Fair Game (The Rules #1) (11 page)

She smiles, pushes her wavy hair back so it falls behind her shoulder, exposing her neck and I’m hit with the overwhelming need to kiss her in that exact spot where her pulse throbs. Breathe in the scent of her skin, let my lips linger, maybe even lick her to see if she tastes as good as I think she will…

“Hi.” Her voice shakes the slightest bit, as does her smile and I realize she’s nervous. Cute. I’d like to put her at ease but hell.

I’m a little nervous too.

“You ready to go?” I ask as she exits her room, coming to stand closer to me. I can smell her now, sweet and clean and I clamp my lips shut, breathing through my nose, trying my best not to inhale her.

I really want to fucking inhale her.

She casts a wary glance over her shoulder at her roommate before returning her attention to me. “Yes, I am.”

“You kids be safe,” Kelli calls as we start down the hall. “Use protection. Make good choices!”

“She’s seen Pitch Perfect way too many times,” Jade mumbles, making me laugh. Her cheeks flush pink. “And ignore her use of protection line.”

“Why? I
always
use protection.” I shove my hands in my pockets so I won’t make a grab for her because having her this close is doing something to me. Making me want to grab her and do inappropriate things to her.

“Right. Of course you do.” She glances at me, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes full of fire. “Not that there’ll be any need for protection tonight, considering we’re not going to have sex.”

Disappointment crashes over me and I push it aside. She just threw down the first challenge of the evening. “You’ve already got the entire night all figured out, huh?”

She nods as we make our way down the hall toward the front entrance. Swear to God the doors swing open as we pass, girls peeking their heads out, mouths agape. As if they knew I was going to make an appearance tonight and all my adoring fans showed up to see me. It’s annoying. It’s freaking nerve wracking because if one of them is someone I’ve been with before, and she opens her mouth and says something…I’m screwed.

Jade will leave me in the dust. And I haven’t even kissed her yet.

I really, really want to kiss her. Those lips…are the stuff of fantasies. Plump and full, her upper lip a little puffier than the bottom one, and slicked in a flattering pink color that isn’t too glossy. When their lips are covered with that sparkly shiny shit, it’s not pleasant to kiss. At all.

But I would love to kiss all that lipstick off her mouth. Breathe deep her scent. Run my lips down the length of her neck. Wrap her hair in my hand and tug the slightest bit, make her gasp, make her moan, make her pull me in closer…

“I don’t put out on the first date,” she says haughtily, her nose tilting upward. Snobby
you can’t touch me
waves radiate off her but I see right through them.

It’s a front. A form of protection. A wall she believes will keep me from scaling over and getting to the true Jade.

Yet another challenge. I almost want to rub my hands together and tell her I’m ready to start the climb. Though she’d probably take it the wrong way and slap my face.

“That’s a shame,” I say with a heavy sigh. She shoots me a look and I smile at her, reaching out to push open the door as I come to a stop. “Ladies first.”

She studies me, her gaze roaming all over me and my skin goes hot. What does she see? I wish I knew. Or maybe I don’t want to know. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she exits the building, giving me a prime view of her ass in that too short skirt and holy shit, I’ve never been so turned on by the back of a girl’s thighs in my life. They’re slender and pale and I narrow my eyes, looking for a birthmark. A scar. A mole. Something I can remember those thighs by.

And then I see it. See
them
. A scattering of freckles on the back of her right thigh, they remind me of stars.

H
e took me a to a shack for dinner.

Okay fine, it’s by the beach so he gets points for that. The moment I emerged from his car—ignoring his offered arm for me to take after he opened the passenger side door for me, so he could escort me to the restaurant like some old world duke of something or other, all proper and gentleman-like when we all know he’s not a gentleman whatsoever. But anyway, I could smell the salty air, the wind whipping my hair in front of my face and I silently gave him points for location choice.

I’m not impressed by the front of the restaurant—shack—that he’s brought me to. It’s a wooden structure that almost looks dilapidated, like it might crumble at any given moment. The roof looks like it’s constructed out of a piece of rippled metal and I think of that stupid song by the B-52s my parents used to play when I was a kid. Love Shack.

Tin roof! Rusted.

Shep is perceptive, I’ll give him that. I must’ve given off an apprehensive vibe because he settles my hand on my lower back, his fingers suspiciously close to that gap where my shirt has ridden up from my skirt. I shed my sweater, my cloak of defense, in his car. It was so hot in there and I swear he planned it, though I never really felt the heater blasting on me or anything like that.

Maybe sitting so close to him in his car made me…hot. Like every other pitiful girl who meets him, who spends time with him alone. In his car. I was halfway disappointed he didn’t try and jump me when we pulled into the parking lot and he shut off the engine.

So lame. I don’t want him to jump me. I already told him there’s no need for condoms tonight since he wasn’t going to get a piece of this. Forget it. I’m nervous enough. I don’t need to worry about my lack of sexual experience at the possibility of getting naked with a guy like him.

But think of all that experience he has. All the things he could do to you. Teach you. He snuck his hand up your skirt and you weren’t even aware of it. Imagine all the possibilities!

I banish the hopeful thoughts running through my mind to the very darkest recesses of my brain.

“This place doesn’t look like much but trust me. The food is awesome,” Shep murmurs close to my ear as we enter the building.

“What if I’m allergic to shellfish?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at him when he turns to me, horror etched in his handsome features.

He clears his throat, his gaze locked on mine. “Are you?”

Slowly I shake my head, smiling. “No. But next time, you should probably ask.”

“Next time I won’t need to ask because I’ll already know,” he says, frowning at me.

“I mean next time. When you bring another girl to this restaurant,” I correct, hating the cold ball that seems to have formed in my stomach at the idea of Shep bringing another girl here. A girl that will come after me, because one will, I don’t need to fool myself.

But I don’t necessarily need to think about her at this exact moment in time either.

He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind and for a moment, I wonder if I have. Or maybe I have something on my face. Maybe there’s a smudge of mascara beneath my eye (I told Kelli not to put it on so thick) or maybe I have lipstick on my teeth. Crap, I don’t know. This guy makes me feel so self-conscious it’s almost painful.

Shep doesn’t say a word. He shakes his head and steps over to the hostess stand, telling the older woman who’s blatantly ogling him that he’d like a table for two.

As discreetly as possible I press my index finger to the corner of my right eye and wipe, then look at it. No black smudge. I do the same to my left eye but there’s no mascara there either. Licking my lips, I dart out my tongue, touching the corner before I wipe at it with my thumb, taking away a little lipstick but nothing major.

“What are you doing?”

I glance up to find Shep watching me very carefully. Almost too carefully. I stand up taller and drop my hand away from my face but otherwise I say nothing. How can I explain myself? I’d end up sounding ridiculous.

He leans in closer and bends down, his mouth almost level with my ear and I hear him murmur, “You look beautiful. Stop fidgeting.”

Pleasure blooms in my chest, spreads through my limbs at his compliment. I should be offended he said stop fidgeting like I’m a child but I’m too focused on the words that preceded that comment.

You look beautiful.

I know I’m not a hideous troll but it’s not easy being a natural redhead with fair skin and freckles. I hated my freckles with everything I had when I was younger but I’ve come to terms with them now. I used to hate the red hair too. I’d get mean comments from boys, especially in high school, asking if my crotch was as fiery as the hair on my head. Some asshole called Lindsay Lohan a particularly nasty name referring to her hair, ahem, down there once a long time ago and I blame him for starting that whole thing.

Fire Crotch.

Ugh.

The hostess leads us through the tiny dining area toward a small round table draped with a white tablecloth that sits next to a window. She presents our menus to us as soon as we’re in our chairs and then she buzzes off, ready to greet the next group of customers that just walked inside.

It’s crowded and warm, there’s music playing in the background and I glance to my right to find the view of the ocean breathtaking, the sun so low it looks like it’s melting into the water.

“Beautiful view,” I say as I turn to look at him, startled to find him staring at me blatantly.

Ravenously.

“Definitely,” he murmurs with a wicked smile and I feel the flush wash over me, my neck, my cheeks, oh my God even my forehead grows hot. He’s not talking about the ocean.

I think…I think he’s talking about me.

“You need to stop,” I tell him as I open the tiny menu to check out what is a rather limited selection.

“Stop what?” he asks innocently.

Glancing up, I find him watching me still, which only makes me blush harder. I silently curse my fair skin. And overly flirtatious guys. I have zero experience dealing with someone like Shep Prescott. “You’re making me nervous.”

“How?”

“With the—” I wave a hand. “—the compliments. The flirting.”

“You’ve never flirted with someone before?”

“Of course, I have,” I snap, immediately regretting my tone of voice. The man pushes me like no other. “It’s the way you flirt.”

“And how’s that?”

You’re good at it. More like, you excel in your flirtation skills. And I don’t know how to handle myself. I’m the failure, not you.

“The over the top compliments aren’t necessary either,” I say, avoiding his question.

“Afraid I’m going to have to disagree with you,” he tells me as he flips open his menu and studies it. “My compliments toward your beauty aren’t over the top.”

There he goes again, saying I’m beautiful. I don’t even know how to react. I feel like I want to laugh or tell him to stop like I’m some uncomfortable preteen who doesn’t know how to take a compliment.

More like I’m an uncomfortable nineteen year old who doesn’t know how to take one. So lame.

I guess I remain quiet for too long because he’s watching me again, his brows furrowed, his mouth, his entire expression serious. “Has no one told you you’re beautiful before?”

I shrug, mortified. “Beyond my mom? Who has to think I’m beautiful since she created me?”

He looks shocked. “What about Noel?”

Of course, he can’t get his name right. “You mean Joel? What about him?” Why are we talking about my ex on this so-called date?