Bad Intentions (7 page)

Sober or not, I’m about to own this challenge.

Tank nods in my direction, silently encouraging me. Without hesitation, I take off into a back handspring, round off and end in a fluent aerial. I land knowing that I nailed my dare. A feeling of pure excitement fills my body, just like before, when a judge would nod with approval after I performed. I am filled with glee as I stand there with my toes covered in wet, green grass. I flash a giant smile and then do something out of the ordinary. I curtsy. Then, after grabbing my shoes, I sashay back toward the group, where people are roaring. I feel like a million bucks. Scratch that. I feel like I just
won
a million bucks, and I bought all the puppies in every shelter in America. Yeah. It feels that damn good.

I’m on cloud nine when I find my place back in the circle.

“That was some insanely cool shit!” Some dude with chestnut dreads and a beanie shouts. Another one hollers, “How’s that for a simple back flip?”

Tank grabs me in a sideways hug. Holding his drink in the air he boasts, “I didn’t know you were a backyard, athletic badass.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” I wink and sip the beer that he pushes in my hand. “That was just a little sample.”

“What are you, a gymnast?” The shrill sound of Naomi speaking…taunting me…is a giant buzz kill.

She’s like a gnat—invisible, always in your ear, and hard as hell to kill. It’s sad, because it was never my intention to gain any enemies on my first night here. Truthfully, I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt, but… she’s not making it easy. It’s safe to say we’re not going to be besties and bond over our mutual attraction to Ryle any time soon.

“I was in a former life.” I brush off her comment and continue to play the game. “Zoe, truth or dare?”

She smiles mistrustfully. The crinkles on her small nose are on display as she whispers, “Dare.”

“I dare you to twerk!” I giggle like a twelve-year old.

“I got moves like you’ve never seen, girl!”

T
he sound of everyone laughing and carrying on continues for hours. As the crowd dies down, yawning soon replaces laughter. The grass is now beginning to dew and by the looks of it, the sun is just below the horizon. Like a child peeking out from under the covers, it’s ready to wake up the world way before anyone’s ready.

“Drive.” One word is all I can muster. I’m surprised it’s even audible. Using all his strength, Tank tosses his deadweight arm over my shoulder, but doesn’t speak. We’re a sight for sore eyes as we stumble forward. I’m sure God’s looking at me shaking his disapproving head as I pray we make it to his car upright.

The thick, green grass reminds me of wet moss under my bare feet as we trudge forward. Through slanted eyes, the car comes into sight. In my drunken state, I hadn’t even thought about where Zoe was. Some roommate I am.

The driver side door swings open and, like a magic act, Ryle appears. He looks like an angel wrapped in denim and drenched in sex appeal.

“Put her in the back,” he instructs, like I’m some rag doll picked up at a flea market.

Careful hands slide me into the backseat and buckle the seatbelt. “Sleep, Kitten,” Tank mumbles, putting my drunken self at ease. I notice a body next to mine that is wrapped in a dress. Her head is resting against the back of the seat, and her mouth is parted, allowing a foul mix of morning breath and vodka to ooze out of it. “Zo—.”

“Just let her sleep,” Ryle barks, interrupting me. I hear the roar of the engine come to life.

“Glad to her…see. Couldn’t find.” My words slur out like a puzzle that no one but Yoda could decipher. I close my eyes, sealing out the disgusted look in Ryle’s eyes. I allow the world to fade around me.

Someone’s obnoxious snoring causes me to jolt upright in my seat. Opening one eyelid, I see the car has been abandoned by its driver. Tank is slouched over in the passenger seat. I’m guessing his face is plastered against the window with drool running down his chin. My head throbs, and it feels like a boulder is sitting on my chest, my breaths coming out short and fast. I’m thankful that my need to hurl has subsided. I lick my dry lips and try to sit upright. My mouth tastes like a garbage disposal.

Ick.

I push against the charcoal leather-covered driver’s seat and grab the door handle. It swings open immediately, almost ripping my shoulder out of its socket. A rush of fresh air hits me in the face, and I can finally take a deep breath without tasting the stale remains of last night. My lungs thank me, and so does my pride. Glancing to the clock, it reads five a.m. It’s Sunday.

My wobbly legs don’t quite cooperate as I try to step out, and the world begins to spin around me. I’m a horrible drunk. I place my forearms against the cool car and lean forward to rest my head on them.

This feels nice.

“I got you,” I hear the gravelly voice of my least favorite person on campus, seconds before his hands find my shoulders to pull me close. My face is pressed against that damned white T-shirt that outlines all the right places and hugs his biceps. Oh, what I’d do to be wrapped around him like that shirt.

As Ryle embraces me, I fight the urge to inhale his scent.
Don’t do it. Please don’t do it.
I fail miserably. I know it’s a dangerous thing to do, but I don’t stop. I literally sniff him like a dog.

My body is lifted in the air. The movement makes my already queasy stomach lurch. Luckily for me, the contents aren’t food. Here’s to hoping Laffy Taffy and alcohol taste just as good on their way back up.

“Almost there.”

I look up through my lashes and for the first time since we met, the glare that meets mine isn’t cold. The sound of a door creaking on its hinges tells me that he’s carried me inside the dorm. His face is pinched together, and his dark blue eyes are glossed over. I’m sure he’s as tired as I feel.

Those lips. Those kissable, plump lips are so close to mine. I can almost taste them. “The devil has dimples,” I hoarsely purr as he gently lays me on my bed. Ryle’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me like he has something to say. “What are you thinking?” The hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle from his closeness as he dips his head. I can smell the wintergreen gum resting between his teeth. I tilt my chin forward.

This is it.

He’s going to kiss me.

I hold my breath, waiting for his lips to brush against mine.

“Your breath smells awful.”

My eyes widen in horror as I shoot up a hand to cover my mouth. A cloud of disappointment erupts in my stomach like a bomb. I study the expression on his face. It’s no shocker that he wasn’t teasing. How many times is my heart going to deceive me today, or yesterday…whatever?

“You’re a prick.”

“Don’t act like Zoe didn’t warn you.”

My heart pounds feverishly in my chest, matching each throb in my skull. “What are you talking about?” I mentally take a vow of sobriety, as I fight my eyes to stay open.

Ryle’s hand skims up my arm, his index finger marking its path until it reaches my face and he cups the side of it. Holding my cheek in the palm of his hand, he smirks. The little bastard actually has the audacity to laugh in my face after insulting me in my own dorm room. He quickly changes his tune, his brows furrowing as he looks at me intently. “Did you think you were the first girl that Zoe has given her little spiel to?”

I physically draw back from him, putting as much distance between us as I can, but he only moves closer to me. It’s another cat and mouse game, and we all know how it ends. Poor mouse.

“You did, didn’t you?” I scowl, and he continues. “Didn’t you wonder how she knew you’d get burned?”

Like the naïve little wuss that I am, I confess, “She said she watched it happen before.”

“She didn’t watch it,” he licks his plump lips and glares at me with a look that tells me he knows he’s under my skin. “She lived it.” A flash of triumph crosses Ryle’s face, seconds before I pull back my hand and slap the grin right off his mouth.

“Get out you sick—.”

“Get angry.” A muscle in his perfect flipping jaw line ticks as he antagonizes me. “I want you to think I’m so repulsive that the sight of me makes you want to puke.”

It doesn’t even matter why he wants me to find him repulsive. I admit that it may have prior to his little admission, but at this moment in time, I do find him disgusting. I grit my teeth. “Mission accomplished.”

Without another word, he stands up. His shirt is crunched up, showcasing tanned abs. I couldn’t care less if his shirt was off and his boxers were puddled at his feet. He’s not someone I’ll ever be interested in. Not now. His image isn’t just bad, his soul is. And I want no part of mingling with someone so tainted with doucheness. He takes one last look at me and nods his head like his job here is done. He turns and walks away without looking back.

Huffing, I tug back my covers and wonder who made my freaking bed. I swear if it was Ryle, I’m going to murder him. I don’t want him touching anything of mine. Without changing my clothes, I climb onto my twin, not caring in the slightest that I’m probably staining my clean sheets with glow-in-the-dark paint. I yank the covers up over my body. The smell of home fills my nostrils, but it doesn’t put me at ease. It does the exact opposite. The smell of home will fade, and I’ll still be here, lying in a bed several states away, wondering why in hell I left.

So far, college sucks
, I think as I fumble with my cell phone.

“What’s that sound?” Zoe croaks out of the darkness.

“It’s a sound machine app.” I press my lips together. “Just go back to bed.” I drape the blanket over my head like a makeshift tent and drift off to sleep thinking about the smug expression on that asshole’s face.

Ryle took the long way back to his apartment. With Tank peacefully nestled and snoring in the seat beside him, he knew that time was not of the essence. As he drove, Adaley’s words “mission accomplished,” played in his head like a broken record. He knew better than to believe her. It had been written all over her face. From the moment that he’d told her she looked like a stripper, to the disappointment that flashed across her face when he’d dared her to do a flip. She was clearly into him and was parading herself around – something that immensely turned him off. Naomi was always flaunting her chest like she had the only rack in the world. Easy women weren’t his thing.

As he’d carried Adaley to her room and looked down at her drunken body folded into his embrace, his control meter had started to whack out again. He’d noticed this recurring internal battle when she was near, and he was afraid of going down the same road that he’d foolishly embarked on in the past.

Pushing her away was clearly his only option, because as the tips of his fingers trailed her flawless skin and he’d gotten a glimpse of her up close, he’d known one thing for sure. He was in deep shit.