Page 42 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“I’m a hugger. I think I was a T-Rex in a past life, and I had these short little arms that couldn’t hug, so I’m overcompensating in this life.” I stand up and spread my arms. “C’mon, bring it in for a quick hug.”

“No.”

I use both hands to call her closer. “C’mon.”

She rolls her eyes, still looking at me like I escaped from an asylum.

“Hugs are the best form of therapy and you’re messed up in the head, so you need all the therapy you can get. C’mon.” I gesture for her to move closer with my hands again. “Come get some love. Promise it will be good for you.”

She relents, smiling at me as she stands up and closes the gap until she’s right in front of me. She hesitates, staring at me awkwardly, like she doesn’t understand how the process works. I help her out by lifting her hands and pulling them around my neck. My arms slip around her waist, tugging her closer until her chest is pressed against mine. Her body is stiff at first, but the second my hands move up to caress her back, she relaxes, dropping her forehead onto my chest as the tension leaves her shoulders.

“A little tighter,” she whispers, and I oblige by tightening my grip around her. “That’s the stuff right there.” She lifts onto her toes, locking her arms around my neck. “You give the best hugs, De Lorenzo.”

“I know, right? I’m a pro at this.”

“You’re like a big teddy bear...if teddy bears were all hard and chiseled and...sexy.” She lets out a little noise that sounds like a purr. “Oh, I could get used to this.”

I take advantage of our closeness and bury my face in the valley between her neck and shoulder. I love the way she smells, so sweet and forbidden. This is exactly the type of trickery I was warned about, the methods the Queen of Spades would use to lure me in...and it’s working. I’m spellbound, unable to break this trance. Logic doesn’t factor into this. I’m trying to reason with myself, but I just end up with more reasons why I like her. And man, do I like her. I like her confidence with that hint of vulnerability. I like her sassiness and how she doesn’t give a damn about anything.

And I know it’s insane and stupid to like someone who’s already knee-deep in the process of self-destructing. She was drunk at school every day. Her fling of the week is still David from the lacrosse team, and I told her a few times to tell him to fuck off because that guy is an asshole, but she refuses to listen. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s her life, and I have to accept that. That doesn’t mean that this shit doesn’t bother me. It does. It really does, but I force myself to ignore it because I don’t want to be the one caught in the blast when she inevitably implodes. Again, logic dictates that I should steer clear of this whole mess, but maybe the Queen of Spades is a curse, not a prophecy, because I can’t seem to snap out of it.

With a satisfied sigh, she pulls away and we carry on talking. We order more shakes, and her legs find their way onto my lap again. She’s fun to talk to and I’m entranced, pretty much hanging on her every word. We’re laughing, teasing each other, and the utter nonsense she spews out doesn’t stop. The seconds dissolve and before we realize it, it’s dark outside and the shops and restaurants are all closed. Hours have gone by, and it felt like mere minutes.

I check the time on my cell. “Shit, it’s ten o’clock already. Looks like I have to take you home.”

She reluctantly stands up and stretches her arms. “I’m stiff everywhere.”

“I can’t feel my ass.”

“I could feel it for you.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Why do you insist on objectifying me?”

We walk toward the exit. “If you don’t want to be objectified, you shouldn’t have all theseobjectsthat make girls salivate.”

“Notgirls, just you.”

Her eyebrows furrow together. “It’s not just me. Do you know how many girls at school swoon over you?”

“Uh...approximately zero.”

“Do you not notice how Charlotte makes a point to greet you every morning?”

“Doesn’t she greet everyone?”

“I’m right next to you and she doesn’t greet me because she hates the fact that you even give me the time of day. We run in the same social circle, and she’s very vocal about the fact that she likes you. And then there’s Nicole. She makes any excuse to talk to you and she always does that little arm-touching thing.” She runs her hand down my bicep the same way Nicole does and it’s only now that she’s mentioned it that I realize how often Nicole does that.

“She’s just being friendly...like you.”

“Likeme?” She’s stunned by this comparison. “I’m notfriendly. Bruh, I’m thirsting for your dick more than any of them.”

“Oh, my...” I abruptly stop walking, shutting my eyes as I try to stop reeling from the blast of that. “Oh. My. God!”

See, now that I know she means it, comments like that aren’t that easy to brush off anymore. So, if I combine the heat that explodes through my body with the instant hard-on those words create...and then chuck in the shame and discomfort at how quickly my thoughts devolve into envisioning her naked on top of me, imagining how those thick, sexy lips would feel sliding up and down my cock...I’m just left in this discombobulated state of arousal for a few awkward moments.

I hear her giggling and still can’t bring myself to open my eyes. I’m not ready to look at her.

“You know, De Lorenzo, you have the cutest rosy tint to your cheeks, but it’s not just a tint right now. You are so red. It’s like all the blood has rushed to your face.”

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