Page 9 of Creed

What the hell is happening to me?

He steps toward me. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

What the hell am I doing?

He holds out his hand to me.

I can’t walk out with him, hand in hand. Not that I’m embarrassed. Hell, I want to scream over the sound system that I—yes, Sophie Demeanus, all-perceived little sweet and innocent goodie-two-shoes—am leaving with this mountain of godlyhotness. However, if my classmates saw it, that’s a link from this night to the future.

‘Sweet Sophie’ doesn’t need ‘Siren Sophie’ to follow her after tonight because I know, without a doubt, Siren Sophie would be trouble for my goals. Plus, keeping this on the down low feels like it will keep this intoxicating man separate from my actual life.

I stare at his hand, extended to me, wanting nothing more than to take it, but I resist. “I’ll meet you outside.”

His hand lowers to his side as his unique, beautiful eyes hold me, trapped in his gaze. “Are you going to stand me up, angel?”

I’ll stand you up as I climb you like a tree if you keep calling me angel.

“I’ll be there,” I say instead of my wanton inner dialogue. Again, this is not me or how I normally act.

“You won’t disappoint me.” It's a statement, not a question, and loaded with dominance.

Something in me reacts to that dominance. And not in a pissed-off, angry way, but in a way that’s keening and yearning to never disappoint himever.

“No. Never,” I whisper, and his eyes flare.

When he drags his thumb along my jawline, I have no control over my body as I lean into his touch. Staring at my lips, he lickshis. “Good.” His low voice rumbles through me like a seismic tremor blasting the last of my resistance.

Then he strides away from me. I fist my hands to stop myself from latching onto his broad back as the muscles elongate and contract under the perfect fit of his suit as he moves.

Between my legs is wet. I’ve never responded to a guy like this. Hell, I’m hardly even interested in sex. So not interested that I often contemplate going to the doctor to see what is wrong with me because maybe I need medication or hormones or something.

I glance around for Zac, wondering if I should tell him I’m leaving.

Am I really going to leave with a stranger? Someone I don’t even know his name?

All my common sense and the warnings from my family rattle in my head, but needless to say, yep, my feet move toward the door.

“This is how women get raped and killed, you idiot,” I hiss quietly to myself; however, I continue to walk.

The fleeting thought of telling Zac I’m leaving with a guy pops into my head again. However, he’d likely not believe me because I’m as straight-laced as they come, and he could demand to meet said guy, which would make a link from this night to the future.

Plus, Zac and I aren’t exactly friends. Well, we are, but on the down low. We have some classes together, but our social circlesare very different. He’s the quarterback with a great chance of being signed for the big leagues—or is that the term used for baseball? Hell if I know. I grew up in Mexico, not the States, and my life wasn’t exactly similar to an all-American upbringing. Zac is a great guy; he just refuses to show his true self to anyone here, hiding behind the facade and cockiness of a talented and coveted jock.

As I approach the front door, I don’t see Sir Hotness—yes, that’s what I’m dubbing the godly hot guy as—anywhere, but a tingle runs through me as if his eyes are on me. The thrill of what I’m doing increases, pushing my doubts to the ground, and I gleefully stampede all over them.

“Hey guys,” I say to Ivan and Gene, who are working the greeting desk. They’re in my economics and business analytics classes. “I’m heading out.”

“So soon?” Ivan looks disappointed, and he bites his lip, looking at me.

I keep my innocent, clueless look, as if I don’t understand his tone or body language. People see the innocent and sweet package when they look at me; I hide my dark fantasies of dirty sex—I’ve never acted on them. And the not-so-innocent-and-sweet siren that has been born tonight under the heated stare of an intoxicating god of a man is new.

“Big social things aren’t really my thing,” I say, which isn’t a lie. I’m the queen introvert.

Gene frowns in disapproval. “Business is a social thing, Soph.”

I grit my teeth as he uses the nickname only those closest to me do.

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