Lucky Kisses(4)

By: Addison Moore



He inches back as if I just slapped him, and he’d better believe that five-fingered show of affection is the next thing on my list.

“I don’t have to insinuate anything.” His voice dips down to its lower register. “That look on your face says it for the both of us. By the end of the night, you’ll be begging for a road map to my bedroom, and if there’s a venereal disease in it, just know it wasn’t there before you showed up.”

A dull choking sound emits from my throat. I’m so locked up in a fury I can’t catch my next breath.

“I’m teasing.” He holds his hands up. “It doesn’t feel so good to have your purity challenged, now does it?”

“I seriously doubt anything pure applies to you.” I’ve heard rumors—seen evidence of Lawson’s rather unlawful trysts. Honestly, I don’t want to know any of it. “Don’t hold your breath. I won’t be begging for a road map anytime soon. How did you ever get that big ego of yours through the door, anyway?” I smirk into the crowd. Good God, of all the people in this damn place and I’m stuck with the dust mite.

He leans in and looks off in the direction of my gaze at a group of dancing sorority sisters. “Oh, I get it. You’re into the fairer sex. I can’t blame you. The fairer sex does have a lot to offer.” You can practically see the condoms swirling in his eyes.

“Would you stop drooling?” I smack him in the gut. “It’s not a good look. And no, I’m not into the fairer sex. I’m into boys, if you and your overblown ego must know—just not you. So scat, go run headlong into the first gaggle of girls you find and see which ones stick to you like Velcro. I’m sure your mattress is already missing the depraved gymnastics that take place on that thing.”

“Excuse me?” He looks genuinely confused. I’m sure the kind of girls he’s used to utilize far less sentences to communicate—syllables for that matter, too. “And what do you mean you’re not into me?”

It’s clear he’s affronted by the idea, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m not into you,” I’m quick to reassure, forcing my gaze anywhere but on those oversized emeralds he calls eyes. I spot Rush with a group of guys and nod in their direction. “And would you relax? I do like you—in a mentor kind of way.” That should quell his ego. I’d hate to be the mental road bump that keeps him from getting laid on the night of the big Black Bear mixer. Half the girls in here are ogling him, just waiting for me to shove him back out to pasture so he can plow their fields.

“Mentor?” Lawson blocks my view with his behemoth chest, and I not-so-gently shove him out of my way.

“Yes, mentor. I’m the female version of you, only I choose not to bum-rush the bedroom.” I smack him in the gut once again. “That’s disgusting, by the way. I’m into serial dating. You know—test driving the prospects and actually going somewhere with them rather than revving their engines and leaving them to idle.” I glance up and can’t help but note he looks more than impressed by my vehicular analogy. “Brace your ego because I plan on dating all of your fraternity brothers one at a time, with the exception of Rush and yours truly. Try not to get your boxers in a bunch, sweetheart.”

“So, you plan on sleeping your way through Beta house?” He gives me that disbelieving look as if calling bullshit on my monogamous yet slightly salacious scheme.

“That’s right. I’m no Ava.” I glance toward the barren exit. “There is no Grant Jones in my future. I’m a love ’em and leave ’em kind of a girl. I’m at Briggs to play hardball.”

His chest thumps with a dry laugh. “You mean blue ball.”

“You wish.” My blood hits a boiling point. Who the hell does Lawson Kent think he is practically calling me a tease? He’s certainly not God’s gift to the women of Whitney Briggs, like the evil spirit haunting his mirror mistakenly leads him to believe. It’s about time someone put him in his mediocre place. “I don’t blue ball.” What’s the opposite of blue ball? “I wiffle ball.” Crap. I have a feeling it’s only a pubic hair above blue balling, and honestly, I’m only vaguely familiar with the colorful phrase myself.

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