Inferno Anthology (105 page)

“I know, but I was just thinking, you might be right. If things get serious between you and Bry—you know, once you’re officially together, you’ll want to find someplace else to stay to maintain that air of mystery for a while.”

“Officially together,” I whisper. Just the thought of being with Bryson sends me soaring. I’d be the envy of every girl at Whitney Briggs. Hell, I’d be the envy of
me
.

Laney and I hop out of the car and head on in. The Black Bear is jammed packed with bodies tonight. Music pulsates through the speakers at lethal decibels, and Holt lifts a drink to us from behind the black granite bar. It’s just this side of creepy the way he looks almost exactly like his brother—I guess being fraternal twins will do that. Then I see him—the real deal. Bryson’s smile expands as his eyes lock onto mine. His jaw cinches tight. He’s got that five o’clock shadow peppering his cut features, and his entire face lights up when he sees me.

“Would you look at that?” Laney muses as she ties on her apron. “He’s like a kid on Christmas morning with you around. Looks like someone’s about to get l-a-i-d,” she sings that last part before disappearing into the crowd.

Right. More like
paid,
as in, by the patrons. At least I can almost guarantee that’s going to happen tonight. Not that I would mind getting “laid,” but something about the word makes me squirm. I’ve always envisioned my first time to be in a bubble of perfect love with someone who wanted me as much as I wanted them. And, with Bryson, I feel an emotional push in the opposite direction, I don’t know why.

I slip behind the bar and pluck an apron from under the counter.

“Ready for some action?” Bryson curls into me, and, for a moment, I think he’s propositioning me.

“Action? I bet half of the girls that come in this place are trying to get lucky with an Edwards brother.” I wink as I tie the white frilly apron around my waist.

Holt barks out a laugh, and I startle. I didn’t see him swoop on over, really I was referencing one Edwards in particular, that being Bryson.

“Listen, sweetheart”—Holt leans in with that come hither look in his eye—“if you can’t find an Edwards brother to pleasure you tonight, track me down at about three in the morning.” He socks Bryson in the arm before heading to the other end of the bar.

“That wasn’t awkward,” I say, mostly to myself.

“If you’re in the market for an Edwards brother, I can tell you Holt’s the wrong one—unless, of course, you’re also in the market for a medication-resilient STD. Then you’re free to venture.”

“Oh? Does his scoreboard put yours to shame?”

His lids hood over. “The only thing I’ve scored lately is a clean bill of health per my last physical.” A slight dimple goes off on his left cheek. His face looks tan from the boat ride this afternoon, and his stubble has taken over, giving him that hot, scruffy look I’m a sucker for. He leans onto the bar and gazes at me as if he’s flirting.

“So”— I swallow hard, never taking my eyes off his—“which Edwards brother is the right one?”

The music cuts out, and a sharp bite of feedback takes over the speakers, inspiring ten different people in the vicinity to cover their ears. A slow song starts in and resettles the mood in the room.

Bryson pinches his lips together, taking me in as if I was dessert, but he doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he tilts his head and stares into me dreamily, at least that’s the story I’m buying.

“You want to dance?” He nods over to a small clearing between the tables.

“I’ve never seen anyone dance here before.” Heat rises to my cheeks, and I take a breath at the prospect of holding his perfect body to mine.

“I think maybe it’s time people start.” Bryson clasps onto my fingers and gently threads us through the crowd until we’re centered in the tiny clearing. He pulls me in and wraps his arms around my waist, warming me from head to toe with an instant inferno. His knees press against my inner thighs, he intertwines our fingers, and another wave of heat sears through me. Bryson never takes his eyes off mine while his pelvis pushes into me as if giving me the carnal green light.

My throat goes dry. My heart thumps in my ears so loud I swear he can hear it.

I glance up at him starry eyed. Bryson Edwards is the sex god of Whitney Briggs, and he’s dancing with me. In. Public.

A group of girls turn their heads in our direction just as a few other couples meander over and dance alongside us.

“Looks like your evil plan worked.” I bite down over my lower lip to keep from spewing out any additional suggestions that might work, such as reenacting our moves in a horizontal position sans clothing. God knows that the nightmare at Alpha Chi has unleashed word vomit central in my brain.

“I figured if you’re in the market for an Edwards brother, I might as well put my best foot forward—literally.” He gives a lopsided grin, and my stomach pinches.

“Yeah, well, you’re a pretty good kisser so I’d be a fool not to choose you.” What am I saying?
Choose
you? I’m the desperate one, not the other way around. Besides, it was just one kiss—one long, fantastic, mind-blowing lip exchange that will play out in my fantasies until I’m dust and bones, but, nevertheless, he relegated me and my pucker to the buddy rack before the night was through, so there’s that. I’ve practically made a pass at him on three other occasions but he’s declined every offer since that magical night. I guess Laney was right, parking lot magic isn’t a real thing after all.

“You want to blow this place and have a good time?” His eyes hood over again, and a surge of adrenaline pulsates in that sweet spot between my legs.

Oh God. What the hell is
good time
code for? Am I really going to sleep with Bryson and become some nameless tally mark on his wall?

A tiny voice that creeps from somewhere deep in my vagina screams a loud, demanding,
hell yes
.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. “I’m ready to have all the fun you’re willing to give me.”
Give me?
I glance down at his chest briefly. Who the hell has taken over my mouth? This is exactly what I swore I would never do, meaningless sex with cute frat boys. Even if he’s not a frat boy, the premise is still the same. I want it to mean something. I want Bryson to care about me, to want
me
in more than just a sexual sense—well, ideally anyway. Maybe he feels like the only way to get me off his back is to pin me down with his boy toy and get it over with? And, sadly, he’s probably right.

Laney gives a thumbs-up from over his shoulder, and I try not to break out in a goofy grin.

Bryson swivels his hands up over my back, and my insides give a mean quiver. He leans in with his cheek an inch away from mine, and I can feel the heat emanating off his skin in waves. The song wraps up, and he leads me by the hand to the exit, giving Holt a quick wave on our way out the door.

The crisp night air enlivens my senses, and then it hits me—I’m off to who knows where on a Saturday night with Bryson Edwards. And if that doesn’t qualify as a date then I don’t know what does.

“So where to?” I jump a little at the thought of going anywhere with the god of good times at my side.

“How about we start with dinner?”

Bryson and I hit a Chinese restaurant down the street, and I tell him all about my misadventure at Alpha Chi over dinner and the fact I still sort of wish I could get in. I leave out the “air of mystery” portion of my argument. But now that we’re ditching work for a little alone time, I’m seriously reconsidering that whole air of mystery thing.

His chest thumps with a silent laugh. “You’re a non-conformist. I like that. Most girls would have lied, and you told the truth. That’s what I like about you—you’re so innocent, it’s cute.”

A slight rail of alarm spirals through me.

“I’m not that innocent.” My entire face darkens to the shade of the maroon tablecloth, giving away the fact I totally am. I’m not sure I like the idea of being “cute” either.

“Hey”—he leans over the table and clasps my hand—“there’s nothing wrong with being innocent. I swear, I didn’t mean it like an insult.”

My eyes grow heavy, and I inspect every item on the table because I can’t bring myself to look up at him.

“Yeah, well”—my fingers loosen from his grasp—“I guess I’m ready and willing to find someone to defile me.” Not really. This all feels so achingly desperate that a part of me wants to run all the back to Prescott Hall and ask one of Jeanie’s many bare ass suitors to have their way with me just to take the edge off.

Bryson pulls his sad, pale eyes over me. “Trust me, the last thing you want is for someone to defile you.” His glassy eyes roll over mine. He looks serious as death. “Promise me you’ll hold out for something better.”

Hold out? Sounds like tonight isn’t ending with a private wrestling match like I hoped it would.

“What could be better?” I hold my breath a moment as he considers this. Earlier, on the boat, he said he was hanging up the scoreboard, looking for something better. I was sort of hoping that could be me.

Bryson licks his lips. His eyes widen for a moment as if he were about to say something then aborts the effort.

He clears his throat. “I think you should fall in love, Baya.” His gaze dips to the table then rides back up over my features. “I think you should fall so head over heels you don’t know what’s up and what’s down anymore. You deserve to be worshiped and cared for. The last person on the planet who deserves you is some kid trolling for a quick hookup. Trust me, you’re the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on. You could have your pick of the litter.” He bears into me a moment with his steely gaze. “Any guy would be crazy not to want you.”

Any guy…. And suddenly it’s becoming clear that dinner is just dinner.

A moment thumps by with our eyes never losing their stranglehold on one another. The waiter brings the check and drops a fortune cookie in front of each of us.

“Let’s see what the future holds.” I give an impish grin as I pop the package open and pull out the cookie. “We’re supposed to say ‘underneath the sheets’ after we read our fortunes, that makes it a lot more fun.” And accurate I want to add but don’t.

“You first.” He rubs his leg against mine, nudging me.

“Okay.” I pluck the thin strip of paper out with its tiny red font. “A pleasant surprise is in store for you,
underneath the sheets
.” I hold it up victoriously as a laugh bubbles from my chest. Dear God almighty let this be so. Amen.

“Sounds like a goodtime will be had by all.” His brows tweak as he pulls out his fortune. “Conquer your fears or they will conquer you.” His expression dims as if that tiny piece of paper had been speaking directly to his heart.

“
Underneath the sheets
.” I give his leg a little kick.

He offers a quiet laugh, but his eyes are still throbbing with grief.

“What has you so afraid, Bryson?” I ask below a whisper. It’s becoming painfully obvious that the past is still very much holding him hostage.

His clear eyes dart up to mine. “Maybe it’s you.”

After dinner we hop back in his truck, and Bryson drives us down narrow tree-lined roads as we wind our way up the side of the mountain.

“Witch’s Cauldron, okay?” He darts his eyes to me before firming his stare back over the open highway. The fog settles in, and the headlights illuminate the night, blinding and white.

“Sounds great.” My heart thumps once unnaturally. That’s where we went a few weeks back. It was private and tragically romantic. This time we’re short on donuts and coffee, no beautiful sunrise to admire, with only ourselves to keep each other entertained.

Bryson rounds his hand over the steering wheel as we pull in just beneath the pale blue boulders. We get out, and he helps me climb onto the lowest rock that overlooks the hot spring.

“Looks like we’re all alone.” I scoot into him and take in the night magic that’s brewing around us. The pale glow of the moon highlights the water while the pines hover above like guardians that Cole himself sent to protect my virginity. Little does he know Bryson is pretty interested in me keeping it in tact for that one special guy as well.