Romantically Entangled

Chapter 8

Nicki

Bey is staring at my mouth.

It's been a few moments since I said I wanted to hear her story.

We're still on the roof. The words seem to have died between us.

The silence is awkward. And kind of erotic.

Because Bey's eyes are brushing my lips; her mouth is slightly open.

I'm sure she's about to kiss me. No denying the thought leaves me breathless.

I need a distraction.

"Hey," I quip, "you should sing at the house parties instead of that guy you said was a douche."

Bey grins at my utterly random suggestion.

I'd remembered her comment earlier about the band. It was the first thing that popped into my head to say.

Even though I don't want to encourage more partying, I'm thinking I've come up with a great idea.

But Bey doesn't respond to it.

Instead, before I even know what's happening, she draws her thumb slowly across my lower lip.

It's just a quick gesture. But it definitely turns me on.

I think I might even have moaned. I'm not sure if the sound came out of my mouth, or if I just heard it in my head.

Bey pulls his thumb across my lips again and leans toward me.

She is going to kiss me. My eyes flutter closed in anticipation.

And then she chuckles, and my eyes fly open.

"I was talking about myself." She's still grinning. "I'm the douche. It was my band playing last night."

"Oh."

I've barely gotten the word out when she does kiss me. It's soft, tender, exquisite.

And I want more. Part of me does, anyway.

But that's not how I react.

I pull back and twist my head away, then slap my hands on my thighs in a gesture of dismissal.

I'm irritated by how much I want to follow the kissing wherever it might lead. How much—if I'm being honest—I want to end up in bed with this lady I've known for all of one day.

Seriously. I just met the lady.

And really, Bey is out of line. Why did she assume she could kiss me?

The blonde is kind of pushy. I should be mad at her. I am mad at her. Sort of.

I'm definitely mad at myself.

"Okay, well," I sputter, "that's not. . .this is not what I'm here for and. . ."

I pause, feeling my face heating up.

"I have to be at the newspaper very early tomorrow so..."

Now I sound harsh and businesslike, which is exactly how I want to sound. Or maybe I just sound ridiculous.

Bey doesn't move, just sits there with her hands draped over her guitar, staring at me.

"Newspaper?" she responds, with a squeak in her voice.

"I'm trying to get a reporter job at The Daily."

She gives me a blank look.

"The campus newspaper," I add, helpfully.