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I search his open expression for answers to the questions running through my head. “What happens when we get back to campus?”
“What do you want to happen?” He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward, giving me his full attention.
I groan. “I don’t know. I still have this damn thing hanging over me.”
“Only you can fix that, Kennedy.” He frowns, and waves of disappointment wash over me. “You could put a stop to the whole damn thing. Tell everyone you quit.”
A nervous laugh bubbles up. “You make it sound so easy, but—”
“It is easy, princess. You have all the power here. But you need to know, I . . .” He draws in a shaky breath. “I’d like to date you, if you’re interested. And not as part of a group. I don’t want to compete for your affection. It may be selfish, but I want you all to myself.”
He has it all wrong. I’m the selfish one. The one putting my ego above my own happiness. “I’d like to date you, too.”
His lips curve into a grin, and he hops out of the booth and pulls me to my feet. “I hoped you’d say that.”
With his lips hovering a breath away from mine, I make him a promise. “As soon as I see Nicole, I’ll tell her I’m pulling the plug on the whole thing.”
How hard can it be?
20
Impossible, it would seem. Despite my best intentions, instead of tracking down Nicole to break the news, I spend most of Sunday holed up in the library with Jordan, stealing kisses between talking about everything and nothing. And since I still can’t seem to get enough of Jordan Keller, after we say good night and he drops me off at Delta Sig, we pick up where we left off, talking on the phone until the wee hours of the morning. The last sound I hear before falling asleep is the rhythmic timbre of his voice. So when my alarm goes off bright and early Monday, the first thing I do is reach for my phone to text him.
But unlike me, Jordan is an early riser, and he beats me to the punch, sending his first message at six thirty . . .
Jordan: Good morning, princess. I’d like to walk you to campus if you don’t mind.
And the second at six forty-five.
Jordan: Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you on your way to breakfast.
I slap a hand over my mouth to smother a peal of laughter, but I can’t stop smiling as I type out my reply.
Kennedy: Good thinking. Countless untold dangers between here and the quad.
Despite the two-hour gap between his message and my reply, his response is immediate.
Jordan: Pick you up in an hour?
Kennedy: Can’t wait!
A thrill zips down my spine as I hop out of bed and rush through my morning routine. After falling asleep with wet hair, my curls have taken on a life of their own. Taming the wild mane takes longer than it should, leaving me with next to no time to dress. With an eye on the clock, I pull on a pair of dark-wash jeans and my favorite fuzzy blue sweater, add a few coats of mascara, a little blush, a dab of honey lip gloss, and I’m ready to go.
Until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
That sweater does nothing for your boobs. Nicole’s voice echoes in my head. And is that really the look you’re going for with those jeans? Do you want him to think about sex . . . or his sister?
I have no idea if Jordan even has a sister, but I sure as hell don’t want him thinking about her while he’s kissing me.
With a groan, I yank the sweater over my head and toss it aside to wriggle out of my jeans. My limited wardrobe has done double—maybe even triple—duty lately. It’s time for something new and exciting. But unless I can pull something out of my ass in less than . . . fifteen minutes!
With the clock ticking, I stare blankly into my closet until an idea comes to me. A colossally bad idea, but as Nicole would say, desperate times . . .
“I’ll probably regret this.”
Abandoning my closet for Nicole’s, I rifle through her “secret” stash of clothes—the stuff she reserves for special occasions, like impromptu seductions or squeezing extra points out of unsuspecting professors—searching for anything that doesn’t scream “desperate.” I confiscate a few items I’ve never seen her wear before, pairing a white jersey-knit long-sleeved top and black leather corset with a black leather pencil skirt. But since Nicole is close to six inches shorter than me, what would’ve most likely come to mid-thigh on her ends up being a mini on me.
Finally, I slip on a pair of black ballet flats and my favorite worn jean jacket. Then I grab my bag and head out, reaching the bottom of the stairs just as Jordan knocks. The moment I open the door, he sweeps me into an embrace, capturing my lips in a fiery kiss and leaving me breathless and disoriented by the time he pulls his mouth away.
