Page 33 of Bad Crush
“You look great,” he says. He looks me over like he can’t believe we’re really doing this. Like he’s seeing me for real. The way I always wanted him to.
With a hand at my lower back, Adam guides me to his Jeep and opens the door for me.
And then we’re off. I am on a date with Adam Scott. I pinch myself—which freaking hurts—but at least I know I’m not dreaming.
The thing about all the bad dates I’ve been on lately is I now know how to spot one early. Little cues like silence on the ride to our destination. It’s not foolproof. Sometimes things turn around by the time the appetizers arrive, but more often than not, my initial reaction to the date bleeds through to the end of the night.
And I also know what a good date looks like. Specifically, what Adam looks like on one. I’ve watched him date so many girls over the years.
So, when Adam and I get to the restaurant and neither of us has said more than two words, I start to panic. All the giddiness about finally going out with my dream guy turns to nerves. And then I start to babble. All through dinner. I barely touch my food I’m so busy regaling him with every detail of my day. It wasn’t that exciting to start with, and my retelling does not enhance it.
By the time we get back into his Jeep to go home, I’m ready to cry. I fall into silence that would have been helpful an hour ago when I recited my horoscope and his.
He starts the engine but doesn’t put the vehicle in gear. I blink back hot tears. I’m so mad at myself and angry at the situation, and just… pissed that I was so wrong. How can I like him so much and then find out we’re so bad together?
“Shit, are you okay?” Adam asks.
“Fine.” I turn to look out the window and brush away the wetness on my cheeks.
“You’re not fine. You’re crying.” He shifts and leans into my space, takes my chin into his hand and makes me face him. “I’m sorry. That was awful. It was my fault. Since the second you walked out in that tiny, red dress, my heart’s been in my throat. My jeans are so tight I’m worried my dick might actually be losing circulation.”
“What?” A surprised laugh escapes, and I can’t help but stare down at his crotch. “Oh.” He’s hard. Really hard. “I thought you were counting the seconds until the date was over, and I couldn’t stop talking because I didn’t want this to be the worst date of all history. Well, second-worst date. Nothing could be worse than me forcing you into a fake engagement in front of all your professors. I’m doing it again,” I say. “I can’t stop. Before, I couldn’t talk around you, and now, I’m blabbering on. Seriously, I can’t sto—”
His hand covers my mouth, and I squeak my surprise. He chuckles and removes his hand. “Sorry, that was a dick move. I didn’t mean to cut you off. It’s just… I really want to kiss you and you’re making it hard to find a second to dive in.”
I slam my lips together. He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say something else. “Yeah, never speaking again,” I whisper.
Laughing, he leans forward. His breath is minty and soft as he parts his lips. His hand goes to my chin and then slides behind my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps.
The radio’s on, but I can still hear the groan he lets out as I press my mouth to his. His kiss is the magic touch that zaps some confidence into me, and I tangle my tongue with his. My hands find his hair, and I thread my fingers through the thick locks and gently tug him closer. He comes so easily you’d think I have super strength. He’s basically in the seat with me, which is no small feat considering how big he is.
One arm circles my waist, and he brings us both to his side of the Jeep. All without breaking the kiss. Impressive.
“Ouch,” I yelp as my knee hits the gearshift.
I think he mumbles sorry, but that hand at my waist has shifted to palm my ass and—oh, sweet, sweet nirvana. Climbing into his lap, I sink down onto him and it’s only then we stop kissing. Our lips are only millimeters apart. His hot breaths mix with mine.
His gaze locks me in place. I don’t know how long we stare, neither moving, panting, wanting, reading each other before his dick twitches under me. My eyes flutter closed.
“Tell me to slow down,” he pleads as his mouth finds my neck.
I have a choice—slow down, risk that we’ve salvaged this date enough that he might ask me on another, or go for it. One night is better than none. My horoscope told me to keep it in my pants, but, come on, this has to be the exception. Adam is my every exception.
I roll my hips and claim his mouth. I’m all in. Whether that’s just for tonight or more.
After that, there’s no more pleading or asking permission. Adam’s hands are everywhere, guiding me over the thick bulge and then on my face, caressing and tender. When his fingers slide up to cup my boobs, I lean back and the horn blares.
His laughter tickles my throat. “I think we should probably take this back to your place.”
Instead, I unzip his jeans and push them down far enough to free his dick. His eyes close and his throat works as I wrap my hand around him and pump slowly.
“Condoms are in the glove box.” He grins sheepishly.
Sure enough, a new box waits for me. I’m a little shaky as I rip open a foil packet, but I do it with the excitement that’s built for two very long, very frustrating years.
I barely remember covering him with the latex or the short words we share after—him making sure I’m okay and that I’m sure I want to do this, and me asking if he’s a crazy person because duh, of course, I’m sure. I don’t even bother taking off my panties. With a little maneuvering, I shove them to one side. Crotchless panties seem like a good idea for the first time ever.
When I slowly sink down onto him, it’s so much more than I dreamed. I’m breathless and fevered, and there’s a frantic energy that courses through me as I hold on to his neck and let him fill me so completely.
