Tamsin Page 10

  “It’s only drizzling,” she says, but she slips her arms into the sleeves.

  They’re much too long for her, and she looks adorable.

  “Ready to brave the elements?” I ask.

  “Ready, Captain.”

  Then we step out from under the awning and head back toward campus.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tamsin

  Daniel’s shirt is warm, making me feel like I’m walking in a cocoon of kindness and chivalry.

  And it’s sexy as hell in here.

  I’m so sure Daniel will break his no-kissing, no-fooling-around rule that I surreptitiously send Rikki the one-word text we agreed on in case I wanted the room to myself tonight.

  Jackpot.

  She sends me a thumbs-up emoji, meaning she’ll spend the night with Sam.

  Daniel and I hold hands all the way back to Bracton, and the body heat he gives off bodes well for the night to come.

  He’s hot-blooded, is what I’m saying. Insert suggestive eyebrow-wiggling here.

  The drizzle turns into a steady shower by the time we get back to the dorm, and our water-logged state makes my invitation even easier.

  “You’re coming in, right?” I say, after we climb the stairs and stop outside my door. “You can dry off and hang out while you wait for the rain to stop.”

  I’ve never been more confident of getting a Hell, yes in response to a proposition. Daniel and I are facing each other, and with his hair wet and his T-shirt damp and a drop of rain sliding down his cheek, all I can think about is getting him inside and out of his clothes.

  “That’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind the rain.”

  I blink, almost convinced I heard him wrong.

  “What?”

  He reaches out and plucks the daisy from my hair.

  “I’m going to take this with me,” he says. “Not that I’ll need any help thinking about you on my way home.”

  That’s pretty romantic. But at the same time, the bottom line is that he’s not coming in.

  I don’t know what to say. I’ve never felt so rejected and not-rejected at the exact same time.

  “We’ve got an away game next week,” he continues. “So how is two weeks from tonight for our next date?”

  He can wait two weeks to see me again? And he’s not even going to kiss me goodnight?

  The scales are tipping from not-rejected to rejected.

  “Okay,” I say. My voice sounds small, and I hate that. I hate how I’m feeling right now.

  “Goodnight, Tamsin. I had an amazing time, and I can’t wait to do it again.”

  “Goodnight, Daniel.”

  And that’s that.

  I stand there staring after him as he walks down the hall and disappears into the stairwell. Then I go into my room and over to the window. It overlooks the main entrance of the building, and I wait for Daniel to come out the front door.

  It was a perfect night. The best date I’ve ever had.

  Well, the only date I’ve ever had. I went to boarding school, where dating consists of finding places on school grounds to have sex. And Oscar, as Daniel himself pointed out, was never the romantic date night type.

  Daniel had a good time too. I’m sure he did. I didn’t just imagine those moments of connection—or those moments of lust. But how could he walk away without so much as a kiss?

  I lean against the window glass. “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” I murmur.

  That’s Romeo’s line, of course, from the famous balcony scene.

  What satisfaction canst thou have tonight? Juliet responds.

  Th’ exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine, Romeo tells her.

  I don’t want that, obviously. Daniel and I are just getting to know each other, and while we have more in common than I would have guessed twenty-four hours ago, there are still way more differences than similarities between us.

  It’s ridiculous to think Daniel and I would ever declare our love to each other, much less do it tonight.

  But I am unsatisfied. Extremely unsatisfied.

  The door below me opens, and Daniel comes out. He’s in his white T-shirt, and I remember that I’m still wearing his red button-down shirt.

  The rain is coming down even harder now, and I expect him to hurry away toward home.

  Instead, he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and just stands there, his face lifted to the sky. He’s getting soaked. One of his hands is in his pocket and the other is holding something to his heart.

  The daisy. My daisy.

  My heart starts to pound.

  I turn away from the window. And then, as fast as I can on four-inch heels, I rush out of my room and down the stairs.

  I’m terrified Daniel will be gone by the time I go out the front door. But he’s still standing there in the pouring rain, and I call out his name.

  “Daniel!”

  He turns.

  I was going to start by giving him back his shirt. That’s all. But the moment I see his face, wet and surprised and adorable, that plan goes out the window.

  I come at him full-speed, but I don’t knock him over. I barrel into him and throw my arms around his neck, and then I’m kissing him.

  His arms wrap me up and I’m surrounded. He’s wet with rainwater and warm with the blood pumping through his veins and every inch of his body is hard, hard, hard.

  His kiss is a hundred different things. Rough and soft, warm and cool, hungry and tender and fierce all at once.

  I’m overwhelmed. My breasts are crushed against his chest and my heart is beating like thunder and my knees wouldn’t hold me up if I wasn’t clinging to Daniel’s shoulders.

  The stroke of his tongue inside my mouth is electric. He tastes like rain and something else, something dark and rich and wild.

  He can’t kiss me any deeper. He can’t kiss me any harder.

  And then, somehow, he does.

  I’m drowning in rain, drowning in Daniel, drowning in the desire that floods through me in waves.

  I don’t want to stop. Ever. The fever is so hot I expect the raindrops landing on us to sizzle and steam. It feels like we could dissolve into clouds and water and—

  “Tamsin.”

  Daniel breaks the kiss and says my name. His voice is rough and ragged, and when I open my eyes and look up at him, he doesn’t look anything like the clean-cut boy I’ve been ogling the past week.

  Standing there in a rain-soaked tee, his body seems bigger and broader than when he’s wearing a button-down shirt. His pupils are so dilated his eyes look black, and they’re so intense they seem to burn into me.

  His hands are on my shoulders now. It feels like he could snap my bones in two, like he could squeeze just a little and crush me to powder.

  All that power. All that strength. And he’s fighting something—I can see it in his eyes and in his jaw. I can feel it in his hands, shaking even as he grips my shoulders.

  The rain has let up a little. It’s softer now, a gentle fall of droplets from the sky. Daniel leans forward, slowly, and kisses the wetness from my forehead, my cheeks, my lips.

  The brush of his mouth on my skin makes me tremble. My eyes flutter closed and he kisses my eyelids, too.

  Then his hands are in my hair. It’s heavy and wet with the rain, and his fingers sliding into it makes my scalp tingle.

  He tilts my head back, and now his mouth is on my neck.

  Oh, God.

  Someone is moaning, and I’m pretty sure it’s me.

  I slide my hands down from Daniel’s shoulders to fist in his T-shirt. I arch my head back as he drags his lips down my throat.

  My heart is thundering in my chest, my pulse beating like a drum. My body doesn’t feel like flesh and bone anymore. I’m all need and hunger and quivering desire, electric longing and sizzling heat.

  Daniel pulls back for a moment and I open my eyes. For an instant we stare at each other.

  Then I grab his wet T-shirt by the hem and pull it up and off.<
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  “Tamsin,” he rasps out, staring down at me.

  He’s naked from the waist up, and sweet mother of God.

  I drop the T-shirt to the ground and reach for him. His bare skin is warm and smooth and damp, and as I shape my palms to the heavy bands of muscle on his shoulders, his arms, his chest, I wonder how his hands in my hair and his mouth on my throat could have been so gentle. How do you leash this much strength? How do you restrain this much power?

  I don’t know where his restraint comes from. All I know is that right now, I don’t have any.

  I step in close and slide my arms around his waist. Then I press my lips to his chest, tasting skin and raindrops and the heat of his blood, pumping just below the surface.

  His hands are in my hair again, his grip a little harder this time. My hands slide down to his hips as I press my lower body to his, and—

  He.

  Is.

  So.

  Hard.

  He starts to shift back a little, but I’m not having that. I slip my hands into his back pockets and pull him in close again, and the entire length of his hard-on is cradled against my stomach.

  My stomach takes note by swooping and tightening and trembling like butterfly wings.

  My whole body is doing that, basically. Shaking and quivering and—

  “Geez, you guys. Get a room.”

  Daniel and I both freeze. The voice came from behind him, and I rise up on my tiptoes to look over his shoulder. Two freshmen girls are standing a few yards away. They’re staring at us from under the shelter of a big umbrella, and as soon as they catch my eye, they giggle and hurry away.

  “Fucking freshmen,” I mutter.

  But they did make one very important point.

  I pull back and look up at Daniel.

  “I actually have a room,” I say. “Rikki’s with her boyfriend.” I take a breath. “Stay with me tonight.”

  It’s a straight-up proposition. I’m not pretending to be coy or subtle or anything but what I am: a woman who wants a man.

  A woman who wants this man.

  But I don’t realize how much I’m putting on the line until Daniel says,

  “I can’t.”

  I stare at him. It’s one thing to ask a guy in, sort of casually, and have him say no. It’s another to share a kiss like that one, invite a guy to spend the night with you, and have him say no.

  I should play it cool. But that kiss scraped me raw, and I can’t play anything but myself.

  “I don’t understand. Are you saying you don’t want me?”

  There’s an echo in those words of the girl I swore I’d never be again. The girl who used to ask, plaintively, why a guy was ending things. Why are you breaking up with me? Don’t you want me any more?

  Daniel looks down at me for a long moment. Then he takes a deep breath.

  “I’ve never wanted anything like I want you right now.”

  His voice is rough. His eyes are glittering like a wolf’s in the dark.

  It’s obvious he’s speaking no more than the simple truth.

  His words should make me feel better, but they don’t.

  Because now I’m confused. And frustrated.

  “So stay with me. Stay the night.”

  He drags his hands through his wet hair. The action makes his biceps and triceps bunch up, and I feel a twinge of lust deep in my belly.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  He just shakes his head. I see my own frustration reflected in his face, and now I’m even more confused.

  “Is it a religious thing?” I ask, casting around for some reason that makes sense. “Is it—”

  Suddenly another possibility occurs to me.

  I take a deep breath. “Daniel. Are you a virgin?”

  As soon as I ask that question I wish I hadn’t. He sort of rears back and then freezes, staring down at me.

  “What if I am?” he asks after a moment. “Would you see that as some sort of character flaw?”

  His voice is tight, and I wish more than anything I could take back the question.

  “No. Of course not. I just—”

  “You just need a reason for a guy not wanting to sleep with you on the first date?”

  There are a lot of things that could be behind that question, and I don’t like any of them.

  “Are you saying there’s something wrong with me for wanting to sleep with you? Are you calling me easy, Mr. I-Never-Slut-Shame-Women?”

  Up until this moment, my lust for Daniel was like a hot water bottle. I was feeling warm—deliciously warm. But now, for the first time, my body notices that the air is cold and I’m soaking wet.

  I shiver.

  Daniel sees. “You should go inside,” he says gruffly. “You’ll catch cold if you stay out here.”

  He bends down and grabs his wadded up T-shirt from the ground.

  “Daniel—”

  He straightens up again and looks at me. “I’ll see you in class on Tuesday.”

  We can’t leave things like this. We just can’t. I’m angry and frustrated and sad and confused. How could such an amazing night turn so sour so fast?

  “Daniel—”

  He shakes his head. “Let’s not. Okay? I’ll see you later, Tamsin. Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”

  And then he turns and walks away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daniel

  Well, that was awful.

  And wonderful.

  The best date I’ve ever been on.

  And the worst.

  Tamsin.

  Tamsin.

  Tamsin.

  Her name is like a refrain I can’t let go of, a song playing on an endless loop.

  Tamsin.

  She invited me up to her room, and I said no.

  Fuck.

  If I needed any more proof that I’m too screwed up to have a relationship, I just got it.

  I can’t think of anything I want less than to put on my soaking wet T-shirt, but I don’t want to walk around bare-chested either. So I pull it on, and it’s every bit as cold and clammy as I figured it would be.

  How can a night go from transcendent to tragic in a single minute?

  Well, maybe not tragic. But definitely off the rails.

  It’s all my fault. I knew I was playing with fire the moment I asked Tamsin out.

  She’s like an open flame. And when I’m around her, I feel like a rag soaked in gasoline.

  You should have spent the night with her.

  I tell the voice inside my head to shut up. How the hell could I spend the night with Tamsin? She already asked me if I’m a virgin. There’s no way she wouldn’t know the truth if I tried to sleep with her.

  A girl like Tamsin deserves a guy who knows what he’s doing. A guy she doesn’t need to educate like some kind of sexual charity case. A guy who won’t freeze up if she touches his cock.

  She deserves someone experienced. Someone confident. Someone who can take the lead.

  Because when it comes to relationships, a man should take the lead. I know that’s old-fashioned, but it’s what I believe.

  I grew up with a single mom and a sister. I’ve seen women in action in church and community groups. I see the way they put other people first, the way take care of everyone except themselves.

  I saw Tamsin do that with Oscar, the least deserving guy on the planet. All the little things she did for him that he took for granted.

  When it comes to romance, I think the guy should do things for the girl. Open doors. Bring her flowers. Pay the check.

  And rock her world in bed.

  The rain stops just as I reach my house. When I open the front door, I see Trace and Beeker on the couch playing Assassin’s Creed.

  The three of us really know how to have a wild Saturday night.

  If I could I’d sneak up to my room, but the stairs are on the other side of the living room. I cross in front of Trace and Beeker without saying anything, hoping they’re too
focused on the game to pay attention to me.

  No such luck.

  “Danny boy!”

  That’s Trace’s nickname for me when he’s not using Galahad.

  “Hey,” I say, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

  Beeker is staring at me. “What the hell happened to you? You look like you took a shower with your clothes on. Didn’t you have a date tonight?”

  “I did. It’s over. I walked home in the rain. See you guys tomorrow, okay?”

  I make it maybe three steps.

  “Oh, hell no,” Beeker says. “Tell us about the date. The date with—what was her name?”

  “Tamsin.”

  “Yeah. Tamsin.”

  They’ve paused the game, and now Trace leans forward and grabs a bottle of something—bourbon, maybe—from the coffee table, pouring a shot into a plastic cup.

  “Want one?” he asks me, like he always does.

  I always say no, and Trace always leaves it at that. He’s never given me a hard time about not drinking, which is one of the good things about him.

  I don’t have some kind of moral objection to alcohol. I just don’t drink it myself—not since my neighbor offered me a beer when I was twelve years old and I took it, feeling ten feet tall and badass as I chugged it down.

  I haven’t taken a drink since. But now I hear myself say,

  “Yeah. I’ll have one.”

  Beeker and Trace both stare at me. Then Trace grabs an empty cup and fills it half full of amber liquid.

  “Here you go. Man, you must have had a hell of a night. Was it really good or really bad?”

  “Both,” I say, coming over and taking the cup from Trace. “But I don’t want to talk about that. Are the West Coast games over? How did Oregon and UCLA do?”

  There are two things I have no intention of doing. One, getting drunk. Two, talking about Tamsin.

  So, of course, I get drunk and talk about Tamsin.

  Trace and Beeker are pretty decent, all things considered. They don’t laugh at me too much, and they make sure I get upstairs and into bed before I crash.

  They’re not so bad, those guys. Even Trace.

  The first thing I do when I wake up—after I brush my teeth, since my mouth tastes like a dumpster—is check my Twitter DMs. I forgot to get Tamsin’s phone number last night, which means Twitter is the only way we can get hold of each other.