Page 14 of Obsessed with my Temptation

I shouldn’t fucking have.

“Right. And you’re definitely not alittleobsessed with him.”

I wasn’t.

I knew better than to be. Because if I knew one thing about popular ‘perfect’ guys like Scott, it was that we didn’t match. There was no world in which someone like him would go for someone like me—or otherwise. He was the type to like sweet vanilla sex in bed—not to mentionstraight—and I was definitely not that.

I would have thought Scott fit in with his stereotype, had it not been for his intense, heated stares. Had it not been for the one time our eyes met while I was getting head at the bar, and I’d kept looking at him the whole time while I fucked a guy’s mouth.

He’d been into it.

The domination. The rough and dirty fuck. He’d looked at me like he wished he was the one on the receiving end, and fuck if I hadn’t wanted him to be.

But I wasn’t obsessed with him.

It meant nothing.

Andy also didn’t know what had happened at the alley, so at least that was one less thing to worry about.

“I was thinking about the fact that I’ll have to start sellingcupcakeswith him.”

Andy broke into a laugh.

I told him about the whole meeting with my sister.

“Your sister is agenius,” he said. “That is one evil masterplan if I ever saw one. Remind me never to get on her bad side.”

Yeah, well. I guess I was.

“So,” Andy leaned his shoulder against the wall we were standing next to. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

No.

I knew that teasing eyebrow, and I knew what he was suggesting.

Whatever Andy thought, he was wrong.

Because as much as I might fantasize about railing a certain Prince into the mattress, it was never going to happen.

Not only was the guy in denial, he washim. A good boy. Popular. Straight-laced.

I didn’t do good boys or Princes. I didn’t hate myself enough for that.

I said something like that to Andy—minus the introspection—and he just rolled his eyes.

“Anyway. Want to go for a drink after this?” he asked instead.

We didn’t make it a habit to go to bars this early in the week, even if we weren’t saints either. But if the situation called for it, we could always go, relax, shoot the shit, and go back to our apartment to do some pretend studying before the day was over.

On any other day, I would have taken him up on it.

But today, I knew that if I went to that bar, I would not stop thinking about the last time I was there—seeing Scott dancing sensually under the blue light, crowding him in the alley, his short, aroused breath, and the way his eyes had fallen to my lips as I traced his with my thumb.

I could still see it. It was imprinted in my retinas. I’d had him against the wall, his chest almost against mine, his cheeks slightly pink in delicious embarrassment and his pupils dilated—turned on against his will.

Focus.

“Not today.” I went to my punching bag again. “I think I’ll train a bit longer.”

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