Rebound Envy (Rebound #2) (7 page)

Someone who wants to have sex with me. Who just wants to be with me.

CHAPTER NINE

"You should come with me this week." Scott sits down next to me on his couch, handing me the glass of wine and setting his water down on the coffee table in front of us. He slides his arm along the back of the couch behind me and places the other hand on my thigh, leaning in to give me a kiss. His lips are cool, holding the chill from the ice water he just drank.

We just finished a casual dinner at his house after I spent most of the day helping Jenna address wedding invitations.

I pull back. "Come with you where?"

"To the gym. It would be fun if you would work out with me."

I wrinkle my nose, taking a sip of wine to cover my grimace. "I don't know, Scott. You go pretty early, don't you?"

He smiles. "Not any earlier than you normally have to be at work."

"But it's my Spring Break. I don't have to get up early for work this week." I'm whining, but I can't help it. My plan every year for Spring Break is to sleep in as much as I can and relish the time that I don't have to go to work or grade papers in the evenings. I submitted my grades already, so I'm free and clear until next weekend, when I need to get organized for the final quarter. I need a break from the little demons as much as they need one from me.

"Exactly. You don't have to be at work this week, so you have time in the mornings to come work out with me. I know you have to be at work too early to go normally, so I thought it might be fun."

I look at him and arrange my face into a serious expression. "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Holy crap, this guy has no response to my
Princess Bride
reference. It takes everything in me not to let my mouth drop open in shock and horror. Instead he just quirks an eyebrow at me, silently asking me to elaborate.

"Fun. You keep saying it'll be fun. I think we're operating under two different definitions of the word."

"Please, Amy? Just once. It would mean a lot to me if you did." His eyes are sincere and pleading. He really does want me to come with him.

I let out a sigh, still not wanting to give in. Does this guy not realize how exhausting it is to deal with hormonal teenagers every day and get them to focus on Shakespeare and Hawthorne and a bunch of other dead white guys that most of them don't care about at all? Spring Break is completely necessary for teachers to maintain their sanity. Part of my sanity maintenance comes from catching up on my sleep. "I'll think about it."

He studies my face for a moment. "Okay. Think about it. I'll ask again in a few days."

I decide to change the subject, so I set down my glass of wine and move in to kiss him. The hand that's been resting on my thigh tightens, and his other arm moves off the couch and around my back, pulling me closer to him. He angles his head and deepens the kiss.

This is encouraging, him taking control of our kiss like this so soon. I'm normally the one trying to push things, so I'm enjoying letting him lead a little. My hands travel up his chest, tightening in the fabric of his shirt. Both of his arms are around me now, pulling me closer, and he's letting out a little growl of frustration that he can't seem to find the angle he wants.

Taking over for a second, I slide around into his lap so that I'm straddling him. His arms come around me, one hand sliding up my back to cup the base of my skull, holding my head where he wants it so he can kiss me.
 

I can feel his erection pushing against me, straining against his jeans. Almost unconsciously I start grinding down on him, wanting him to alleviate the ache that has settled between my legs. And I want to feel his skin. My hands slide back down his chest, bunching his t-shirt near his waist, pulling it up until I can slide my hands over his abs. His skin is hot to the touch, taut over defined muscles, the product of all those early mornings at the gym.

He groans into my mouth and then pulls back to look at me. "What are you doing, Amy?"

I smile a little. "I just want to feel you, that's all."

His eyes search my face, then he brings my head back down, my lips on his once again, his tongue sliding into my mouth, seeking and tasting.
 

I'm grinding on him again, and one of his hands drops to my hips, stilling my movements. I figure he must be getting too close and doesn't want to come in his pants, so I don't fight it. I just keep running my hands over the skin of his torso, up to his pecs, brushing over his flat nipples, feeling the sprinkling of hair that I didn't know covered his chest. As well groomed as he is, it wouldn't have surprised me if he waxed his chest.

He leaves his left hand on my hip, but his right hand slides down my back and sneaks under my shirt, hot and immediate on my bare skin. I let out a small sound of pleasure, making sure he knows I approve.
 

His right hand is soon joined by the left, running over my lower back and around to my sides, never venturing past the barrier of my bra.
 

Deciding he needs a little more encouragement, I break the kiss and pull my shirt over my head, dropping it on the couch next to me.

Scott's eyes widen at the sight of my breasts clad only in black lace. It's the first time he's seen me without a shirt on.

I lean in to resume our kiss, when I feel fabric being thrust against my chest. Then I'm toppled onto the couch, and Scott is up, pacing on the other side of the living room, running his hands through his hair.
 

He looks at me and looks away, his jaw clenching and unclenching. I'm on the couch, still half lying on my back, clutching my shirt to my torso, stunned by the sudden change.

"Put your shirt back on, please." Scott's voice is tight and low, and he won't look at me.

I sit up, my movements slow at first, but then quick and jerky as I shove my arms into the sleeves and tug the t-shirt back over my head. I stand up and look around, trying to remember where I put my jacket and purse through the fog of embarrassment that's clouding my mind.
 

"Amy, wait." Scott's looking at me now, one hand reaching for me. "Don't go. Not like this."

I finally locate my things. My jacket is draped over the armchair next to the couch and my purse is on the floor next to it. My shoes are by the door, where I slipped them off when I got here. Feeling more centered just knowing where my things are, I face Scott once more, waiting for him to say what it is he wants to say so I can get out of here.

He lets his hand drop. "I told you I want to take things slow."

"Slow? We have been taking things slow." My voice is rising, but I can't help it. "Our pace is practically glacial."

His face tightens, his mouth a firm line. "I just don't like … rushing into things. Especially physical relationships." He looks away from me. "In my experience a lot of women look at me and just want a quick fuck. I don't want that with you."

I snort, think about what he just said and snort again. "Scott, we've been dating for two months. There's no way in hell anyone could classify us having sex now as a quick fuck. If it weren't for that"—I fling a hand in the direction of his crotch—"I'd think you were gay or don't find me attractive. I don't understand what you're waiting for!"

He looks at me and doesn't speak. I cross to the chair and pull on my jacket with the same jerky motions that I used to put on my shirt.
 

His eyes follow my movements, and when I bend to retrieve my purse he finally speaks. "So, what? You're leaving? Just like that?"

I straighten my jacket, zipping it up partway, my eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Scott. Just like that. I'm done. I can't do this anymore."

He gapes at me, his mouth open. "You're breaking up with me because I won't have sex with you right now?"

I pause and think about that. Then I nod once, short and sharp. "Yes. I'm breaking up with you because you won't have sex with me. Ever. I'm tired of being rejected. I'm a grown woman, and I like having sex. If I'm going to be using my vibrator, I'd prefer to just be single and enjoy it, rather than feel disappointment every time I get it out because my boyfriend isn't willing to take care of the issue for me." He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't let him. "And because you don't get my movie references. You don't like books. Not that you don't like the same books, but you don't like them at all. I see the way your eyes glaze over every time I talk about my classes or something I'm reading."

He finally interrupts my tirade. "Your eyes glaze over when I'm talking about work, too. I'm not the only one that gets bored here." His voice is tight and controlled, but the anger underneath is unmistakable.
 

"That's because there's only so many times a woman can listen to detailed discussions of organizational systems before she wants to kill herself!" I close my eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the angry flush that has risen to Scott's cheeks. "Anyway, you're just proving my point. We have different priorities, different interests. This isn't working, and it's better to just cut our losses now." I let my tone soften further. "You're a wonderful man, Scott. You're sweet and polite and you hang out with my friends. You never got onto me about eating or drinking things that you don't, and you even bent your diet rules to go out with me and my friends. That's wonderful. But we're not a good fit. Surely you have to see that, too."

The pink in his cheeks has started to recede, but his mouth is still closed in that firm line. "I want to make it work with you, Amy. I like you."

My mouth curves in a sad smile. "Thank you. I like you, too. But it's not working."

He examines my face, silent and still. I wait a moment, and when he doesn't say anything more, I move to the entryway to slip my shoes on.
 

"Is this about that bartender? What's his name—Adam?"

I straighten up, one shoe on, the other in my hand. "What?" Where did that come from?

Scott's leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed. "I can tell there was something between you two. Maybe there still is. Is that why you're breaking up with me?"

I lean down, dropping my right shoe on the floor, sliding my foot in and tugging the back over my heel with a finger, contemplating his question. I straighten up and look him in the face. "No. There's nothing between Adam and me." I blow out a breath through pursed lips. "I need things that you're not willing or not able to give me. I'm sorry."

He drops his head, tucking his chin against his chest. I wait a moment, and then approach him, brushing a soft kiss across his cheek. "Goodbye, Scott."

He lifts his head and looks at me, but doesn't say anything. I take a step back, and another, then turn and let myself out. The door closes behind me, lending a sense of finality to the moment. I should feel sad about what just happened, and I do, but I'm mostly just relieved.

CHAPTER TEN

The banging on my front door causes me to pause
The Office
, which I've been binge watching on Netflix today. I'm not sure why I hit pause, since I've seen this show a million times, but there it is. I felt the need for comfort and laughter today, so I've been camped out on my couch since I got up.

The banging happens again, followed by the sound of a key in the lock. My door opens and Jenna barges in, a plastic grocery sack balanced on top of a pizza box. She marches into my living room and deposits her burden on my coffee table, then stares down at me with her hands on her hips.

I'm sitting up now, staring at her in open-mouthed shock. I've barged in on Jenna plenty of times, but I can't remember the last time she used her key to get into my house while I was home.

Her nostrils are flaring and her eyes are flashing. "What are you doing? Why didn't you call me?" She scans my immediate surroundings, spotting the wine glass on the coffee table, an empty wine bottle on the floor by the end of the couch and another half full one next to it. "Day drinking?" She bends down to examine my face. "Are you drunk?"

"No." I decide to answer the last question first. Sitting back I pull the blanket tighter around me, wanting at least some flimsy shield from Jenna's obvious irritation and barrage of questions.
 

She stands back up, nostrils flaring again. "No, what?"

"No, I'm not drunk."

She gestures to the wine bottles on the floor, arching a brow.

"One was from yesterday. I've only had a little of the other today."

"Okay, fine. I'm glad you're not drunk." She takes off her cardigan and tosses it over the back of the couch, then sits down next to me. She must have come straight from work, because she's still dressed in slacks and low heels, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun.
 

Kicking off her shoes, she settles in beside me. "Now. Why didn't you call me this weekend?"

I shrug, not even bothering to pretend not to know what she's talking about. "Scott told you?"

"Not willingly. He was late to work this morning and when I saw him getting coffee I knew something was terribly wrong. I practically set my clock by that guy. I don't think he's ever been late for anything. And I've never seen him drink coffee. He usually pauses to lecture all of us on the dangers of caffeine consumption and how if we'd just take care of ourselves better we wouldn't need drugs to get through the day."

My eyebrows are climbing my forehead in surprise. "What a sanctimonious asshat." What really surprises me is how upset he obviously is. I didn't think anything could throw him off his schedule and his dietary protocols that much. Any time he bent his rules, it was always with conscious planning. If he knew he was going to have a glass of wine with dinner or eat extra carbs on a particular day, he'd adjust his diet the day before or the day after to make up for it. Caffeine consumption was unheard of.

Jenna chuckles. "Well, he manages to sound like he actually cares about us all while he's doing it, so it's not as bad as it could be." She pauses for a moment. "So, what happened? He just said you broke up."