Page 39 of The Assist
“No,” she states adamantly and turns to face me. “You don’t fall into a date. A date is planned . . . intentional.”
“That right?”
“Yes.” She leans back into me. “Now, ask me on a real date.”
I chuckle. “Ball buster.”
She shrugs, telling me she isn’t budging on the subject. Not that I mind, exactly, but I haven’t been on a real date since . . . well, I can’t remember, but it probably involved high school and a dark movie theater where I could try to cop a feel.
“Go out with me.”
It’s her turn to laugh. “Was that a question or a command?”
“Blair Olson, will you go out with me?”
She shrugs again. “Yeah, I guess so.”
This girl. “But, uh, even though this isn’t a real date, I’m still kissing you later.”
“Promise?” She turns her head to face me, bringing our lips inches apart.
I stare at her mouth as she moistens her lips like she’s waiting for me to make a move. Instead of answering with words, I capture her face with both hands and pull her to me. What I’d planned to be a quick kiss—a taste of the promise I made—turns serious fast. There’s nothing quick or innocent when it comes to my response to this girl. She hums into my mouth, and I deepen the kiss, not giving any fucks about making out in the middle of a party.
My dick aches as she molds her body to mine and wraps her arms around my neck. We’re as close as we can get without lying down on the floor and going at it. I weigh that scenario out in my head before breaking the kiss. “Think we should probably go back upstairs if you want to continue this.”
Pleas say yes. Please say yes. Yep, I’m cool as a cucumber on the outside but straight up begging on the inside. Her eyes dart from my mouth to the party, taking in what we’ve done and where we are. She looks more stunned than embarrassed, but then she pulls away and runs shaky fingertips across her lips.
“I should go.”
Well, hell.
“But pick me up tomorrow night for our date?”
15
Blair
“He’s here.”I read the text saying as much and smooth my dress down. I do a final turn side to side to see myself in the mirror from every angle.
Vanessa lies on her bed, watching me obsess. “Want me to go downstairs and ask him what his intentions are?”
I laugh, easing some of the nerves that have taken over my shaky hands. “As entertaining as that would be, maybe we should wait until at least the second date to scare him off.”
Or until I get laid. I know it’s probably a terrible idea to sleep with the guy who holds my statistics grade in his hands, but a girl can only be expected to have so much restraint.
“Better to know now before you waste a perfectly good Saturday night.”
Most people I know don’t even go on real dates, let alone on a Saturday night. Weekend nights are pre-filled with frat parties and nights out at the bar. The rare occasions I’ve been asked out on a real date, it’s always been something mid-week. A Monday night coffee date, a Tuesday dinner, sometimes even a Thursday out together at The Hideout. Fridays and Saturdays are reserved. I’m willing to risk missing a party to go on a date with Wes. One almost certainly ends with me coming back alone, but the other . . . has possibilities.
The sorority house is a two-story home with bedrooms on both floors and a basement with a kitchen and dining room, laundry room, and our chapter room where we hold meetings. Vanessa follows me down the stairs from our second story room and into the first-floor entry way/living room. Men aren’t allowed beyond the entryway unattended, so essentially it serves as our “suitor waiting area.” It doesn’t see a lot of suitors for all the previously mentioned reasons.
Hostess duty is a real thing in the house, a chore shared between all of us, and it seems Molly has jumped at the opportunity to play hostess. She hasn’t only let Wes in, she’s proceeded to fawn all over him. I hold back a giggle as I watch him lean back away from her as she tries to snake a hand up his arm. An arm that leads to those hands I admire so much. He looks up as I appreciate my first glimpse of him in date attire—a black T-shirt, dark denim jeans, and tennis shoes—a different pair from what I’ve seen him wear before, and I’m suddenly curious how many pairs of sneakers this guy owns.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs and Vanessa pushes ahead of me. She waltzes up to Wes and eyes him carefully.
“You gonna give me the talk, maybe show me your gun collection before you let me take our girl out?”
“Nah, I don’t think it’s necessary to tell you I’ll either personally kick your ass or pay someone to do it for me if you hurtmygirl. I’m sure it’s also not necessary to tell you that a badass chick like Blair deserves a gentleman. Where are the flowers? Chocolate covered strawberries?”
