The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) (10 page)

I’M LATE MEETING Iris and George for lunch. Call it reluctance to face the firing squad. I’m under no illusion that they won’t figure out I’ve had sex with Baylor. I’m horrible at hiding things, and Iris is already suspicious of my sudden disappearance at the party the other night.

Part of me wants to talk about it. Not about Baylor precisely, because the idea of him discussing details with his friends makes me cringe, and I refuse to be a hypocrite. But I need to process this insanity that’s got a hold of me. I cannot believe I had sex with him again. And in the library of all places. Anyone might have seen. The irony that I’m afraid to be seen with him yet let him fuck me in a public space, twice now, isn’t lost on me.

Without warning, I think of him kneeling in front of me, his head buried between my legs. My cheeks burn and dark heat licks up the back of my thighs as I walk into the fifties style diner that sits just outside of campus. Good God, I want to turn around, find Drew Baylor, and do it again. I know now that it isn’t the thrill of possible discovery that makes sex with him better than anything I’ve experienced. It is him, the way I react to his body, his touch, his voice. And that scares the hell out of me.

I like you. A lot.

Damn it. If only he was someone else. Something else. A regular guy. A nobody like me. But he’s not and never will be. When I think of the public scrutiny he, and anyone he’s with, endures, I want to hide away, run for the hills.

I take a deep breath instead and tell myself to chill. It’s over. It’s done.

Iris and George already occupy a booth. As George is facing my way, he spots me first and raises a brow in reproach.

“Sorry,” I say as I slide in next to Iris. “I lost track of time.”

“We ordered you a vanilla milkshake, and fries are on the way,” says George. “But you choose the rest.”

Six feet to Iris’s five foot three, George towers over her, but they share similar features, their Mexican heritage showing in their dark eyes framed by thick lashes, honey-gold skin, and glossy raven black hair.

The waitress comes with our drinks and fries, her gaze lingering on George. “You know what you want?”

“Always,” he answers with cheeky confidence that makes the waitress blush, and Iris and I roll our eyes. Not that I can fault the waitress’s taste. George is incredibly good looking. And while I appreciate that on an aesthetic level, I’ve never felt a glimmer of sexual attraction to him. Which is a good thing, as I’d rather have his friendship than a brief physical release.

We order our burgers and, once alone, Iris turns in her seat to study me. “So…you gonna tell us where you got that exceptionally large hickey decorating your neck?”

Shit. As if her notice has activated it, a spot where my neck curves to meet my collarbone, starts to throb. Memories assault me, of Baylor’s mouth there, his tongue sliding over my skin just before he sucked hard. I don’t want to know how bad it looks.

George’s eyes glint as he leans forward. “That’s a beauty. Who’s the guy? Or is it a girl? God,” he puts a hand over his heart, “please say it’s a girl.”

I toss my napkin at his head.

“It’s Drew Baylor,” Iris says. “Isn’t it?”

Cringing, I occupy my mouth by drawing a deep pull of milkshake.

“Get the fuck out,” cries George with a laugh. “Seriously, ‘Ris, stop playing.”

The icy glass in my hand lands on the table with a thud. “Why is that so hilarious?” I blurt out. “Am I such a cow that the idea of me being with Drew Baylor is laughable?”

A gurgle dies in George’s throat and he straightens. “Are you kidding me? You’re gorgeous. Baylor would be lucky to get near you.”

“Well, thanks,” I say, somewhat mollified, and at the same time completely shaken. Shit, it’s happening already. The disbelief. The questioning. Why would Baylor pick me? Even I want to know. Which both stings my pride and makes me want to disappear.

George shifts in his seat, looking irritable at his sudden burst of sentiment. “He’s just not even near your type. And you aren’t exactly his.”

Tell me something I don’t know, George.

“Opposites attract,” sings Iris. Then she all but pounces on me. “So it was Baylor? Oh my God, was he as hot as I think? Do the size of the shorts match the shoes?”

George’s nose wrinkles like he scents something foul. “Can we not go there, ‘'Ris? I’m a guy.”

“Oh, are you?” She shrugs. “I must have forgotten.”

He makes a face. “Does that mean you want details of my hook ups?”

“God no,” Iris and I say as one.

George laughs, but he’s not deterred. “So was it Battle?”

I pick up a fry, stabbing it in a pool of ketchup. “Does it really matter who it was?”

“Yes,” George and Iris say as one.

“Jinx!”

“Ha! You lose, 'Ris. No talking until I say your name. Which will be in one hour.”

“I’m not playing that tired game, boy.”

“You called ‘jinx.’ That constitutes playing.”

When they get together, Iris and George act like they are still in the fourth grade. I roll my eyes and sink farther into my chair. Maybe they’ll forget all about me if I refrain from making sudden moves.

No such luck. Iris’s dark eyes hone in on me like a hunting hawk’s. “You might as well tell us. Better we know the truth than speculate.”

She has a point.

I swirl my fry.

“Spill it, Anna,” she warns.

“It was.”

“Say that again?” George puts his hand to his ear, but he’s grinning wide.

“You heard me.” I’m sure as hell not saying it again. I hate that I said it at all. What happened was… I don’t even know how to describe it, but I know it belongs solely to me. And to Baylor. No one else is getting details. At least not on my end. Hell, is he telling his friends? I try not to squirm in my seat.

Iris squeals. “Was it good? What am I talking about? Of course it was. You two are obviously hot for each other. Oh, this is so awesome!”

At the sound of Iris’s enthusiasm, a few eyes glance our way. Suddenly I can’t breathe properly. Iron hands of fear grip my spine, push down on my lungs. My hands go numb. “Okay, stop.” My tone is harsh, deadly serious, and both Iris and George gape. I tried to remain calm but can’t. The cold within me is making me quake. “This goes no further than this table. No one can know. No one. Ever. “

I can’t handle it if people know. I just can’t. Not that. Not the speculation that would arise. Drew Baylor banged
that
? It’s bad enough that I’ve been waiting for the realization to creep into his eyes, that he’s made a mistake in pursuing me.

A growl works its way up my throat. What the fuck am I talking about? I’m better than this. I’m not some hag. I shouldn’t be ashamed. Cursing myself for my panicked knee-jerk reaction, I press the hot tips of my fingers against my eyelids until stars dance in the darkness. Shit, I haven’t thought this badly of myself since I was fifteen.

And I can’t go there again. Despite the crazy thoughts of us dating that are running through Baylor’s head, there’s no chance of a girl like me being with a guy like him. I’ve spent too many years and dealt with too much pain climbing out of that pit of doubt and insecurity for me to be pulled back down now. My overeager libido is just going to have to take a cold shower.

I take an unsteady breath. My friends are looking at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Are we clear?” I ask.

“Crystal,” George says, slowly, frowning at me. “But you should already know that.”

A twinge of remorse plucks at my insides, but not enough to truly make me regret my words.

Iris appears just as thoughtful. “I won’t tell. I wasn’t going to…” She stops as if pinched and looks at me closer. “Oh my God, you did it twice!”

It’s my turn to flinch. So much for calming her down. And what the hell? Is she psychic?

Iris laughs at the obvious horror in my face. “That hickey is fresh. And I
know
you hooked up with him during the party. You both went upstairs at the same time. And,” she points an accusatory finger at me, “you both did the walk of shame back down them.”

“I didn’t realize you paid so much attention,” I reply. “What with having your tongue down Henry’s throat all night.”

George makes a noise of disgust. “Why do I hang out with you two? Can we
please
stop with the details?”

“Fine by me,” I say. “I’d love it if we talked about something else.”

Rolling her eyes, Iris snags a fry. “Of course I paid attention. I was waiting for it to happen.”

I sit up straight, my hands slapping down on the cheap Formica table. “Wait. What? Did you…? You knew he’d be there, didn’t you?”

Unrepentant, Iris grins. “Well, duh. It gets around what parties the football team plans to attend. And for as much as you denied it, I knew you were into him. You just needed a little push in his direction.”

“You little weasel.” I’m half-pissed, and more than a little impressed. She has Machiavellian depths that I never considered.

She shrugs and grabs another fry. “Pretend to be outraged if you want, but you obviously liked hooking up with the boy if you did it
twice.
”

“Do me a favor,” I say scowling, “and restrain yourself the next time you feel the need to help me out.”

“Fine. My work here is done anyway.” She pops a fry into her mouth and chews with exaggerated vigor.

I’m tempted to chuck a fry at her head, but they’re too good, and I’m hungry.

“Two times,” George says after a moment. “In less than a week? That’s like a relationship for you, Banana.”

I nearly choke on a fry. “It is not.”

“It is,” says Iris. “And you know it.”

All right, hook ups to alleviate occasional and unavoidable horniness is more my style lately. Since my break up with Hayden sophomore year, I have made it a point not to see any guy more than once. Hayden. Ugh. I don’t want to think about Mr. Haunted Poet and Quiet Angst. I thought we were kindred spirits. It turns out he thought Amber, vegan and professional protester, was his soul mate. They dropped out of school and went to join Occupy Wall Street. I never saw him again. Unfortunate, as my last vision of him was that of his pasty butt pumping between Amber’s hairy legs.

Hayden was supposed to be the safe choice, and he didn’t have anything close to the potency of Drew Baylor. I cannot fall for Baylor. I will not.

“So it was more than one time,” I mutter. “But it isn’t a relationship.”

“Would a relationship be so bad?” Iris asks gently.

Jesus. First Drew, now Iris. Whatever happened to the carefree and innocent college days of kinky sex experimentation?

“I don’t need or want a relationship. They’re emotionally exhausting. I’m lucky if I can muster the energy just to go to class these days. And what’s the point of risking getting close to someone when we’re going to graduate and move on in less than a year?”

“It might last longer,” Iris begins.

But I shake my head and take another pull on my straw. “It isn’t worth the risk. Nor do two random hook ups a relationship make.”

It’s going to happen again. You might as well admit it.

“It’s a start,” Iris says.

“It is
not
.” I shove my shake away. “I just… He’s… We’re…”

“You conjugating here?” George asks, his lips twitching.

“Ha.” I expel a breath. “I don’t know what’s going on. There’s something between us that’s like…” My hand lifts helplessly.

“A fat zit that needs to be popped?” George puts in helpfully. “You know, all hot and throbbing and dying to be touched. The pressure to give it a squeeze builds and builds until you give in and, bam!” George taps his fists together. “Eruption.”

“George!” Iris tosses a balled up napkin at him, and I chuck a fry. He’s too busy cracking up to defend himself. “You’re going to make me sick.”

“That’s totally gross,” I add with a laugh.

“Seriously,” Iris huffs, “did Mami drop you on your head when you were a baby or something?”

“Come on,” he’s still laughing, “you know it’s true.”

“I do
not
want to think of any guy I’m…”

“Fucking?” George offers.

“I’m
whatever,”
I grind out, “in terms of a zit.”

“Yeah, well,” George steals one of my fries, “it would definitely kill the buzz if you did.”

“I’m going to think of you as a pimple,” Iris snaps. “You know, those deep-seated ones that make your life hell and always show up right when they will embarrass you the most.”

“Ah, you love me, sis.” George blows her an air kiss.

Iris rolls her eyes before turning back to me. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

“Agreed,” I say succinctly, purposely misinterpreting her words. “It was a mistake that won’t happen again.”