Chapter 7

Conor and I retreat to his room to whistles and suggestive grunts from the guys. They’re only a step or two on the evolutionary scale from feral chickens, but they’re certainly not boring. I know they think we’re going upstairs to have sex, but I have a different goal in mind.

“Now that I’ve got you alone…” I say after Conor closes the door behind us.

He has the master bedroom, which is big enough for a king bed with a dark wooden frame, a loveseat across the room and an entertainment center with another massive TV. He’s also got an en suite bathroom and a big window that takes up half the wall and overlooks a small backyard where most of the winter snow has finally melted.

“Yeah, babe, I’m game.” Conor rips his tie from his shirt collar and flings it across the room.

I roll my eyes. “Not that.”

“Tease.”

I take a seat on his bed against the headboard and put one of his pillows between us like he did the last time we found ourselves alone in a room together. The blue plaid bed set says his mom picked out something masculine for him at Neiman Marcus. It’s very soft, and smells like him—sandalwood, with the salty hint of the ocean.

“I want to know—what was that display at the banquet really about?”

“I already told you.”

“Yeah, and I think there’s more to the story. So, spill.”

“Wouldn’t you rather make out?” He climbs onto the mattress beside me, and suddenly the bed feels very, very tiny. Is this actually a king-size? Because he’s right there, and one measly pillow isn’t going to protect me from the heat of his athletic body and the scent of his after-shave.

I force myself not to be affected by the sexy grin he flashes me. “Conor,” I say with the tone I use with my first graders when one of them won’t share the crayons.

His flirtatious smile evaporates. “If I said you didn’t want to know, would you just trust me and let it go?”

“No.” I meet his gaze head-on. “Tell me why you did what you did at the alumni banquet.”

On a deep sigh he rubs his hands over his face and combs his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The confession comes out in a mumble.

“I’m a big girl. If you respect me, tell me the truth.”

“Damn, T. Right in the fucking feels.”

He looks at me with such pained eyes, I have to brace for the worst. That maybe Abigail put him up to the whole thing, that they planned it together. That first dare, the love-bombing at Woolsey Hall…it was all a big scheme to make me catch feelings for him. Only now he’s having regrets? It’s a mortifying scenario, but it also wouldn’t be the worst thing Abigail’s ever done.

“Fine. But keep in mind, these are their words, not mine.”

He recounts overhearing Abigail and Jules talking with their boyfriends earlier about my “hook-up” with Conor. I flinch when he explains in an unhappy tone that their conversation included discussion of my potential as a porn actress, among other digs.

Lovely.

He’s right, I could have lived without the gory details.

Before he’s even stopped speaking, I’m feeling nauseated. My stomach twists at the thought of Conor hearing them say all that shit about me.

“I’m still twenty pounds from my goal porn star weight,” I joke at my own expense.

Most of the time, if you make fun of yourself first, it takes all the wind out of the fat-shaming sails. Showing people you’re self-aware softens their aversion to having a chubby friend. Because it’s important to everyone that we know our place.

“Don’t do that.” Conor sits up to level me with narrowed eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to make me feel better. I have no delusions about how people see me.” The jabs land every time, but by now the nerve endings are mostly dead. At least, that’s what I tell myself. “I was a chubby kid. I was a chubby teenager.” I shrug. “I’ve struggled with weight my whole life. This is what I am, and I’ve accepted that.”

“No, you don’t get it, Taylor.” Frustration crosses his expression. “Your body isn’t something you have to make excuses for. I know I’ve said this before, and I guess I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, but you’re smoking hot. I’d do you right now, in a heartbeat, six different ways if you’d let me.”

“Shut up your whole face.” I laugh.

He doesn’t laugh with me. Rather, he gets off the bed and turns his back to me.

Oh crap. Is he mad that I told him to shut up? I thought we were kidding around. That’s our thing, right? Wait. Do we know each other well enough to have a thing? Fuck.

“Con—”

Before I can fix whatever I’ve broken, Conor starts unbuttoning his shirt, then peels it off his shoulders.

Stunned, I sit in admiration of his bare back. Tan skin over long, lean muscles. God, I want to press my mouth against that spot between his shoulder blades and explore it with my tongue. The notion sends a shiver running through me. I bite my lip just to keep from making a totally unbecoming noise.

He throws the shirt across the room, then undoes his trousers. They hit the hardwood, and now he’s left in nothing but black socks and boxer-briefs that cling to the tightest butt I’ve ever seen.

“What are you doing?” My voice comes out breathier than I intend.

“Take your clothes off.” He turns around and stalks back to the bed with fierce determination.

“Excuse me?” I scurry on my knees to the far edge of the mattress.

“Get naked,” Conor orders.

“I certainly will not.”

“Listen, Taylor. We’re going to settle this and then there’ll be no more arguments.”

“Settle what, exactly?”

“I’m going fuck your brains out and prove my dick is totally into you.”

Excuse me?

Even as I gape at him, my gaze unwittingly drops to his crotch. I can’t tell if the bulge beneath that stretchy black fabric is a hard-on or just his normal old package. Either way, Conor’s declaration is so preposterous it summons a loud, hysterical bark of laughter from deep in my gut.

Then another.

And another.

Soon I can’t breathe, doubled over in a painful fit. It just won’t stop. Every time I look at his face, a new wave of laughter overtakes me, and tears spill down my cheeks. He’s too fucking much.

“Taylor.” Conor rakes both hands through his hair. “Taylor, stop laughing at me.”

“I can’t!”

“You’re doing irreparable harm to my ego here.”

Gasping, I take deep breaths. Eventually, the laughter subsides to giggles. “Thank you,” I manage to croak out. “I needed that.”

“You know what?” he growls, a cranky scowl on his face. “I take it all back. You’re dick kryptonite.”

“Aww. Come here.” I climb back on the bed and pet the spot beside me.

Instead of being a normal person, he takes it upon himself to lie down and drop his head and shoulders across my lap.

It doesn’t escape me that I now have a sexy man in his boxers draped over me. And it’s difficult to focus with him looking so, well, like that. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Conor half-naked, and yet the effect is no less impressive. He’s what guys picture in the mirror when they’re lifting weights and mugging for gym selfies. Every douchebag in a tank top thinks he’s Conor Fucking Edwards.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get naked,” he grumbles in accusation.

“I’m sorry. That was a very sweet invitation, but I respectfully decline.”

“Well, that makes you my first.”

Conor stares up at me with those gorgeous gray eyes, and for one fleeting moment an image flashes through my mind. Me, leaning down. Him, cupping the side of my face. Our lips meeting in the space between us…

Do not kiss him, Taylor!

My inner alarm system kicks in, causing my silly schoolgirl kissing fantasy to dissolve just as quickly as it appeared.

“I’m your first what?” I ask, trying to remember what we’re talking about. Conor Edwards is in my lap and it’s really quite distracting.

“First girl to ever reject my cock.”

“Not for the first time, either,” I remind him.

“Yes, thank you, Taylor. You find me unfuckable. I get it.” Conor flicks up an eyebrow. “It’d be a shame, though.”

His hair begs for fingers. To drag them through the soft strands. To touch. My hand itches with the urge to fulfill that wish. “What’s a shame?”

“Don’t stop.” It isn’t until he speaks that I realize my fingers have run off on their own accord. “That feels good.”

So I continue, combing my fingers through his hair. Softly pulling my nails across his scalp. “What’s a shame?”

“Well, we’ve laid such great groundwork already. Spent a night of mind-blowing sex together. Everyone thinks you’ve got me pussy-tranced into falling in love with you. Seems unfortunate to let that all go to waste?”

I eye him suspiciously. “What do you propose?”

“Let’s ride it out.”

“Ride it out.” I play with the idea in my head, turning it over. It is, of course, a terribly dishonest and immature suggestion. So, naturally, I’m intrigued. “To what end?”

“Marriage, death, or graduation,” he says. “Whichever comes first.”

“Okay. But why? What’s in it for you?”

“A cure for my boredom.” He grins up at me. “I like games, T. This feels like it’ll be a fun one.”

“Uh-huh. But what if my perfect man comes along to sweep me off my feet but he gets scared away by Conor Fucking Edwards sniffing around my petticoats?”

“First, yes, keep calling me that. Second, if he can’t take a little healthy competition, he isn’t your perfect man. Trust me on that, babe.”

Every time he calls me babe a stab of electricity shoots through my chest. I wonder if he feels my pulse spike. Or maybe he knows all too well he has that effect on every girl and I am but a toy doll off the assembly line. Lot 251 per one billion. Wind me up and watch me go.

“Fine. What about your admirers?” I counter. “What if Natalie from Tri-Delt wants another go and suddenly you have a fake girlfriend?”

He shrugs. “I’m not interested in another go with her.”

“Bull. Have you seen her hair? It’s so shiny.”

That earns me a snicker. “Shiny hair aside, I’m being serious. She posted a pic of me naked in her bed when I was asleep. That ain’t cool with me. Consent, you know?”

“Bull,” I say again. “Look at you.” With both hands, I gesture toward his half-naked Playgirl physique. “You probably love flaunting it for the camera.”

“Not without my consent,” he repeats, and the hard look on his face tells me he really wasn’t fond of Natalie’s actions.

I suppose I can’t blame him. I still have nightmares about Kappa pledge week and all the embarrassing shit the seniors filmed us doing.

“Anyway,” he goes on, “maybe I need a break from the sex circuit. Take some time to regroup.”

I punch him in the shoulder. “Sex circuit? Oh my God. Must you be so gross?”

He offers that cocky grin again. “You don’t think I’m gross. Otherwise you wouldn’t be letting me snuggle up in your lap.”

I swallow through my suddenly dry throat. “This is not considered snuggling,” I say sternly.

“Sure it is, T.”

“It sure isn’t, C,” I mock. “And, what, you’re saying you’re going to abstain from sex for the foreseeable future? Because I don’t buy that.”

Conor looks aghast. “Abstain? Hell no. I’m gonna try to seduce you at every turn.”

A laugh flies out of my mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Why’d you stop playing with my hair? Felt nice.” His tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip, an adorable action that quickens my pulse. “So what do you say? We keep pretending for a while longer?”

“The fact that I’m entertaining this idea says I had too much to drink today,” I respond.

“That was hours ago. You’re not drunk. Besides, tell me the look on Abigail’s face every time she’s seen us together hasn’t gone straight to your tingly place.”

“First, don’t ever call it that again. Second…” I want to tell him he’s wrong. That I’m above such petty amusements. However…he’s not entirely wrong about the tingle. “Maybe I enjoyed it a little,” I confess.

“Ha! I knew it. You enjoy the game as much as I do.”

“Just a little,” I stress.

“Liar.”

When he sits abruptly, I experience a sense of loss I’m not allowed to feel. But I feel it all the same, missing the heaviness of his warm body on me and the softness of his blond hair between my fingers.

“What are you doing?” I demand as he hops off the bed and grabs his discarded pants.

He returns with his phone, plopping down beside me. His thumb slides over the screen as he…well, I’m not sure what he’s doing. Because I’m nosy, I lean closer to peek, and discover that he’s pulled up MyBriar, our school’s social media app.

My eyes widen as I watch him change his status to in a relationship.

“Hey,” I chide, “I didn’t say yes.”

“You basically said yes.”

“I was at a seventy percent at best.”

“Welp, might as well prance that last thirty, because we’re blowing up, babe.”

Oh my effing God. The little bubble above the notification icon starts blinking. Ten, twenty, forty.

“C’mon,” he coaxes. “I’m bored. This’ll be good for a laugh, at least. Best case scenario—you cave to my smoldering good looks and fall into bed with me.”

“You wish.”

“I really do. But fine, second-best case scenario: it might get Abigail to lay off you for a while. That’s worth something, right?”

That would be nice. Especially since there’s a Kappa chapter meeting tomorrow and I just know Abigail will be all over me with her passive aggressive jabs.

“You know you want to…” He wiggles his phone in the air enticingly.

My gaze is drawn to the thick silver band around his middle finger. “Nice ring. Where’d you get it?”

“LA. And you’re deflecting.” He holds the phone out to me. “I dare you.”

“You’re incredibly persistent.”

“Some would consider it one of my better qualities.”

“Also completely obnoxious.”

Conor flashes his self-assured grin that says “obnoxious” is just girl code for “charming” when she’s about to break.

“Taylor Marsh, will you do me the incredible honor of updating your relationship status and becoming my fake girlfriend?”

And break she does. As if possessed by some supernatural being, my hand takes the phone from him. My finger logs out of his MyBri and then logs into mine. And as I change my status to match his, I’m vaguely aware of two things:

One, I could have just used my own phone, but it would have ruined the moment.

And two, whatever this is, it’s bound to get messy.