Page 2 of The Boy Next Door
Evan: Don’t make me come in. I’ll get groped.
Rolling my eyes, I shove away from my desk, then head into the hall.
Evan’s motorcycle idles by the curb. As usual, he’s leaned over the handlebar like the playboy he is, the cool autumn wind blowing through his short, brown hair. One of the girls from the Phi Mu house sashays past, slowing to get a good look at Evan. I don’t blame her for gawking, he looks like he should be on a billboard advertising Calvin Klein underwear. And he knows it.
Evan’s got one of those stubble-covered jawlines that women swoon over, one Brad Pitt would be envious of. Murky green eyes that flicker with dirty promises. Full lips that no doubt would feel amazing pressed over a girl’s lips—and other places. And then there’s the cherry plopped proudly on the top of his bad-boy edge: his full sleeve of colorful tattoos.
“You take too long,” he says when I walk up.
“I literally took three minutes to get out here.”
“Too long.” He winks before handing me a helmet.
I pull the helmet on with a huff before I swing a leg over the bike and wrap my arms around Evan’s firm stomach. He revs the engine. “Ready?” he asks.
“Yep.”
We speed off, the cool wind stinging my bare legs. When we come to a red light a blonde wearing a sports bra and leggings jogs across the pedestrian walkway, her boobs bouncing. Evan pulls the throttle and the bike growls.
“You don’t actually think that will work, do you?”
She glances over her shoulder and grins.
“It works,” he says. “Very well might I add.”
Yep, Evan’s got his game down pat. I think I’m the only one who knows what a notoriously dirty little player he is, because despite the engine revs and pervy comments, he’s somehow utterly charming. Maybe it’s the dimples. He glances over his shoulder and smiles. It’stotallythe dimples.
“Girls love compliments.” He turns around.
“Revving your engine isnota compliment. It’s on the same level as a catcall.”
“Ah, come on, Em.” He reaches back to pinch my thigh. “Don’t get all butthurt. I think you have a nice ass, too.”
I fight the blush heating my cheeks, thankful he can’t see it. “Don’t look at my ass!”
“Sometimes I can’t help it.”
The light turns green and he zooms off so fast I nearly get whiplash. The campus passes by in a blur of crimson and white.
Within ten minutes, we’re pulling into The Brew House parking lot. Gravel crunches under the tires and he parks at the side of the hole-in-the-wall bar. It amazes me that this place is still open, but I guess for most college kids, the only thing they are looking for is cheap beer. Plus, I think Evan pulls in plenty of business from girls wanting to flirt with him. I know I’d come up here just to stare at him.
Evan grabs his backpack from the back of his bike. I watch his ass as he heads up the concrete steps to unlock the door. When I step inside, I’m greeted by The Brew House’s original odor: stale beer with a tinge of piss. I brush past Evan and flip the light switch behind the tiny bar. When I turn around, he’s got one brow cocked and a smug smile tugging at his lips. “You always wear skirts to work.” He steps next to me. “Even when it’s cold outside.”
“And?”
“It’s not fair.” He moves closer, until his chest is nearly pressed to mine and all I can smell is the familiar, spicy scent of his cologne.
I swallow, forcing my breaths to remain even. “And why not?”
“Come on, Em. I know you do it for the tips.”
I wear skirts because I know they ride up when I go to reach for glasses. I don’t do it for the tips. I do it because I want Evan to stare at my ass, thinking maybe, one day, it’ll finally drive him nuts. A sudden heat stings my cheeks.
“How am I supposed to compete with that? It’s not like I can just walk around with my goods on display.” He winks and turns away.
I want to smack him, but before I can, he struts off to the cooler in the back. Bastard.
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