Page 10 of Study Games

I’d have to be goddamn blind to ignore the tempting morsel she presented. I mean, she still layered up beneath way too many clothes for my taste, all laced shoes and tights and skirt and turtleneck and vest and jacket…hell, was any of the powder going to make it to skin level? The girl looked like perfect fodder for an ad for Michelin, or maybe a human level Egyptian mummy.

I leaned beyond her space, caging her in with my arms braced on the table around her. Soft, pink lips with the faint aroma of hops on her breath never tasted so good–and I was a damn good inch from licking her mouth first hand. Christ, what a fuck up. I was doing this as much to purge her essence from my own soul as to teach her a lesson about playing with the big boys.

Some part of that, of what my father put me through that I brought back into the cycle sat shittily in my empty gut, but I was a sucker for suffering, itchy as fuck all over and by God would I suffer for this girl.

She could tear me to shreds, and I’d come back and beg her for more.

That was why she had to go.

Now.

Behind me, Crush gave up all pretense and departed his seat with disgust written across his usually perfect face.

There’s a lot of that going around, sunshine.

But Waverly–I laid the charm on heavy enough she let herself be blinded by what she thought she wanted.

What I'd give her a taster of before I stripped it all away and put her right back where she belonged.

Fucking far away from me.

“Hi, Wavey,” I murmured, dropping my chin to the top of her head so I didn’t kiss her by mistake. The unintentional nickname was the other part of the mistake.

Yeah, it’s a thing for stalkers like me. Shut the fuck up.

“Sit down?” Her big brown eyes managed to find mine as she dislodged my worst intentions and tipped her head upside down to look at me better.

And then I found myself staring at that goddamn sumptuous mouth again. “Maybe later,” I managed, coasting a hand along her spine for good measure and because after this she’d never let me touch her again. “I got this for you.” I passed her the other beer I hadn't touched.

Not that I’d roofie her, just get her drunk enough not to watch my attempt at misdirection.

“Thank you,” she murmured, casting her eyes down as the table fell quiet.

She took a sip,and I knew it wasn’t her first, or even her second. What I didn’t realize was that this girl could drink. I didn’t know if she had a hollow leg or five marine level brothers in the wings to protect her, but four more beers in and a diatribe about her bees later, smirks formed on the remaining Allstars’ faces in my direction.

If that didn’t mean she had the upper hand, I had no idea how to judge the situation. My girl was definitely buzzed–pun–and animated as fuck. Hell, she even skipped a word here or there. But she certainly was not about to keel over on me in tipsy fashion or puke into the nearby shrubbery.

Hey, a guy could dream.

Certainly that would take my mind off that curvy behind that had occupied my mind–and my charcoals–back in my attic room for the last few nights.

She shivered–fucking finally–as some of the buzz died and I took the opportunity I’d been waiting for while not peeling my skin off with my own fingernails beneath Crush’s shirt with the need to scratch and scream every few seconds. Not that he’d be wanting the contaminated item back any time soon.

“Come here.” I shrugged out of my jacket, ignoring the tiny grains scattering the floor she didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, and held it out.

Waverly didn’t take more than half a second to nod, and we were on.

I looped the jacket around her shoulders, making certain to stuff her arms into the holes that dangled over her like a too-big parent’s overcoat. More than one laugh went up, but she didn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to extricate herself from the mess I pinned her into, doing up every metal snap on the front to secure her into my trap.

And to top the whole production off, I kissed her temple, ala Judas style, and threw Nash a wink, because his big bro–my wingman–had disappeared for the night.

The little fuck leaned one elbow back on the table behind him and palmed his bulge through his jeans with the other, ignoring the ruckus at his back. His eyes are for Waverly only, and for a moment I wondered that I hadn’t made the worst mistake of my life torturing such a tempting, sweet little piece before others rather than keep her to myself.

But the job was done, and I couldn’t undo it.

Nor, it seemed, could she.

Waverly wriggled oh so prettily for me, her face reddening. “It’s too hot, Jax,’ she whispered, struggling to get out of my jacket, but the too-long sleeves prevented her from using her hands for pretty much anything. Her brow furrowed as she flapped ineffectively at the catches. “Can you undo this, please,” she asked politely, the slightest hint of panic edging into her voice.

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