The Game Series (33 page)

“I know.” She smiles. “I don’t like it much either, but if it makes you feel better, Tom’s a jackass.”

“So am I,” I mumble.

Her hand snakes into my hair and she holds me tightly. “Yep. But you’re a special kind of jackass.”

“Yeah?” I dip my head and brush my lips across her. “What kind is that?”

“My kind of jackass.”

~

“It just occurred to me I don’t know your major,” Ryan throws at me as I walk into the frat house.

I grin, still buzzing from being around Megan, and sit down. “Psychology.”

“Are you for fucking real?” He sits up.

Braden walks in, eating an apple. “Is who for real?”

“This dick is majoring in psych. Did you know that?” Ryan cocks a thumb toward me and looks at Braden.

“He can’t be.” Braden looks at me and I smirk. “Are you really?”

“Pretty damn sure that’s why I do the classes the course requires.”

“Well, fuck me.” He leans against the door frame. “What you studying that for? To understand why you need so much sex?” Him and Ryan chuckle.

So I can understand why my mom was the way she was and stop other people going that route. So I can help stop other kids dealing with the shit I had to.

“I know why I need sex, asshole,” I retort. “I’m doing it to work out why people like me hang around with fucktards like you two.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Ryan shrugs. “We make clever dicks like you look good.”

“True that,” Braden agrees.

Ryan looks at him. “You know something? I don’t even know what your major is.”

Braden shrugs a shoulder carelessly, chewing. “You know something?” He grins. “I don’t fucking know either.”

I laugh at the smile on his face. “Ryan, man, you might just have a point about you two making me look good.”

“I’m majoring in engineering, if either of you dicks care.” He shrugs.

“Hey, that’s supposed to be pretty tough. All that math and stuff,” Braden says vaguely.

“Math was all I could do well in school. It made sense.”

“Yeah, well.” Braden straightens, dropping the apple core in the trashcan. “The only math I know is that me plus Maddie, minus clothes, equals a product not even algebra can create. Shame we can’t major in sex. I’d walk away top of the class.”

I smirk as he leaves with a satisfied smile on his face, and Ryan snorts.

“That’s some pretty sweet math … One I think this whole house can appreciate.” He grins.

I nod in agreement, thinking of Megan.

Fucking right I can appreciate that.

I must be the only person in my class that will read a classic novel for anything other than requirement. I can’t think of anyone I know that would pick up
Jane Eyre
,
Little Women
, or
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
for pleasure.

In fact, they’re not even my first choice.
Little Women
comes in a close second, but
Pride and Prejudice
will always win out. There’s something beautiful about a couple from two different backgrounds traveling along the bumpy road of love until it’s undeniable, and there’s something even more beautiful about watching that journey happen. Flicking through the pages anxiously waiting for that sweet first kiss, the passion filled argument, the final declaration. There’s something that pulls me in and takes me away from the real world.

There really is no place like the one you find between the pages of a book.

The only place that comes close is in the arms of the person you love.

Perhaps that’s why with Braden in class all day, I’m sitting on the corner of Aston’s bed reading – and swooning over – the beauty that is Mr. Darcy. I’m pages away from one of the best scenes in the book – the rain scene where everything is so passionate and wet and
oh my God, get together already!
And I’m not ashamed to admit it, but I’ll happily yell at the characters until I get what I want.

That love. That all-consuming, overwhelming, never-ending love is what I want. I want to feel what Darcy and Elizabeth feel. I want to look into someone’s eyes and know I’m looking at my happily ever after.

The door opens, and I keep reading, my eyes skittering across the page and drinking in every word.

The door is open
. Okay. So this is gonna be kinda awkward if this isn’t Aston. Damn, why didn’t I think of this before?

I slowly raise my eyes over the top of the book. Aston clicks the door shut behind him, smirking at me with a cocked eyebrow.

“Not that I’m complaining, but is there any reason you’re on my bed?” he asks smoothly.

“I’m reading,” I reply, dropping my gaze to the page again. “And I need to be comfy when I read, which will explain why I’m on your bed opposed to that horrible chair at the desk.”

“I can see you’re reading, Megs, but why are you reading in my room and not yours?”

“I can go if you’d like me to.” I dog-ear the page and tuck the book under my arm.

“Hey, no! No, I didn’t say that.” He drops his bag and walks toward the bed, putting his hands either side of me. “I didn’t even fucking think it.”

“Oh. Well.” I smile sweetly. “I’ll just get back to my book, then.”

“Hell fucking no,” he mutters, grabbing the battered book and dropping it on the floor. My mouth drops open.

“You did not just throw my book on the floor.”

“I dropped it.”

“No. You threw it. I should bitch slap you for hurting Mr. Darcy that way.”

“Right. Because Mr. Darcy and his pompous ass will appreciate it.”

I narrow my eyes a little, half-surprised he even knows who Mr. Darcy is. But then again, I’m quickly finding out that Aston isn’t what he seems, and I like it. There’s a whole other side to him I’m quickly coming to adore.

“You don’t throw my books. Ever,” I tell him firmly. His lips twitch. “I mean it. Next time you throw one of my babies, especially a favorite, I
will
hurt you.”

He schools his face into a serious expression and climbs onto the bed, kneeling in front of me. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, cupping the side of my face. “I won’t throw one of your books ever again.”

I smile at him, turning my cheek into his palm. “You damn well better not.”

Aston touches his lips to mine and slides his hand round to the back of my head. He lowers me back on the bed slowly, his mouth moving against mine tenderly.

“I just realized that Braden is in classes all day. Which means I have you all to myself for a while.” His lips travel along my jaw. “So there’s no damn way you’re reading a fucking book when you could be doing this.” He runs a hand down my side and slips it under my shirt, his hand rough against my skin.

I arch my back into him slightly, my hands easing their way up his arms to his shoulders and neck as his lips find their way to mine. The hairs at the nape of his neck tickle. I curl my fingers around them, holding him against me. My leg bends and my foot travels up the back of his calf, his jeans rough against my bare toes.

His tongue explores my mouth, diving in and out, swirling in the same way desire is in my lower stomach. His probing hand below my top does nothing but ignite the fire inside me. It does nothing but continue to feed and fuel the storm of feelings I have whenever he’s near me.

Aston trails his lips along my jaw to my ear, letting them fall away from my skin and resting his head next to mine. His breathing is heavy and full of pain.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here,” he whispers.

“I’m here because I want to be.” I trail a hand down his back, rubbing in slow, circular motions, and I know the demons inside him are rising up. The demons that keep him from me completely.

“But I don’t understand why.”

“Not everything needs an explanation. This is one of those things.”

“What if a part of me needs one?” He pulls back, releasing me and kneeling up again.

I sit and cross my legs. My eyes find his, and I’m lost in the swirling torment that’s in the shadows of them. His emotions are all battling each other with the force of a tornado – the color of his eyes darkened to the shade of a storm’s heart. I’m aching to reach out and touch him but something tells me not to. Despite the lingering temptation tingling my fingers, I know I have to do this on his terms. I’m so angry at him and I don’t even know why. I’m so confused about everything. I want to understand. I want to know what he keeps so buried down inside him, and I want to make it better.

“Then that’s something I’ll never be able to give you,” I say quietly, sadly.

“Why?”

“Because my reasons for being here – the way I feel inside, what I feel about you, about us, about all of this – I can’t put them into words. I could sit here for hours and try to explain, but I can’t. They just … are.”

He stands and turns away from me. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into the corner of his room carelessly, the muscles in his back and arms flexing as he runs his hands through his hair.

“Aston. Talk to me,” I say softly.

“Why? What difference would it make?”

“Because I need to understand! I need to understand you – all the difference faces of you. I know three. I know the guy, I know the lover, and I know whatever side of you this is, but I don’t fucking understand them!” I stand. “One minute you’re climbing through my bedroom window, then you’re kissing me, then you’re walking away from me. I don’t get it!”

“Some things can’t be explained,” he says tightly, throwing my own words back at me.

“Bullshit!
Bull. Shit
. Aston!” I walk toward his turned back. “Absolute crap! The way you act the way you do, the way you hide a part of yourself from everyone, all that has an explanation, it could be explained! You just choose not to. For some reason, you don’t.”

“Maybe I can’t!” He turns to me, his eyes raw and his body taut. “Maybe I can’t explain it all. Maybe I can’t. Maybe it hurts too much. Did you ever think of that?”

His eyes drop, and I want to kick myself. I never thought of that. I never thought whatever it is he’s keeping inside that haunts him so much is too painful for him to talk about. This whole time I’ve been thinking about how I feel about what he’s going through. I’ve been so occupied with what his secrecy is doing to me, I haven’t stopped to consider what it’s doing to him. I haven’t thought for one second about how he feels. God.

My hands reach out for him, and he grips my wrists in a lightning fast movement. “Don’t,” he whispers, his face hard. “Don’t.”

A minute passes between us, stretching out for an infinite amount of time. Neither of us move, the only sound between us the heaviness of his breathing, until he looks at me slowly. His eyes are filled with sadness, and I’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. I want to shake his hands off my wrists and touch him, soothe that pain, but I can’t. I’ve tried.

Whatever he’s going through he has to share for both of us. I can’t think about me or him as separate people. When it comes to the pain shining in his eyes, something has to give, because I need to know why, because the game isn’t between us. The game is the show we put on for everyone around us. There’s no charade when we’re standing face to face like we are now. There’s no charade when everything we feel is so, so real.

“You’re so desperate to keep hold of me, yet you’re so determined to keep me at arm’s length,” I whisper. “Why? Why can’t you talk to me? What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared of keeping you and I’m scared of losing you. My whole life I’ve looked after myself, depended on myself, and I’ve kept everything at bay. All the feelings, everything. And then … Then I met you and everything changed. Everything I thought was real turned out to be a load of bullshit. The only thing that’s real is you.”

“Why me? Why do I make such a difference?”

He exhales slowly, resting his forehead against mine, his eyes burning into me. “Because I’ve
never
needed anyone as much as I need you. If I let you in, if I tell you everything, then you might not need me, too – and that is the fucking scariest thing of all. As much as I wish you’d walk away, as much as you should walk away, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you.”

“Why would I go?” I frown.

He sighs, finally releasing my wrists and linking our fingers. “Because my past is different to yours, Megan. We come from two different places. We have two completely different stories–”

I shake my head. “You really believe that shit? Do you?”

He doesn’t move.

“You think your past will change the way I think about you? The way I feel? Because it won’t. It won’t change a goddamn thing!”

“Megan–”

I shake my head again, snatch my hands from his, and shove him away. I lean against the window and look out between the gaps in the curtains. “I’m not gonna walk away, Aston. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m in too far already. Whatever it is that’s inside you and that’s eating away at you … I want to
know
. I need to know for
us.
”

I hear his steps as he crosses the room and feel the warmth of his body as he presses against my back. He rests his hands on my hips. They slowly creep round to my stomach, flattening out, and he buries his face in the side of my hair. I lean back into him, struggling with the rollercoaster of emotions running through my body.

“We’re different, Megs,” he whispers. “Too different. Even now we have to hide this.”

“We only have to hide it because Braden will kick our asses, but we can’t hide it forever.”

“I don’t want to hide this. I don’t wanna hide you. Every guy that looks at you … I hate it. I hate the way they look at you like they just wanna fuck your brains out. It drives me fucking insane.”

“The way you used to look at me, you mean?” I tease, smiling a little.

He laughs hollowly, turning me around. I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head against his bare chest. I listen to the beating of his heart, harsh and frantic.

“Yeah, the way I used to look at you until I did sleep with you. Fuck, Megs, when I kissed you I realized that wasn’t all I wanted from you. It wasn’t all I needed from you.” His voice rumbles in his chest and he presses his lips to the top of my head.

“Then let me be what you need,” I beg. “Don’t think about Braden, or keeping this a secret, or where we come from. All that matters is we’re here now and I’m here now. Let me be what you need me to be. Stop pushing me away, Aston, ‘cause even though I should let it go I can’t. I’ll always come back.”

His chest heaves with the force of his breath. “I will. I’ll tell you everything. But not today, Megs. Soon. But not today.”

I shut my eyes briefly. “You promise?”

Aston slides a hand up my back, over my shoulder, and cups my chin. He raises my face slightly, bending his down, and I meet his gray eyes. “I promise.”

~

This is a mess.

I smile politely at the guy across the table from me. Date two on Lila’s “Operation Get Megan a Boyfriend” and it’s no better than the first. If I’m honest, it’s even worse.

And it’s not even the guy. No, Callum is lovely. He’s sweet, he’s hot, and he’s funny. He’s pretty much the perfect guy – but he’s just not
my
perfect guy.

“Lila said you were an English major?” he asks, dipping his spoon into his ice-cream.

“Yeah. I’ve always loved literature so it makes sense to major in it.”

“What do you plan to do when you graduate? I know it’s a while away.” His lips quirk up to the side. “But it’s good to have a plan, you know?”