with him. There’s a tension in his demeanor that doesn’t suit him.

“I’m serious,” I insist. “I want a real answer.”

We’re interrupted by a loud bang on the table. Courtesy of my sorority sister Beth Bradley, who showed up only thirty minutes ago and is already tipsier than everyone else.

“We should play Dare or Dare,” she announces, smacking the table until she’s gotten everyone’s attention. She raises an eyebrow at me, biting her lip impishly.

While Lisa and Olivia don’t seem to be Abigail fangirls, I know Beth is somewhat chummy with her, which means I’m instantly on guard.

“We should get a new game,” I answer dryly.

“What’s Dare or Dare?” Across the table, Foster has just committed the cardinal sin of volunteering himself. Poor dumb bastard.

“Well,” Beth says, “I challenge you to a dare and you must complete it upon penalty of death.”

The other guys snicker.

“Sounds intense,” remarks Matt.

“You don’t know the half of it,” I tell him.

I can’t help but glance in Rebecca’s direction, a tiny lump rising in my throat. Whatever potential friendship we might’ve had was just another casualty of this stupid game.

“Here.” Sasha shoves a shot in front of me. She’s just returned from her own trip to the bar, sandwiching herself between me and Matt. The two of them have looked pretty darn cozy all night.

I eye the shot glass warily. Drinking this would be a terrible idea. One, I don’t shoot liquor well, and two, where Conor’s concerned, I’ve got to keep my wits about me. There are traps and pitfalls everywhere, holes full of sharpened bamboo spears waiting to impale me.

“Go on,” Sasha urges. “It’ll take the edge off.”

So I knock it back. It tastes like cinnamon gum and licorice, and not in a good way.

“I just wanted to see you.” Conor murmurs in my ear, continuing our conversation as if it had never stopped.

The combination of liquor heating my blood and his warm breath on my neck makes my head go a bit fuzzy. I lean closer, my arm draped over his thigh to keep myself steady. “Why?” I murmur back.

This time the conversation does stop. His attention has been diverted to his teammate, who is foolishly calling Beth’s bluff.

“Go on then,” Foster says. “Give me your best shot.”

“Careful,” Conor warns. “I’ve seen their handiwork.”

“Oh no, don’t dare me to sleep with a cute blonde.” Foster deadpans. “That’d be the worst thing ever.”

“Alright.” Beth sits up straight, narrowing her eyes at him. “I dare you to get any woman in this bar to take a shot out of your waistband.”

Conor and the guys burst out laughing.

“Oh shit, dude. Let me FaceTime Gavin for this one.” Matt yanks out his phone, his muscular arm sliding off Sasha’s shoulder.

“Yeah, cool.” Foster jumps to his feet while Lisa goes to order the necessary shot. “How ’bout it, Beth. You thirsty?”

“Nuh-uh. Can’t make it that easy. Better start hunting, big boy. You’ve got five minutes or face the consequences.”

As soon as Lisa’s back with the shot, Foster’s on the prowl. He starts by scanning the room for groups of girls who don’t look like they have any hostile meathead boyfriends to worry about. Matt and Bucky hop out of their chairs and follow him for moral support and to record his conquest.

“Tick tock!” Olivia taunts him as we all watch his progress. “Better hurry.”

In short order, Foster’s got a redhead on her knees. I watch with wide, impressed eyes as the girl takes the shot and pops up with a cherry between her lips. Chick’s got moves.

A few seconds later, Foster saunters back to our table with a dumb grin and his chest puffed out.

“Too easy,” he says, then chugs his beer. “My turn now. Beth.”

She smirks up at him. “Give me your best shot.”

Foster and his teammates have a conference before daring Beth to make out with a girl of her choice while the two girls trade bras. Without the slightest hesitation Beth enlists Olivia, who, as I’m discovering tonight, possesses a wild streak as well as a pretty decent sense of humor. I don’t know why we never hung out before.

Not wasting any time, the two Kappas stand up and lock lips while each tucks their arms into their shirts to undo their bras and pull them out of their sleeves then put on the new one. It happens so fast the men are left speechless and gawking.

“What just happened?” Cory asks stupidly.

“That’s some kind of witchcraft right there,” Conor remarks beside me.

I make the mistake of looking at Rebecca again, and this time she actually looks back. What ensues is the most awkward eye-locking in the history of mankind. I break visual contact when I hear someone say, “Taylor.”

“Huh?” I turn at the sound of my name.

Olivia is fluttering her fingers together like a cartoon villain. “It’s your turn. I dare you to…”

Oh, right. That’s why we don’t hang out. Because anyone who knows me well and whom I consider a friend wouldn’t put me on the spot like this.

Sasha must read the panic on my face. “Oh come on. Hasn’t Taylor done enough? I think she’s earned her retirement.”

“…To give Conor a lap dance,” Olivia finishes gleefully.

Fuck my life.

Conor stiffens. His eyes meet mine, and although his expression reveals nothing, I can feel his concern. We haven’t known each other long, but he’s perceptive enough to know I’d rather accept the penalty of death than accept this embarrassing dare.

“Hell no,” he declares, jumping to his feet. “I don’t want a bunch of drunk perverts eyeing my girlfriend.”

To my shock, he peels out of his hoodie. Now he’s left in a tight white tank top that shows off his sculpted arms and washboard abs. Olivia audibly gasps.

He cocks his head suddenly, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Nice. Even got the music on my side,” he drawls. Then he pulls my chair back a bit and stands between me and the table.

“What are you doing?” I yelp.

“Blowing your mind.” He winks at me.

Dread fills my stomach when I recognize the song blasting from the bar’s sound system. “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Oh fuck me.

“Don’t,” I beg Conor, fear trembling in my voice. “Please don’t.”

Rather than heed my pleas, he licks his lips, sways his hips, and launches into a raunchy performance.

Oh my fucking God.

My fake boyfriend is giving me a real lap dance.

“Work it, baby!” Beth catcalls, while Olivia and the other girls transform into the living personification of the heart-eyes emoji.

When I try to cover my eyes, he pulls my hands away and runs them down his abs. Then he presses them against his ass as he gyrates and undulates in front of me to cheers and whistles as the entire bar stops to watch.

As mortifying as the attention is, Conor is weirdly good at this. And after the initial terror subsides, it becomes pretty hilarious the way he’s playing more goofy than sexy. I find myself laughing along with everyone else, as Foster and Bucky start shouting out the chorus of the song.

It’s all fun and games until it isn’t. Because then I blink and the humor on Conor’s handsome turns into something headier. Heavy-lidded gray eyes fixed on me, he bends slightly and thrusts one hand through my hair. Long fingers tangle in the thick strands.

Time stops.

He’s not dancing anymore. Not moving. Except, he is moving. He’s closing in on me and I know what he’s about to do. He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me here, in front of everyone at Malone’s? No fucking way. He said he likes games, but this one has gotten out of hand.

Before he can press his lips to mine, I launch out of my chair so fast he nearly falls to the floor. I catch only a second of his bewildered look before I run off toward the back corridor. The door there leads out to the alley next to the parking lot, and I stumble into it, relieved to find it empty.

Heart pounding like crazy, I lean against the brick wall behind Malone’s and peel out of my sweater to let the frigid air rush over my skin. My breath comes out as plumes of white, but sweat continues to bead across my chest. It’s barely above freezing, yet in only a camisole I’m still burning up.

“Taylor!” The door flies open. “Taylor, you out here?”

I don’t say a word, hiding in the building’s shadow. I just want him to go away.

“Fuck, there you are.” Conor appears in front of me with worry etched on his perfect face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Why would you do that?” I mutter, staring at the ground.

“What? I don’t understand.” He reaches for me and I step out of his grasp. “What did I do wrong? Just tell me so I can fix it.”

“I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a game to you anymore.”

“You’re not a game,” he protests.

“Bullshit. You told me you were bored and that you love games. That’s the reason you changed your stupid MyBri status and showed up at the diner tonight. This is some weird form of entertainment for you.” I shake my head. “Well, I’m not entertained anymore.”

“Taylor—”

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault and I pulled you into it at the Kappa party, but I’m done. The game’s over.” I try to get around him but he blocks my path. “Conor. Move.”

“No.”

“Please. Just move. You don’t have to pretend to be into me anymore.”

“No,” he repeats. “Listen to me. You’re not a game. I mean, yeah, I did think it would be fun to fuck with your sorority sisters and talk about wedding vision boards and all that crazy shit, but I’m not pretending to be into you. I told you the night we met how hot I think you are.”

I say nothing, avoiding his eyes.

“I didn’t come out tonight because of who’s watching. I came because I was sitting at home thinking about you and I couldn’t stand it another minute.”

I slowly lift my head. “Bullshit,” I accuse again.

“Honest to God truth. I like being around you. I like talking to you.”

“Then why do something so stupid and screw it all up by trying to kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you and I was afraid we might never find out.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Figured if I tried it in public, I had a better shot, ’cause then you might kiss me back for appearances.”

“That’s a dumb reason.”

“I know.” Tentatively, he takes a step toward me.

This time when he reaches out to take my hand in his, I let him.

“I thought I was helping just now,” he says sheepishly. “I thought I was protecting you from having to do that ridiculous dare and we were having a laugh. I read it wrong and I’m sorry for that.” His voice thickens. “But I know I’m not reading this wrong.” His thumb rubs the inside of my palm, and I gulp. “You like me.”

Ugh. This was all so simple just a few days ago. Wasn’t it? A little gag between friends. Now we’ve crossed over and there’s no going back. We don’t get to pretend the sexual tension is a joke, that the casual flirting doesn’t mean anything, that someone isn’t going to get hurt.

In this case, “someone” means me.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” I start awkwardly, “except that maybe it’d be better if we didn’t hang out anymore.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yeah, I veto that suggestion.”

“You don’t get a veto. If I say I don’t want to hang out with you anymore, then tough shit. That’s the way it is.”

“I think you should let me kiss you.”

“Because you were probably dropped on your head as a child,” I snap back.

At that, Conor cracks a smile. He lets out a breath and squeezes my hand, then places it against his chest. Beneath my palm, his heart is pounding hard.

“I think there’s something here.” There’s a note of challenge in his voice. “And I think you’re afraid to find out what it is. Not sure why, though. Maybe you don’t think you deserve it, I dunno. But that’s a fucking tragedy, because you of all people deserve to be happy. So here it is: I’m going to kiss you, unless you tell me not to. Okay?”

I’m going to regret this. Even as I lick my lips and tilt my head, I know I’m going to regret this. But the word “no” refuses to exit my mouth.

“Okay,” I finally whisper.

He takes full advantage of my acquiescence, leaning in to brush his lips against mine.

At first it’s the lightest of caresses, but it doesn’t take long for his kiss to grow deep, urgent. When I weave my arms up his shoulders and comb my fingers into his hair, he makes the sexiest sound against my mouth. Half groan, half sigh.

I feel his entire body clench against mine. His hands go to my hips, fingers biting into my bare skin, and presses me against the wall until there’s no light left between us.

His mouth, so gentle yet hungry, the heat of his body, and the feel of his muscles caging me…it’s surreal, thrilling. As desire courses through my veins, I kiss him back desperately. I forget myself. I forget where we are and all the reasons we shouldn’t do this.

“You taste like cinnamon,” he mumbles, and then his tongue is exploring again, slicking over mine and summoning a moan from deep in my throat.

I cling to him, completely and totally addicted to the feel of his mouth against mine. I drag my teeth over his bottom lip and feel rather than hear the groan vibrate in his chest. His hands slide up my ribs, pushing beneath my shirt, until they’re just beneath my breasts. I suddenly wish I didn’t take off my sweater, that I had an extra layer of protection between my flesh and Conor’s seductive touch.

“You get me so hot, Taylor.”

His lips find my neck and then he’s sucking on it, triggering a flurry of shivers. His lower body bumps mine, hips giving a slow sensual thrust that makes me moan again.

He kisses me again, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips. Then he pulls back and I see the same needy, hungry lust I’m feeling reflected back at me in his eyes.

“Come home with me tonight,” Conor Fucking Edwards whispers.

And that’s what breaks the spell.

Breathing hard, I drop my hands from his broad shoulders and let them dangle at my sides.

Dammit. Dammit, what’s wrong with me? I’m no clairvoyant, but I don’t need to be one to see how all this is going to play out.

I go back to his place.

I lose my virginity to him.

He rocks my world for one amazing night.

And then next week I’m just another sad sap raising my hand along with his other conquests when asked who there has hooked up with him.

“Taylor?” He’s still watching me. Waiting.

I bite my lip. Easing away from the heat of his body, I slowly shake my head and say, “Will you drive me home?”