Fair Game (The Rules #1) (10 page)

Please.

I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t believe anything he says, especially when he’s in flirt mode, which is all the time. But I can’t deny the little thrill that shot through me at his admission. The admission I still have on my phone, that I stare at every once in a while, when Kelli’s not looking.

Clearly I’ve lost my mind.

“Do you have his number?” When I nod she continues, a respective spark in her eye. “Nice. Text him. Ask him what the plan is.”

“But isn’t that kind of…rude?” I’m not big on dating protocol. My first serious boyfriend I had my senior year in high school, we started seeing each other within a giant group of friends. We always just hung out. And every time we all hung out, David and I naturally gravitated toward each other, until finally we mutually decided to become boyfriend and girlfriend. We broke up before we left for different colleges, deciding that a long distance relationship wouldn’t work.

I met Joel because we had a class together. We sat next to each other and we talked and flirted. We saw each other at parties. One thing led to another and then we were going out. Again, we tended to hang with a group. Or Kelli and Dane once those two got together.

Looked like that scenario was dead and gone. Thank God Joel and I had that class together last semester. If we had to see each other three times a week…talk about awkward.

“It’s not rude, especially when you’re in the dark about what to wear. Guys don’t get this.” She waves a hand at me. “Go. Text him. Ask him how you should dress for your date.”

I grab my phone and settle on the edge of my bed, my fingers poised over the keyboard. What exactly should I say? I feel stupid. Like I shouldn’t ask any questions. Like I should already know the answers.

Here I go again, failing the test. I hate this.

“Do it,” Kelli practically growls when she sees my hesitation. “Come on. What’s the big deal?”

Blowing out an irritated breath, I type out a quick message and hit send before I can second guess myself.

Kelli’s making me ask you how I should dress for tonight.

A couple of minutes pass and there’s no reply. Of course. Maybe he’s going to cancel. Oh my God, maybe he’s never going to answer and that’ll be it. I’ll never hear from him again. It’s over before it’s even begun.

What, exactly, is over? Why do you even care? Don’t you hate this guy?

Yes. Yes. I do.

No you don’t.

“Has he answered yet?” Kelli asks from where she’s sprawled out on her tiny twin bed. Guess she gave up on looking for something for me to wear.

“No.” I toss my phone away from me so I can’t stare at it. But I still do. I look at my iPhone like it’s a bug and it’s making its creepy way toward me. “I should’ve never texted him.”

“You big baby,” Kelli mutters just as my phone dings.

I lunge for it and read his message. It’s one word that leaves me a little confused.

Scantily

Frowning, I send him another text.

Say what?

You asked how you should dress. I suggest scantily. As in, wear as little clothing as possible.

Oh. My. God.

My cheeks burn and I can feel Kelli watching me, her curiosity growing like a living, breathing thing. She sits up, perched on the edge of her mattress like she’s going to take flight.

“What did he say to you?” she demands.

I shake my head. “Nothing,” I mumble as I send him a reply.

You’re a pervert.

And you’re only just now realizing this? I figured you’d already been warned.

I want to laugh, but don’t. I should be mad. He’s sort of awful. In a sort of sexy way.

Seriously, should I wear something casual or maybe a dress…

Dresses = easy access

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I should find that totally offensive, right?

“What’s he saying now?” Kelli asks again like the nosy bee she is. She leaps to her feet and starts pacing.

“Nothing important.” I furiously type my answer, telling myself I absolutely do not want to wear a skirt or a dress tonight. No way.

Like how you tried to slip your hand beneath my skirt last night?

I didn’t TRY anything. I DID slip my hand up your skirt.

And made me mad because I didn’t even notice. Because I was too enraptured with his lips.

Ugh.

I’ll definitely wear jeans then.

“I’m wearing jeans,” I tell Kelli, who immediately heads back to my closet and starts looking through my shirts.

“This calls for a sexy shirt to show off your boobs,” she calls from over her shoulder.

Just the idea of Shep looking at my boobs, let alone touching them, sends a warm, tingly sensation through my blood, making me shiver. My phone dings again and I glance down.

Jeans. An unfortunate choice.

Frowning, I continue texting him, dodging the shirt Kelli just tossed in my direction.

Unfortunate for you since you can’t slip your hand up my skirt.

I think you liked it when I slipped my hand up your skirt.

No, I really didn’t.

Stop denying your true feelings.

My frown deepens. He’s a total pain in the ass.

“I’m not wearing jeans,” I tell Kelli, who turns to glare at me. “Do you have a skirt I can borrow? The shorter the better?”

The slow grin that curls Kelli’s lips makes me smile in response. “Look at you, trying to drive Mr. Prescott out of his mind. I love it.”

Hmm. I don’t want him to love it. I want him to hate it. Because my policy tonight is look, but don’t touch.

This might be the greatest plan in all the world, or the worst plan ever created.

I
hate dorm halls. They remind me of my not so distant past. When I was a freshman and eager to fuck any cute girl who so much as smiled at me. My first year in college, I snuck my way into more dorm rooms than I can count. I’ve had sex on more narrow twin beds than you can imagine. And bunk beds? Fuck, I think I almost broke one once.

Lesson learned? Don’t have sex on the top bunk in a dorm room. It doesn’t matter if the girl weighs a buck-oh-five and you know you plan on only lasting for ten minutes tops. Those bunk beds are made out of sticks.

I told Jade I’d pick her up but I’m wary about actually going inside because that means I’ll see a variety of girls. Some of them I might’ve…been with before. Maybe? I don’t know. Most of the girls in the dorms are on the younger side and I haven’t fucked a freshman in a while.

That I know of, at least.

I swipe a hand over my face, feeling like a world class asshole. I’ve never cared about all the girls I’ve been with. It’s not that I use them and toss them away like yesterday’s trash when I’m done with them but…okay, yeah. That’s sort of how I’ve always treated women. I’m not mean. They know what they’re getting when they hook up with me. After all, those are the key words.

Hook. Up.

Commitment is for sissies. I see the way my parents are. I seriously believe they don’t like each other. More like they tolerate one another. They’ve been together for so long, they don’t know how to function without each other. My sisters are all lined up to be involved in the same sort of marriage. Giant, over the top wedding, spit out the requisite kids quick like, get a little plastic surgery to keep the bod and face intact, work out like crazy while the husband works long hours. Or pretends to work long hours. Extravagant house, glorious vacations. Wash, rinse, repeat.

No thanks.

I’m a free agent. It’s the best way to be. I’ve seen enough turmoil and bullshit to last me a lifetime. Girls want to sink their claws into me and I shake them off every single time. They’ve eventually given up. My reputation precedes me. I usually prefer it that way.

So what’s up with the way I think about Jade? I’m freaking myself out. I want her…that much I know. She acts like she hates me most of the time and I fucking love it for some twisted reason. She’s a challenge. No girl is a challenge for me.

Ever.

Deciding to hell with it, I get out of my car and hit the keyless remote, locking the doors. I head toward the front of the dorm hall, shoving my keys in my pocket, my steps determined, my thoughts in turmoil. Let’s hope she walks out and meets me. That would make my life so much easier. So freaking much easier it’s not even funny…

I head up the steps, no Jade in sight. I already have her dorm room number memorized. I know exactly where to go and as I enter the building, I turn right, ready to head in that direction when I hear someone call my name.

And it’s not Jade. I’d recognize her voice anywhere.

Slowly I turn to find some girl standing in front of me, her tight T-shirt showing off her small boobs—no bra in sight, nipples everywhere—and tiny shorts that should probably be illegal. As in, one wrong move and I’ll probably see her vagina.

Yes, I can think the word vagina like a grown up. Say it out loud? Probably not. At heart, I’m sometimes still a twelve-year-old boy trapped in a twenty-one-year old’s body.

“Hey,” I say, flicking my chin in her direction.

She rests her hands on her hips, looking pissed off. Her hair is blonde. Like super blonde. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

This is the last thing I want to deal with before I pick up Jade to take her on a date. Jesus. “Refresh my memory.”

“Your cousin’s party, right before winter break.” She glares, her eyes like icy lasers. “Tell Tristan he can go to hell.”

Relief sweeps over me, making my legs weak. Thank God this is all about Tristan. “Will do,” I tell her cheerily, earning a pissed off look for my efforts.

I turn and get the hell out of there, heading down the narrowed hall that leads to the promise land.

Otherwise known as Jade’s room. Jade’s bed. Why that gives me a thrill I have no clue. Again, the twelve year old is rearing his immature head.

I hope to hell she doesn’t have a bunk bed or I’m screwed.

I find her room and stop just in front of it, my arm raised, hand curled into a fist to rap my knuckles on the thick, old wood. The door swings open before I get a chance to knock, another girl standing in front of me. The girl Jade was with the night of the poker game.

She smiles at me, the look in her eyes full of pure evil. Not the,
I will slice off your head
variety. More like,
you have no idea what you’re in for.
She pulls the door close to her, so I can’t see inside.

Swallowing hard, I smile at her, deciding to put on the charm. “You must be the roommate.”

“And you’re the asshole who’s trying to collect on a bet.” She sticks her hand out, her smile serene. “I’m Kelli.”

“Shep.” I take her hand and don’t feel a thing. Not a zing, not a zip, nothing. I figured I’d feel something. She’s cute, this girl. Not kick me in the balls gorgeous like Jade but she’d do. Normally.

But again, there’s no reaction. My body is keyed up all right, full of anticipation over the fact that Jade is mere feet away from me. Mere
inches.

“Shepard Prescott, in the flesh.” Kelli makes a tsking noise, like I’ve already disappointed her. “Are you as bad as they say?”

I give her my very best, most wolfish grin. “Worse.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Good. That’s just what our Jade needs.” She holds the door open a little wider and calls over her shoulder, “You ready sugar plum?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, sweet cheeks.” My mouth goes dry at hearing Jade say the words sweet cheeks, which is the stupidest thing ever because how cheesy can we get?

But then she appears and it’s like my mouth turns into the Sahara Desert. What in the holy hell is she
wearing?

Black skirt that hits her about mid thigh—maybe higher, good God—and black stilettos with thin straps that crisscross over the top of her feet. A tight white shirt that accentuates her chest and nipped in at the waist and ah, shit, she just grabbed a black sweater and is pulling it on, ruining the entire affect.

This is probably for the best.

“Hi,” I say, my voice cracking like I’m going through puberty and I clear my throat, pissed that my thoughts are constantly straying to my general immaturity. How the hell am I ever going to impress this girl if my mental state is set back in my middle school days?