Page 37 of Yours, Unexpectedly

But Bex doesn’t seem the least bit offended by that comment. “Have fun up there, Olsson,” she says with a cheeky smirk.

Scowling, I turn to Gabe. “What are we singing?”

“You’ll see.”

Well, fuck.

We hop up on stage and he hands me a mic. “I’m Elton, you’re Kiki.” I barely have time to process what that means before “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” starts to play.

Actually, this is the perfect song. And I sing it while staring at Bex the entire fucking time, taking immense pride in watching her squirm under my attention.

After the song is over, I jump off the stage and beeline it toward Bex. Bending over, I whisper in her ear, “Bathroom. Now. I’ll knock six times and you’ll open the door. Be waiting for me like a good girl. Nod twice if you understand me.” She nods twice and I head to the bar for another coke. When I look back at the table, she’s gone.

“And obviously you’ll stay in Sassafras like the rest of your crew. I bet your mom could find you a position at Hawthorne!”

It’s the “obviously” that gets me.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

After the sixth knock, I open the door to reveal a devastatingly handsome man. One who has been teasing me all night with his little touches under the table. Literally getting my panties in a twist while we were at the bar. And then singing to me about how he won’t break my heart—or maybe how I shouldn’t break his. Either way the boy has pipes and he’s not afraid to use them.

How the hell does a man make me wet singing the female part of a song released in the ‘70s? Something is obviously wrong with me and I don’t even care.

“Are you going to let me in or keep gawking at me?” Finally, my brain starts working and I move to the side to let him in. I haven’t even had much to drink tonight, but I think I’m drunk on him. On this.

He flicks the lock shut and it rings out like gunfire.

Holy shit, I’m in way over my head here. All of a sudden we are very, very alone. I start backing toward the sink as Anders prowls toward me. Once he has me pinned against the counter, he asks, “Am I still allowed to touch?”

I nod in response.

“Words, Bex. Can I touch you?”

“Y-yes. Yes you can touch.”

His hands come up to the swell of my cleavage. “This top has been teasing me all night.” He pulls down on the fabric and my breast pops out.

“Fuck me,” he breathes out. And I would. Happily.

“Yes, please.”

He laughs at that. “Eager, are we? Sorry, but the first time I fuck that sweet pussy will not be in the bathroom at Louie’s.” With that, he leans over and pulls my nipple into his mouth. My response is automatic. I gasp, arching up into him, silently asking for more. He flicks me with his tongue, before pulling off with an almost vulgar pop.

I am a fairly smart person. I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout my time at Hawthorne and I know that I will have some pretty amazing job offers when I graduate. However, right now if you asked me to form a coherent thought, I don’t think I’d be able to. All that keeps running through my head is:

Need Anders inside me.

Want Anders inside me.

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