twisting to the side. The expression made that much more perfect by her loud, pink lipstick. When I think about those lips wrapped around my cock, my bare ass pressed into the cool surface of a gravestone … let's just say none of that helps my dick get any less hard. “Hopefully fucking …”
“I mean, you and me. What are we doing? I know this sounds stupid and maybe even bringing it up makes me the little bitch Turner and Trey accuse me of being, but I don't give a fuck.” I kneel down and set the vodka bottle in the grass, slipping off my hoodie and tossing it aside. Underneath, I've got a black tank with the teal Amatory Riot logo on it. I wish I could say I wore it on accident, but even with all of the crap that's been going on with Blair and Naomi and Paulette What's-Her-Fuck, I still can't fucking stop thinking about Sydney Charell.
So okay. I wore the stupid shirt to show off my arm muscles. Sue me.
“You want … like a promise ring or something?” Sydney says, but I can see the way her breath hitches and her eyes flick from my biceps to my chest to my face. Her eyeshadow is bright, flecked with glitter, almost as blue as her eyes. She's a whole canvas of color, even in the darkness of the cemetery.
“I want to fucking figure this out. There's too much uncertainty in my life right now. I need something real. Maybe it's for forever, maybe not. But,” I run my tongue over my lower lip and watch as Sydney follows the motion with a flick of her pupils. “But for now …”
She glances away, those sharp bangs falling into her face. I know she's older than me, but right now, Sydney looks young, vulnerable. I want to wrap her up and hold her tight, pull her against me and breathe gentle against her hair. It doesn't make any sense. My instant, undeniable attraction to her doesn't make any sense. But it's there. And it won't go away. And fuck, I want her so frigging badly.
“For now you'll settle for little old me?”
“Your funky spunky special brand of bullshit won't work on me,” I tell her, leaning back in the grass and resting my head against an obelisk. My eyes slide shut against a sky empty of stars. Can't see 'em through the smog. Kind of makes me want to get on a plane and fly somewhere else. Anywhere else. But I can't leave Blair or Naomi or hell, even Kash and Wren. Here I am, trying to play some kind of weird paternal role that I'm no good at. Fuck me. “So … are we doing this? Trying this out? This dating thing?” I open my eyes to stare at Sydney. I hope she can't tell but at this point I'm kind of desperate. Not just for somebody. But for her. For this. I can feel the strength radiating off her in waves, and it makes me feel like I can do this, like I can get through this. At the same time, I can tell she needs someone, too. I'm not sure if Sydney Charell's ever really had a somebody to herself.
Sydney tips back the vodka bottle and takes a swig that makes my teeth hurt. Holy crap. Guess I'm not the only one that can hold my booze here.
“Sorry. I hear the big d- word and I get a little funny.” She lifts a hand up and wobbles it back and forth for emphasis, staring at me from under her bangs. Dressed in those tiny shorts, those boots, the zip up Indecency hoodie hanging off one shoulder. Christ. I can barely look at her right now. “I haven't had the best of luck with the whole dating thing.”
“That's because you've never dated me,” I say, standing up and moving back over to the blanket, tossing the bottle of vodka to the grass and leaning over Sydney. She falls back with another drink and a small smile, gold hair fanning out behind her head like a sunburst.
“Is that so? Are you going to change my world, Mr. McCann?”
“I'm going to rock it,” I say, even though internally, I think I cringe a little. At least I'm not getting goofy and making South Park references or something. Cheesy one-liners are always better than crude jokes or character imitations, complete with
“I mean, you and me. What are we doing? I know this sounds stupid and maybe even bringing it up makes me the little bitch Turner and Trey accuse me of being, but I don't give a fuck.” I kneel down and set the vodka bottle in the grass, slipping off my hoodie and tossing it aside. Underneath, I've got a black tank with the teal Amatory Riot logo on it. I wish I could say I wore it on accident, but even with all of the crap that's been going on with Blair and Naomi and Paulette What's-Her-Fuck, I still can't fucking stop thinking about Sydney Charell.
So okay. I wore the stupid shirt to show off my arm muscles. Sue me.
“You want … like a promise ring or something?” Sydney says, but I can see the way her breath hitches and her eyes flick from my biceps to my chest to my face. Her eyeshadow is bright, flecked with glitter, almost as blue as her eyes. She's a whole canvas of color, even in the darkness of the cemetery.
“I want to fucking figure this out. There's too much uncertainty in my life right now. I need something real. Maybe it's for forever, maybe not. But,” I run my tongue over my lower lip and watch as Sydney follows the motion with a flick of her pupils. “But for now …”
She glances away, those sharp bangs falling into her face. I know she's older than me, but right now, Sydney looks young, vulnerable. I want to wrap her up and hold her tight, pull her against me and breathe gentle against her hair. It doesn't make any sense. My instant, undeniable attraction to her doesn't make any sense. But it's there. And it won't go away. And fuck, I want her so frigging badly.
“For now you'll settle for little old me?”
“Your funky spunky special brand of bullshit won't work on me,” I tell her, leaning back in the grass and resting my head against an obelisk. My eyes slide shut against a sky empty of stars. Can't see 'em through the smog. Kind of makes me want to get on a plane and fly somewhere else. Anywhere else. But I can't leave Blair or Naomi or hell, even Kash and Wren. Here I am, trying to play some kind of weird paternal role that I'm no good at. Fuck me. “So … are we doing this? Trying this out? This dating thing?” I open my eyes to stare at Sydney. I hope she can't tell but at this point I'm kind of desperate. Not just for somebody. But for her. For this. I can feel the strength radiating off her in waves, and it makes me feel like I can do this, like I can get through this. At the same time, I can tell she needs someone, too. I'm not sure if Sydney Charell's ever really had a somebody to herself.
Sydney tips back the vodka bottle and takes a swig that makes my teeth hurt. Holy crap. Guess I'm not the only one that can hold my booze here.
“Sorry. I hear the big d- word and I get a little funny.” She lifts a hand up and wobbles it back and forth for emphasis, staring at me from under her bangs. Dressed in those tiny shorts, those boots, the zip up Indecency hoodie hanging off one shoulder. Christ. I can barely look at her right now. “I haven't had the best of luck with the whole dating thing.”
“That's because you've never dated me,” I say, standing up and moving back over to the blanket, tossing the bottle of vodka to the grass and leaning over Sydney. She falls back with another drink and a small smile, gold hair fanning out behind her head like a sunburst.
“Is that so? Are you going to change my world, Mr. McCann?”
“I'm going to rock it,” I say, even though internally, I think I cringe a little. At least I'm not getting goofy and making South Park references or something. Cheesy one-liners are always better than crude jokes or character imitations, complete with
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