Page 11 of The Player

Well, except for her goddamn anatomy and physiology professor. He’s here tonight and isn’t supposed to be. I specifically asked the dean of his department to make sure he was far, far away from the event. It seems the bastard found a way to get out of the work he was supposed to be doing.

The men keep circling my Ju-Ju, but she’s ignoring them. As she should. They haven’t given her the time of day in life, so they don’t deserve her attention now. As the waiter comes near her, I think about her age and the audacity that the prick would even approach her.

She laughs at something he says but shakes her head no when he offers a drink. Good girl, I think to myself. Making my way over to her, I go over the poem she wrote for the school newspaper.

Before I can get to her, some prick comes up to her and grabs her arm.

“Hey, get off me,” she demands, but the bastard tugs on her.

Getting pissed off, I walk over to them and shove him. “Get the fuck out of here,” I growl, and when he laughs and lunges for me, I rear back my right hand and throw my punch.

My fist lands straight against his nose. He crumbles, and I look at Julie. She’s staring up at me with hero-worship eyes. When she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and smiles, I almost lose my shit. No one should get to see this expression but me. Instead, I relish the fact that Julie hasn’t given anyone else the time of day.

Bending down, I whisper, “Would you dance with me?”

I’m glad the music is loud, and my voice is masked by the bass thumping around us.

“Yes.” She doesn’t even hesitate as she puts her bottle of water down on the table she is standing next to.

We don’t go to the dance floor. There’s not a single spot there where I could enjoy the feeling of her next to me. I take her into my arms and move us around to a closed-off corner. Julie doesn’t even struggle as I tighten my hold on her.

My entire world is spinning, not from the dance, but from her smell. Plums. She smells like plums and bubblegum. Goddamn. As she lays her head on my shoulder, I tremble and moan. Thank God she doesn’t hear it. Or maybe she does because she pulls me closer to her.

Keeping my head as close to her as I can, I speak to her, “You look lovely in your dress. However, did you pick it out?”

I know it’s a risky question. I’m the one that fucking picked it out, and she’s wearing my colors so everyone knows it.

“Thank you.” Her hazel eyes come up and meet mine. “My best friend sent it to me. I wasn’t even going to come to this dance. I’m so glad I did.”

That blush is back on her face, and I make a mental note to keep it pasted on her cheeks.

“You’re polite and so sweet,” I tease, and she looks down, giggling. Oh yeah, she’s embarrassed but relishing my statement.

The urge to take her hair down and run my fingers along her wavy hair is almost too overwhelming. Instead of that, I move us around in slow circles, reciting her poem to her.

“You…” She doesn’t finish her statement because I continue reciting more words to her, trying to serenade her.

My tactic seems to work because we end up in the coat closet by the time I’m finished speaking.

“No one ever knows my poetry.” Her eyes have stars in them, and I wonder if she is going to keep talking.

As I push her up against the door, she startles. “We…” No. I don’t want to hear the words right now. She’s going to try and tell me to slow down. I can’t. The need to be in her mouth is too fucking much.

Taking her arms, I place them above her head. Growling, I kiss her. The first touch of our lips together makes me famished, and I deepen the kiss.

She tries to move her arms, and I pull away from our kiss. “Keep them up there, sweet Sugar Plum.”

Julie’s whimper caresses my body as I run my hands down her front. She’s innocent and has remained that way, much to my happiness. I’d hate to have to add murder to the list of felonies I have under my name concerning Julie.

Her breath hitches as I keep touching her. She’s trembling, and I’m not even touching her skin. Her dress covers too damn much, but I would have gone feral if she had been showing skin. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Before I can do anything though, the door is pushed inward, and Julie yelps. A groan leaves my lips as I pull her to me so the person can get into the closet.

It’s the damn professor. I may have to kill him after all. “No one is allowed in here.” The bastard snarls at us, and Julie ducks her head.

The fuck? Is she scared of him? And how dare she feel as if she must lower her head. “No, Sugar Plum, you don’t duck your head. Ever.”

Calling Julie Sugar Plum just feels right. So damn right. I move so that I’m in front of Julie and I’m facing the professor.

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