“It does hurt me,” Calisto said before he could stop himself.

He wanted to take the words back immediately.

Emma stilled in the passenger seat. “Then why play?”

To remember.

To punish himself.

To apologize.

“For a lot of different reasons,” Calisto settled on saying. “But tonight, I played so that you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t seem comfortable. I didn’t think you wanted to have everyone looking at you after what happened. It was a small sacrifice.”

“But you hurt now,” she said, seeming confused. “Don’t you?”

“But you didn’t have to.”

For Calisto, that was all that mattered.

Turning his head, Calisto stared out the opened driver’s window. He wondered if anyone had noticed that both he and Emma had left the dinner party without a goodbye. He supposed it didn’t make a difference.

Calisto didn’t mind Emma’s presence disturbing his peace, either.

“Calisto?” Emma asked softly.

“Hmm?”

Her hand rested on his thigh, and Calisto jerked in the seat at the innocent touch. The problem was, her touch couldn’t be innocent at all. Not with the way he currently felt, the things he had done, or the lines he had already crossed with a mighty “fuck you.” He hadn’t been expecting it, and he didn’t even hear Emma move in her seat.

Calisto barely had the chance to spin around and face Emma again before her mouth pressed against his. It was soft at first, smooth like her plump lips, and then her fingers dug into his leg like she was demanding something from him.

He didn’t know what it was.

Instinctively, Calisto wanted to push her away. He wanted to kiss her back, too. The crazy side of his brain won, the side that listened to his selfish wants and not his needs.

Or maybe he needed it, too.

Calisto didn’t know.

But he did grab onto Emma’s dress. He fisted the fabric around his taut knuckles, and pulled her a little closer. His tongue swept the seam of her lips, wanting more, needing to be deeper, seeking her heat and taste.

A little wouldn’t hurt, right?

Just a little more.

Emma sighed a sweet sound, giving into his unspoken demand by parting her lips. Calisto took the offering for what it was, kissed her harder, and let his tongue war with hers until she was gasping for air. Pulling away enough to catch a breath, Emma tipped her head up and hummed.

Calisto couldn’t help himself but lean forward and kiss her chin.

He was fucking stupid.

Why did she make him so stupid?

“I should go in and say goodbye,” he heard Emma say.

Calisto was too distracted by the flimsy fabric of her dress in his hands. A little pull with just enough strength and he knew that the dress would rip. She was close, and he could grab her around the waist before pulling her into the backseat.

The windows were tinted.

No one would see.

A little more wouldn’t hurt.

Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three young sons, one cat, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a hubby calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time.

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“Hey, Bella, right?” My pencil dropped out of my hand as I jumped at the voice next to our table. That was the second time today I caught myself gawking at Owen as he walked away. I studied his ass so much, I’d memorized the fraying denim on his back pockets. Blinking my leering eyes, I turned to a sort of familiar face.

“Yeah. I’m sorry but I don’t know your name.”

“Paul. I’m in Intro to Psychology with you.” Paul was cute in a non-mentionable type of way. With his dark features and average build and height, he easily blended into a crowd—and my psych class was over three hundred people. I spent most of that class feeling like an ant.

“Oh, right.” I smacked my forehead in faked recognition. “I’m sorry. That class is huge.”

Paul chuckled as he nodded. “It’s a good thing Professor Brightman is interesting. It would suck for him to look out and see three hundred people sleeping.” He let out a nervous laugh as he gazed at me.

I smiled back. “I guess you’re right. It’s hard to notice anything or anyone in those seats, though. I’m sure people take naps in that class anyway.”

“Well,” Paul sighed as his eyes dropped to the ground. “I noticed you. From pretty much the first day.”

“Oh,” I replied in a whisper. I was only here on a study date, even though I almost let myself pretend it was more. Paul seemed nice but, whether it was misplaced or not, my interest was in the hockey player waiting by the barista. Should I force myself to flirt with Paul? That wouldn’t be fair to either of us, but putting all my eggs in one unattainable basket wasn’t exactly healthy either.

Paul grabbed the back of the chair next to me and raised his eyebrows in question. “Can I sit? I’d love to get to know the girl behind the pretty face.”

“Seat’s taken.” A southern growl behind me made Paul’s face fall.

Owen placed my iced coffee and straw in front of me as he glared at Paul.

Paul let out a long sigh and nodded. “Sorry, Owen. I didn’t realize you were with Bella.”

“We’re on a study—”

“It’s cool, Paul. See you at practice later.” Owen sat in his chair and scooted it closer to me.

Paul nodded and gave me a sheepish smile before traipsing away.

Okay, what was that? “You know Paul?”

He nodded without looking up. “He’s one of the third line freshmen on the team. Doesn’t seem like a bad guy, I guess.” With a sour face I wasn’t used to seeing, he dug into his bag and pulled out a notebook. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he was jealous. I sucked in my bottom lip to fight the twitch of a satisfied smile.

“I don’t really know him. He’s in my Intro to Psych class. Too many people in there to really know who anyone is.”

“You know what we should do?” Owen met my gaze as he leaned back in his chair.

I took a slurp of my coffee and squinted at Owen. “Enlighten me.”

Owen laughed as the front legs of his chair dropped to the floor and he leaned forward. “We should go out.”

With the straw still in my mouth, I froze. “Out?”

Owen nodded and gave me a sideways glance. “Yeah, out. You. Me. Without books or ledgers. We can celebrate how well we both did on the midterm—or how well you did and how I got by thanks to you.” Owen’s brow raised as he awaited my answer, but I didn’t know how to reply.

“I really don’t mind helping you. I get to study a little extra too, so it helps both of us.” Still ignoring his question, I opened my notes and skimmed to the midterm review questions. Owen inched closer to peer at my book, and I resented the jump in my pulse whenever he came near me. We’d been meeting twice a week for one hour at a time since the beginning of the semester, and each day I was more drawn to him than the one before. Last Thursday, Owen met me at the library straight after hockey practice when his hair was still damp from the shower. All I could think of for the first fifteen minutes was how the rest of his body looked wet, drops of water dripping across every muscle and hard ridge.

Owen was the first man I had dreams of licking while I was still awake.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephanie Rose was born and raised in the Bronx, New York and still lives there with her superhero-obsessed husband and son. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Business and a day job in marketing, but she always has a story in her head. Her books are full of swoon-worthy men and feisty heroines. This lifelong New Yorker lives for Starbucks, book boyfriends, and 80s rock. Her voice is often mistaken for a Mob Wives trailer.

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