First and Goal (Moving the Chains #1) (23 page)

I frown at her and lean forward to brush the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. Before I stop and think about what I’m doing, I hold her face in my palms when the moisture has been wicked away. She fixes me with a confused glare, but doesn’t move.

“Your pet died. It’s okay for you to be upset. I don’t mind.” I lean back into my own space and rest my arms on my thighs, still facing her.

“You don’t, but I do.” She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, her posture rigid. “I’m just PMSing, I guess. I’m sorry for mauling you.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of my throat. “You didn’t maul me. I’d be honored to be your shoulder to cry on whenever you need.”

She raises her eyebrow at me.

I’m swimming in dangerous waters, so I decide to change the subject by irritating her. I seem to excel at that. “Also, thanks for the heads up on what week of the month not to annoy you.”

She rubs her forehead with her hand. “Oh my God. I cannot believe I just said that to you. It’s like I keep giving you ammunition to blackmail me with, dammit. Like what you heard at my house wasn’t good enough.”

I fish around in my backpack for something that I hope will cheer her up and ease her embarrassment.

“Okay,” I sigh. “I’ve been saving this for when I move up into the next weight class for lifting, but I think you need it more than I do.”

She takes the proffered candy bar, looking at me unsurely. “I can’t take this.”

“Sure you can. I can always get more.”

“You’re going to make me fat…but, thank you,” she whispers. “This is actually the only chocolate I’ll eat.”

Everyone in our small town knows about the local chocolate and candy factory. Once you’ve had a taste, store-bought, mass-produced chocolate just won’t cut it. It’s really expensive, but no one seems to mind handing over their hard-earned money for a community staple.

I turn towards the desk to flip to the next chapter in the book and hear her peel off the wrapper. At least she accepted the small gift.

Her moan grabs my attention in more ways than one. I look back over my shoulder to find her head tilted back, eyes closed, with a satisfied smile on her face.

“Feel better?”

She isn’t chewing the bite, but rather sucking on it and savoring it slowly. Drool pools in my mouth just watching her. A twinge of guilt mixes with my desire. She’d just been crying about her dead cat, for God’s sake, and I’m imagining her mouth sucking on something very different.

“You’re a god among men, Rob.” She breaks off another square, not noticing my heavy gaze, and slips it delicately in her mouth, treating this piece the same as the first.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her even if the entire library were on fire. Who would’ve thought watching a girl eat chocolate could be one of the most erotic things ever? And holy shit, did she just call me by my name?

“Well, jeez.” I have to stop and cough to return my voice to something resembling normal. “If I’d known that’s all it would take to get you to like me, I would’ve given you chocolate years ago. This is working way better than those stupid cupcakes.”

Shit. Did I really just say that?

She chuckles lowly, her eyes still closed. “I can definitely see why all the girls follow you around now, Superjock. They can smell the chocolate, not the sex.”

She clearly didn’t even hear my admission of interest, too lost in her chocolate heaven. She works on her third piece. And oh God, what sweet work it is. Her story about skinny-dipping in the ocean has nothing on this.

Her eyes suddenly pop open, and I get busted like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I can’t even imagine the look that must be plastered all over my face, a neon sign advertising how much I want her right now.

Thank God, the worst evidence is hidden under the desk. I’m not going to be able to stand up for hours. My dick throbs painfully.

She simply stares at me with a curious look on her face as she sucks on another square of candy.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die right here in the library. I’m either going to stroke out from the worst pent-up sexual tension I’ve ever experienced in my seventeen years or she’s going to kill me. What a sweet way to go.

“Are you doing this because you hate me?” I finally manage to choke out.

“Wait…what?”

“You know what? I don’t even care if you’re doing this on purpose to tease me, or if this has all been some sick, twisted test to prove that I’m only in this to get into your panties. I’m going to buy a whole case of chocolate bars tonight. You can have one whenever you want.”

Her laughter is a pretty good sign that I’m not about to be murdered, and that I’m forgiven for being a horny teenage guy.

She finishes her naughty snack not a moment too soon, crumples the wrapper between her slender hands, and throws it into the garbage can by the door. Evie brushes her hands together to rid them of any remaining crumbs. I’m suddenly aware of how skillful those small hands look.

Mental images of what she could do to me with her hands flash through my mind at lightning speed, and my lungs pump harder, my heart goes haywire. Until I spot the burn mark on her hand that I put there. Sometimes I really hate myself.

“Number one, I believe you’re not trying to get into my panties. You’ve got Rachel to mack on. Number two, I’m starting to believe your story about being a virgin, Superjock. I was just eating a chocolate bar. You act like I gave you a strip tease.” She turns and pulls her books out of her backpack as if nothing just happened.

Maybe I imagined the whole thing. I’ve had three long years of fantasizing about her giving me a strip tease after all.

I release the breath I’ve been holding with a whoosh, and my forehead hits the desktop with a loud thud. That might’ve hurt, but I really can’t feel anything except the insistent twitching between my legs.

I’m vaguely aware that she must be watching me, but all I can do is keep my eyes tightly closed and concentrate on breathing. I seriously don’t know how I’m supposed to even think about calculus after that.

“Calm down, Superjock. No need to spend so much money on the finest chocolate in the world. But thanks for cheering me up. It was entertaining at the very least, and it definitely got my mind off things for a few minutes.”

Oh, it’s not even about the money because I need to make this happen somehow.

“I already told you, Rach is my neighbor, and we’re not like that. I’m glad the chocolate helped though. We don’t have to do calc tonight. I know you’re really bummed out.” Maybe putting some distance between us isn’t such a bad idea because all I can think about is throwing her down on the desk and having my way with her. That would definitely not be received well.

She sighs. “No. I really need to do better on the quiz this week. I can’t afford anything less than an A.”

“Can’t afford? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…you are currently beating me for Valedictorian, and that is just beyond unacceptable.”

I abandon my face-down post on the desk and study her. She doesn’t appear to be lying. “How would you know that? They haven’t released the class standings yet.”

She peeks up at me quickly, then returns her gaze to the book in front of her.

“Someone saw the printout on the guidance counselor’s desk last week,” she mumbles.

I know better than to ask who. “Is this someone a reliable source?”

“Yes. Very.”

A broad smile slips across my face. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s recognizing an open route when I see one.

“Ugh, I knew you were going to be an ass about this.” She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. The scowl on her face is freaking adorable.

“Still think I’m a dumb jock?” My face hurts from smiling so hard.

“I hate you.”

“That’s not a very nice way to talk to your tutor who gives you orgasmic chocolate and lets you cry in his arms when you’re sad.”

“Orgasmic chocolate?” She raises her eyebrow at me.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were doing just now. I’m starting to think you enjoy torturing me on purpose.”

A smirk plays on her lips, but she admits nothing.

“I’ll tell you what? Since you love it so much, if you get an A on the quiz this week, I’ll bring you more chocolate.”

Her expression turns skeptical. “Is this supposed to be some sort of Pavlovian training to do better?”

“Think of it more as incentive to play the game at my level. You want your top spot back, then you’re gonna have to up your game, Papageorgiou. Come at me like I know you can.”

The flush that blooms across her cheeks isn’t from anger. “What makes you think I want to come at you at all?”

Gleeful laughter threatens to escape my throat. “Aww, come on. Everyone loves a little friendly competition.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, not everyone. You love competition because you’re a jock.”

“But I’m not a
dumb
jock.”

Her only answer is a frustrated huff. At least she doesn’t deny it. I am slowly wearing down this defense.

M
y eyes are still puffy and swollen from crying so much in the last twelve hours. The short reprieve in the study room yesterday was just that - short. My bed seems so empty without my sweet kitten purring and curled up beside me. I still can't believe he's gone.

It might seem a stupid and overly emotional thing to most. In some ways, I guess it is. But Gatoula was the best therapist I ever had. No judgments, no forcing me to talk, just silent companionship to ward away the loneliness and fear when it felt like I was drowning in it all. He healed me more than anything or anyone else.

I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.

I drive into school earlier than usual, hoping to give myself time to calm down and look like I’m not losing my mind before the other students arrive. I’m beginning to seriously rethink my reasoning when Rob approaches my locker. I really can’t deal with him this morning.

“Hey, how ya feelin’?”

The smell of the hot, caffeinated beverage that he’s holding makes my mouth water. I spent so much time primping this morning that I didn’t drink a single drop. My splitting headache is a constant reminder of the lack of sleep, crying, and now, caffeine withdrawal.

“Like my cat just died.”

He eyes me up and down, not even trying to hide it. I roll my eyes. Jocks are so predictable.

“Why are you dressed up?”

“I have a debate today. We’re supposed to look professional.”

I dressed this morning in a nice skirt, blouse, hose, and heels. I even took the time to straighten and curl my hair with an iron so it wouldn’t resemble the poodle fur it usually does. In an attempt to cover my red, puffy eyes, I spent extra time on my makeup. I’m pretty sure that’s only going to result in tear tracks and mascara streaks if I think about Gatoula too much. Stupid PMS. My feet will probably be killing me by the end of the day. If cramps decide to strike in the middle of the debate, I’m screwed. This week sucks even more than the last one did. And it’s only Tuesday.

Rob takes a deep breath. “Professional is not the word I would use, but all right. You should just eat some chocolate, and they’ll all lose their minds, and you’ll win, anyway. Pretty sure you could pull that off in sweatpants.”