Evan Adams, I'll Never Love You

PART SIX

PART SIX

Evan’s lips kissed the corner of my mouth softly, then my jaw. My stomach hummed as the scent of sandalwood and rain washed over me in waves. I let my arms slip round his hard, warm torso, my fingers exploring the smooth, marble surface of his back, feeling the wings of his shoulder blades, the muscles beneath his skin. 

Lips on my neck, Evan kissed me right beneath my jaw, and I melted into his arms, like soft ice-cream left out of the freezer too long. He put his hands on my shoulders as he kissed a path past the soft and tingling skin of my neck down to my collarbone. 

His fingers traced the curve from the bottom of my ribcage to my hips, down the cello dip of my waist. I let a sigh rush out of me as his silky hair brushed my face, the nearness of him better than all the drinks I’d had. 

My head had already been spinning, but now I felt as if the world had turned right of its axis. 

“Evan,” I whispered. Touching him was like dipping my hands into the sun. 

And just as suddenly as he had pulled me to him, he was pushing me right away.

“Cassidy. I can’t,” he gasped, as breathless as I was. I was confused, feeling as if I’d just plunged my head into freezing water, and I reached for Evan again. My hands came round his warm torso and I rested my head there again. 

I could almost hear his thudding heartbeat if I listened closely.

He stepped back. “I can’t do this.”

“What?” I tried to concentrate on Evan in the dark as he took my hands and put them back at my sides. I frowned at his blurry face. 

“This isn’t right. You know that Cass.” Evan ran a hand through his ruffled hair. It seemed to be a nervous tick of his.  

“Of course it’s right,” I said. Maybe it was my heavily intoxicated mind having trouble processing things; I just didn’t get it. Surely Evan had to have felt some of what I had. 

A sudden remembrance flashed through my mind, of the other girls lined up for him in the kitchen. More experienced girls, prettier girls, thin and sparkling. Those were the type of girls Evan usually went out with. I had a sudden urge to throw up every one of those rainbow shots I’d tossed back.

I’d just thrown myself right at him, blindly, thinking that he felt the same way about me as I did about him. I mean, it was impossible not to like Evan. He was gorgeous, and he was nice, and clever, and he could sweet talk his way in and out of every situation. He could have anyone he wanted. 

It was impossible to even consider that he’d want me. 

“I have a girlfriend, Cass,” Evan said, hand behind his head. His sculpted chest seemed three miles long from his chin to the top button of his jeans. 

“Girlfriend?” I stammered. 

Since when? I tried to piece that together in my head. The last girl Evan had hooked up with for real had been some model in Melbourne over the holidays, according to Marie. That’s why all those girls were trying to make a move now. Who knew how much longer he’d be available?

And it seemed he was no longer. 

“Yeah. Georgie.” He awkwardly put his hands in his pockets. I really wished he’d put his shirt back on. 

I thought back to the two of them talking in class today. Georgie, small and petite and pouty. Marie was right; Evan Adams did like brunettes the best. The idea of Evan holding her hand, how his would cover her’s completely, how they’d look together, him dwarfing her completely, her lips kissing that place beneath his jaw where he smelt like vanilla.