Page 41 of The Way We Are

“Last time I saw her she was in Justine’s room getting ready.”

I don’t know if Landon is making his voice extra deep for me, or if it’s grown huskier since the last time I heard it, but it's knee-quaking enough for a group of freshmen on his right to take notice.

He slaps my back three times before giving my shoulder a firm squeeze. “If you aren’t downstairs in ten minutes, I’ll come find you.” He tightens his grip, wordlessly warning me his next set of threats won’t be issued with words.

“Ten minutes. Right.” I roll my eyes when I fake setting my watch, mortified by the idiot I’m portraying.

Three weeks ago, I was a participant in an underground fight organized by the leading men in the mafia. Yet this week I’m acting like I’ll break if someone flicks me. I blame Savannah—this is all her fault. If her attention didn’t force all the blood in my body to my lower extremities, I’d have half a brain to work with.

After giving myself a lecture on manning up, I make my way to the stairs Landon gestured to. I take them two at a time, my eagerness to see Savannah again inspiring my fast pace. Just as Landon said, Savannah is in Justine’s bedroom getting ready. Well, she appears to be getting ready. In reality, she’s staring at her reflection in the mirror, deep in thought.

“A penny for your thoughts.”Really, Ryan? That’s the best you could come up with?Will somebody please shoot me? Put me out of my misery before I look more pathetic.

My wish to die weakens when the biggest smile I’ve ever seen stretches across Savannah’s face. “Ryan,” she whispers before slipping off the chair and spinning around to face me.

Whoa! Did I die?

Savannah looks like she just breezed off the catwalk. Her golden locks are pinned back, exposing her delicate neck and shoulders bared by her strapless dress, and her makeup has been done in a flirty palette with bright red lips and eccentric black eyeliner. She looks sexy and innocent at the same time.

“Savannah, you look—”

“Like you have five seconds to get downstairs before I send Landon up here,” interrupts a gruff male voice from behind my shoulder.

I don’t need to spin around to know whose eyes are burning a hole in the back of my head. It's bound to be one of Justine’s brothers. I swear they walk these halls like watchmen on death row even when Justine isn’t hosting a party. They are as protective of her as I am of Savannah.

“You walked past this room five minutes ago, Maddox. How much trouble can I achieve in five minutes?” Savannah asks with her narrowed eyes glaring past my shoulder.

“Do youreallywant me to answer that?” Maddox asks, his deep tone barely conceals his laughter. “From what I’ve heard, your boy doesn’t even last a minute.”

I’m tempted to laugh at his snide remark...until the entirety of his statement crashes into me. Now I feel ill and in need of a stiff drink.

Rolling her eyes at Maddox’s interruption, Savannah curls her arm around my elbow and drags me out of Justine’s room. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing up here, Maddox,” she warns as we skirt past him. “Or should I saywhoyou're doing.”

Maddox’s terminator mask falters when he grins at Savannah’s mumbled comment but snaps back into place the instant he notices my stare. He doesn’t scare me. I’m too twisted up in knots over his statement on Axel’s sexual capabilities to worry about being beaten to death. Just the thought of Savannah with Axel killed my chipper mood faster than discovering my dad’s change in shift.

As Savannah weaves us through a mass of drunken teens on the lower level of Justine’s home, I seek a place to have a quiet word with her. Although I had intended to enjoy the festivities before drilling her on her relationship status, Maddox’s remark altered my mindset. I’m not going to enjoy anything until I get this heaviness off my chest, so I may as well get it over and done with.

In the corner of my eye, I locate an ideal spot. Two giggling college students have just exited the coat closet tucked into the side of the stairwell.

“Ryan?” Savannah asks when I change our course.

Remaining quiet, I pick up my pace, wanting to ensure we reach the closet before any other horny teens. My breaths quicken with every step I take, but not entirely from my speed. It's from memories of the first time I kissed Savannah filtering through my mind. It happened in the very closet I’m rocketing toward like a jet. Savannah’s eyes are as wide as mine, her lips just as gaped. Although the apprehension crossing her face is as strong as ever, she meets my steps stride for stride.

When we enter the dimly lit space, her rose scent triggers even more memories. God what I wouldn’t give to go back to that day. I was the typical stupid, naïve boy who thought he’d be fending off women with a stick by the time I reached adulthood. I had no clue I’d be using the stick to protect the girl I want from men undeserving of her attention.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly. After several private rejections and a handful of public ones, most girls at my school got the hint I’m not interested in anything they’re offering, so they quit trying a few months ago. I can’t say I blame them.

The lust brewing in Savannah’s eyes like an out-of-control wildfire makes what I am about to say ten times harder. “We need to talk—”

My words ram into the back of my throat when Savannah balances on the balls of her feet to seal her mouth over mine. I freeze when her tongue lashes my lips, but the sweet taste of her mouth soon becomes too intense to ignore.

She moans into my mouth when I pin her to the wall with my body before returning her kiss with equal intensity. Encouraged by her husky response, I scrape my tongue along the roof of her mouth before dueling with hers. Our kiss isnothinglike the first kiss we shared. It's violent, needy, and five long, torturous years in the making.

Any concerns on Savannah not enjoying our kiss as much as me are thrown out the window when she grabs a fistful of my hair to yank my head closer to her. She deepens our kiss, freeing me from the worry that my aggressiveness is too much for her.

“Fuck, you taste good. As sweet as cotton candy and as sinful as vodka,” I murmur against her mouth before dropping my lips to ravish her neck.

She smiles against my skin before stroking her tongue along the throb in my throat. “You taste as good as I remember too, if not ten times better.” She suckles on my neck, marking my skin with an ownership she has no right to claim.

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