Page 37 of Habits

Just when I think she got out of the house, I hear the rattling of a locked doorknob. Turning around the corner, I lean against the wall, looking at her. Frustration mars her face as she tries to open the door to John’s study. Irritated, she punches the door before she presses her forehead against it.

“It’s locked.”

My voice startles her. Abruptly turning around, her stormy eyes meet mine.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

I roll my eyes at her sass, but she doesn’t find me amusing.

“I was looking for Max.”

“The last I heard, he’s in the game room.” She pouts at my words.

Her lips call to me, so much so that I can’t avert my gaze. That little, taunting pout I want to suck off her face. The curve of her full lower lip that simply begs for me to nibble at it until she opens up to me.

I can still hear her little, barely audible gasp in my mind. So sexy. So needy. So provoking.

I’ve been with a lot of girls, I’m not even bragging, but not one of them ever twisted me up like Jeanette Sanders has. Not one of them could get me hard with a quirk of her brow. Maybe that makes me a masochistic asshole, but I can’t help myself.

“Come with me.” I extend my hand toward her.

“What?” She wants to take a step back, but she’s already pressed against the wooden surface. “I’m not going back there. Hell, I’m not going anywhere with you. I just want to be left alone until Max is done so we can go home.”

Her harsh words don’t affect me in the slightest because I can see her mind working. The way her eyes take me in, debating on what to do. To go with me or not to go. If she doesn’t go with me, she can either go back to the party, which we both know is not her scene, or go outside where, given the fact that she’s dressed only in a thick sweater and jeans, she’ll freeze her ass off.

White teeth flash in the dim light as she toys with her lip. The one I wanted to nibble at just seconds ago. My Adam’s apple bobbles as I swallow, taking a step closer, my hand still outstretched.

“You know you want to go, Princess.”

The nickname falls off my lips effortlessly. Never before have I ever had a nickname for a girl. I never cared or paid enough attention to call any of them by name, much less give them nicknames, but Jeanette… From the first time I saw her, sitting in the classroom all alone in her cool, collected glory, I knew she was nothing like the girls from Greyford.

She’s different. High class and almost arrogant, with a bitchy attitude. The nickname was supposed to be insulting, and maybe it was in the beginning. A way to taunt her. A way to get a reaction out of her. To see what’s hiding behind her icy exterior and try tofigure her out. But now when I call her that, it doesn’t sound insulting.

Not even close.

A cute little frown appears between her brows again, her lips pressing together.

“Fine, but only for a moment.”

Jeanette

My eyes roam freely around the big, messy room.

The last place I expect to end up when Andrew asked me to go with him is his bedroom, but here I am. Maybe this is where he takes all his conquests.

“No, I don’t bring girls up here,” he deadpans when he sees my face. I guess I didn’t hide my disgust well enough.

“I didn’t say anything,” I defend, looking around so I can avoid his probing eyes.

The walls are bare, dark gray, and a huge king-sized bed is in the middle of the room with a messy deep-green comforter, as if he just got out of bed and was too lazy to make it again. The desk on the other side of the room is full of books and papers, backpack thrown on the floor close by and completely forgotten. The same goes for his hockey duffle. A few sticks randomly lean against the wall or furniture, one even peeking out from underneath the bed. Two doors lead to the en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. And, of course, there is a huge television plastered on the wall.

A total guy room.

The only thing that surprises me is that it doesn’t smell half bad. With all the hockey equipment, you’d think there would be a stale, locker room smell to it, but nope. The only thing I can smell is his fabric softener and something that’s completely Andrew.

“You didn’t have to, your face says it all, Princess.”

The frown on my forehead deepens. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”

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