Page 21 of Made Over by Meredith

“No?”

“No,” he grated, in my space again, his thigh settling between my own as he pushed my back against his car, with his hands on either side of my head.

“Did…” I cleared my throat. “Was it a good kiss?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I guess.”

“You guess?” I huffed a laugh. “My god. We still have work to do with you, if that’s your answer.”

There was that one shoulder again. “I guess.”

I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Do you thinksheliked it?”

“Not sure.”

“What do you mean? How could you not be sure?”

He heaved out a sigh, as ifIwas the one not making any sense tonight. I was the teacher. He was the student here. I was the one who had the right to be frustrated. “It’s not like we discussed it after.”

“Well, how’d you do it? What did you say before? What did you say after? Was there tongue? Did she make any sounds? How did you touch?—”

“Fucking hell,” he murmured, and then his lips were on mine.

Chapter 7

Aiden

There was only so much a man could take before he lost it.

And I’d fucking lost it.

I had a good time on my date with Celeste. There was never an awkward moment or a lull in the conversation. It all went great, and when I dropped her off, I hadn’t asked to kiss her. She’d told me to text her later, and then we both leaned in, and that was that.

A kiss.

A simple, chaste kiss.

Afterward, she got out of my car, walked into her apartment, and I texted Meredith.

Which is how I found myself here because despite all her protests, I did know her. I knew how Meredith liked to talk a big game about her so-called constitution and play up her don’t-give-a-shit attitude part, but that’s all it was. Playacting.

A girl didn’t tell you she was getting drunk by herself to be left alone.

I wasn’t a goddamn idiot. Of course, I went right to her.

Which I guess made it an idiot.

Because as soon as I saw her, I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave her tonight with my sanity intact. Not with how the hem of her dark green dress rode up her thighs, those mile longs legs crossed and propped up on the rung of the stool. Not with how her fingers and those long nails scraped through her hair, toying with her delicate earlobe before tucking the honey strands behind her shoulder. The bored, slightly impatient expression on her face, as if waiting for something.

Waiting forme.

It was starting to feel that way over the last couple of weeks.

She was building me up to be this suave guy, when really she was making me into the guy for her.

And, hell, it was working.

I wanted to be the guy who picked her up, who made her smile, who listened while she talked about school and work and the exact right color of grey to wear, or whatever the hell she wanted.

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