Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Page 4

  “What?” I joke, scrolling farther down. “I want to know if our signs are compatible in case…”

  “In case what?”

  I grin. “Never mind. Okay, it says that we’re only sixty-percent emotionally compatible.”

  “Well, that does it. I’ll just go now then,” he jokes.

  “Oh wow,” I comment, reading the next line.

  “What?”

  “I shouldn’t say.”

  “Say it,” he emphasizes.

  “We’re ninety-five-percent sexually compatible.”

  He sips his drink and chuckles, “Not one hundred? Clearly this isn’t going to work, April. Sorry.”

  I laugh and put my phone away. I should stop getting carried away with awkward conversation. The truth is, I’m not sure how to flirt since I’ve never really done it purposely, and Morgan makes me nervous. His look is steady and all consuming, like he’s drinking me in with his eyes.

  “So, Michael,” I say, trying to refocus. Despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I also feel connected to Morgan in a way that is only possible through a shared understanding that comes with knowing grief. “He died almost eight months ago to the date,” I say, recalling the date I saw engraved on his bracelet.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Morgan nods.

  “Do you feel like you got to say everything you could to him? Were you able to say goodbye?”

  He shakes his head. “No, absolutely not. He was in the hospital while I was on the road playing games. I stopped by a few times, but I thought we had more time. That’s one of the things that haunts me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I drape my feet over the edge of the sofa armrest. “This might sound crazy…but have you considered seeing a medium?”

  “A medium? Never heard of it. What is it?”

  “A medium is a psychic who can communicate with the dead.”

  His forehead wrinkles. “You’re serious?”

  I nod, taking another sip of my drink. “I know it sounds wild. Obviously, there are some swindlers out there, but if you find someone who is a true medium, they’ll help you communicate with them and make sure they’re at peace. I did it with my mom.”

  "I can't believe I'm asking this. Did you actually communicate with her?"

  "I did, well, through the medium."

  “And did it help you find peace?”

  “Yeah, a little. The grief doesn’t go away but I know that I got to say what I didn’t get to say before she passed was a huge weight lifted off of me.”

  He sighs, sips his drink, and turns to look out the window.

  “You think I’m insane now, don’t you,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “You’re a little certifiable, April, yeah. You faked being drunk to mess with me and you talk to dead people. But isn’t everyone a little crazy in their own way?" He flashes a smirk in my direction.

  Maybe it’s the buzzed boldness coming over me, but I scooch into the middle of the couch, closer to him.

  I continue, “The reason I’m thinking about it now is that it usually takes about eight months for a soul to pass into the spirit world and start communicating with the living.”

  Morgan’s pupils dilate, and his hand slides onto my thigh, alerting my entire body. Wow, that is one firm, big hand.

  “So, you’re telling me he could be communicating with me right now? Since it’s eight months to the day?” he emphasizes, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze.

  My breath catches in my throat. “Some spirits do it faster or slower. But eight months is the general guideline. Have you felt anything out of the ordinary today, or lately?” I ask.

  He takes a drink, and his eyes flit back and forth around the room. Finally, his gaze lands back on me and it is intense. “This is going to sound odd, but I feel a pull to you,” he says.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands. I take a swallow of my drink. “Oh. That’s…interesting. Do you feel that toward a lot of people? I mean, you’re a good-looking guy. You must feel a pull toward a lot of women.”

  He clenches his jaw, then shakes his head slowly. “Actually, I don’t feel it very often. I haven’t been with a woman in…wait, I thought we established a ‘no details on our dating lives’ rule, today?”

  “Oh, right.” My heart doubles in speed, and I feel my mind racing as I watch him.

  He has two sharp dimples when he smiles, and his lightly stubbled face gives him a touch of ruggedness that I’d most definitely like to feel between my thighs.

  Slow down April. You just met him today and you've never done something like this before. Never even wanted to.

  This isn't your style, a voice says in my head.

  Well, whatever, voice, I silently respond.

  I don’t know what deodorant Morgan has on, but he’s got this amazing woodsy, masculine scent, which maybe has combined with the testosterone drawn out by our volleyball competition. I can’t lie, there’s something about a competitive man that draws me in.

  I hold up my cup. “Can you refill my drink, please?”

  Anything to break free from the train of thought I’m having about this man whom I’ve literally been alone talking with for less than twenty minutes.

  “Of course. Another Morgan?”

  “Yes, please. Fill me up, Captain.”

  My stomach clenches, and I curse my dirty roommates for all of their silly “that’s what she said” jokes this term.

  Because I am thinking very dirty thoughts about that one, now.

  “Aye, aye, April.” He winks.

  Morgan stands up to get our drinks, turning his back to me, and that’s when I notice he’s got a fantastic ass which fills out his board shorts incredibly well. How did I miss this before?

  “So, April,” he says as he spins around toward me with my drink. “New topic. Tell me about yourself. What do you study, and all that jazz?”

  I take the cup from him. I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, I don’t want to talk about all of that with you. I’m enjoying getting real too much. This is new to me.”

  “I’m enjoying this, too. I just was thinking I should…I don’t know. Fuck, you’re pretty, April. But I bet you get told that all the time, right?”

  The bubbly feeling in my stomach comes back. I take in his fingers wrapped around the red cup and imagine how they would feel wrapped around various parts of me. “You’re the first in a long time.” I blush.

  He chuckles. “I find that a little hard to believe.”

  “Well, it’s true. I don’t get that a lot.”

  I don’t bring up what I’m really thinking. I don’t want to tell Morgan all about how my stupid fiancé—ex-fiancé, now, I need to get used to saying that—wasn’t big on compliments.

  Not that I need to be told every moment of the day that I’m pretty, but I would go weeks without so much as a “you look nice.” It wore on me.

  “Well, I think I’ll have to make you understand,” he says.

  “Make me understand? How are you going to…”

  He stands up, then takes the drink out of my hand and sets it on the coffee table.

  I follow his lead in confusion. “Hey, I wasn’t done with—”

  He turns back around and his body knocks into mine. He stares at me, caressing my fingertips, and says, “Those lips are too kissable for me not to do this.”

  His touch is smooth, finessed, and as measured as his skill on the volleyball court. He lightly guides me by the chin to his mouth for a kiss.

  When his mouth presses into mine, fireworks go off inside my stomach.

  Or, more like alarm bells.

  One conversation. One drink. And we’re already kissing. Morgan is breaking down every defense I thought I had.

  When he stops kissing me, I’m standing there, my entire body buzzing as my chest heaves to bring oxygen back into my lungs.

  “Did I prove my point?” he asks.

  “Your
point that…you find me pretty?”

  “You don’t get it. I think I’d better prove it again.”

  He smashes his lips to mine, and I wrap my arms around his back as he crashes into me.

  I moan into his mouth, stepping backward into the wall, and opening myself up to him. Our hips grind together, and I’m nearly ashamed at my desperation for release.

  I put my hand on his muscled chest.

  “This is crazy,” I say, breathless. “We just met.”

  “I know.” He pulls back. “You’re right. We should stop.”

  “Yes, we should,” I echo.

  “I’m going to stop. I’m stopping right now.”

  He doesn’t budge, and a moment passes.

  “Actually, no, I’m not. Kissing you is so much damn fun.”

  “I agree. Don’t stop.”

  He slides his hand slowly along my back, starting at my shoulder and running his long fingers all the way down until they touch the curve of my ass.

  My lips part, my knees buckle. I feel my skin flushing.

  “Kiss me again,” Morgan says.

  I close my eyes and lean up and into him. My heart must be beating triple its normal rate.

  He is a stranger.

  His lips are strange territory. They’re unlike the only other lips I’ve ever known. Soft, yet masculine. When I taste the skin below his lip, I can feel the texture of his five-o'clock shadow. I have a feeling that if he wanted to grow a thick beard, it wouldn’t take long at all.

  This is what it’s like to kiss a real, grown man.

  Just then, the door to the room swings open.

  “Hey guys, whatcha doing?”

  It’s the president of the Alpha Z house.

  “Just getting some drinks,” Morgan says nonchalantly, like we weren’t about to do some very naughty things. “Come on, Peaches.” He smirks. “Let’s go.”

  I bite my lower lip and feel my heart burn.

  “That’s Miss Peaches to you.”

  We grab our drinks and head out.

  5

  April

  Morgan and I hang out all afternoon and evening, chatting, sipping our drinks, and kissing occasionally. We connect on so many levels, not an awkward moment passing between us.

  At midnight while everyone else is at the party, Morgan and I walk through the campus holding hands.

  We head out to the Greene State football field, known as The Bowl, and sneak in through a hole in the fence, then lie down at the fifty-yard line to look at the stars.

  Although, it’s a full moon, so the sky isn’t exactly dotted with them.

  “So, what’s your life like here, April? Are you happy?” Morgan asks.

  “Happy? Honestly, I wouldn’t say I’ve felt completely, simplistically happy, no. Take the past couple of weeks, for instance. It’s been a complete range of emotions. I’ve been happy, sad, I’ve cried. A lot. And now…”

  He smiles and slips his hand into mine. “You cried lately? Was it because of the anniversary of your mom’s birthday?”

  “That was part of it.” I definitely do not want to get into the details of the breakup, since they’re such a downer. Isn’t that one of the rules of flirting? Don’t bring up an ex?

  “It’s okay if you want to cry some more,” Morgan says. “I’ve got great shoulders for crying on, you know.”

  He pats his shoulder, and the line is just as sweet as it is cocky.

  I feel electric with Morgan’s full attention on me. This man has some power over me that I haven’t given him, yet he’s able to take it from me anyway.

  I flick my eyes over to him and he’s staring at me.

  “You’re really fucking terrific. You know that?” he says.

  Heat pools in my stomach, and some even seeps to my core. A mix of nerves and excitement that comes from being close to him. He’s a perfect stranger and yet, I already know him in many ways.

  He smiles. “When someone gives you a compliment, April, it’s usually polite to say thank you.”

  “Well, thank you,” I emphasize.

  He leans over and kisses me, letting his hand slip up my stomach, toward my breasts.

  My jaw falls open. I want him to touch me so badly, despite only knowing him for less than a day.

  I reach down and wrap my fingers around his wrist.

  “I can’t,” I say. “This is wrong. I hardly know you. We just met.”

  “You’re right.” He backs away, shaking his head. “Although I have already bit into your peach.”

  I roll my eyes and punch him playfully in the shoulder. “So you admit that peach was mine?”

  Morgan laughs and takes my hand. “I’m going to walk you home now. But I just want to note how very right this feels. It’s like I’ve known you much longer. But it’s probably too good to be true. And I would go…very far with you tonight. So I should take you home.”

  “Yes, you should. We can’t just do things because they feel right, you know? There are consequences for our actions.” As the words come out, they don’t hold the truth I expected them to have. I feel like I’m just parroting random advice I was given in Catholic school about abstinence.

  Because all I want right now is for Morgan to touch me. Everywhere.

  He pulls back, propping himself up on his elbows. “We’re adults. We have a connection. What’s wrong with celebrating that connection?”

  “It’s just…I don’t move this fast.”

  “Me neither.”

  A slight drizzle of rain starts up. It’s odd, because the sky is totally clear, everything is illuminated by the moon tonight.

  “It’s raining,” I say.

  “It’s just a bit of an Irish mist.”

  I laugh. “I’ve never been to Ireland though. Kennedy, is that…an Irish name or something?”

  Morgan gives me the come-hither motion with one finger.

  “Shut up and dance with me, April,” he says, helping pull me up to my feet.

  “We don’t have music, though.”

  “I’ll make some music.”

  “Taking requests?”

  “Nope. I already know which song I want.”

  We sway in the moonlight, I rest my head against him, and the soft mist falls down on us.

  With my ear pressed to his chest, I feel the vibrations of his voice as he sings the song he is humming.

  “What song is that?” I say.

  “‘Everyday’ by the Dave Matthews Band. With the extended ‘Honey honey, come and dance with me’ intro, of course, given the circumstances.”

  I melt into his chest, feeling butterflies tumble in my stomach. We must go on like this for five minutes.

  “Okay. Now I’m taking requests,” he finally says.

  I think for a moment. “You might roll your eyes, but you know that song ‘Do You Believe in Magic’?”

  “Of course,” he says, and starts to sing it.

  His voice isn’t half-bad, either.

  “Damn, where’d you learn that?”

  He shrugs. “Guess that choir class my mom made me take in high school finally came in handy. Also, since Michael was a musician, we’d sing together sometimes. So that’s the song you’d want to be romanced to the most?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, like with a full orchestra and stuff. I want some real Romeo stuff. My—” I stop myself from adding, my ex was the least romantic man I’ve ever known.

  I’m ashamed to admit that. And no talking about exes while you’re flirting with the hottest guy ever, right?

  Luckily, Morgan doesn’t seem to notice my verbal flub. He whispers, “You know, Romeo fell for Juliet in one night.”

  I giggle and grin, cocking my head back to look up at him. He smiles and guides my lips to his for another tender kiss, pulling my body closer into him.

  I lay my head on his chest again, and a tear slides down my cheek from the ecstasy of the night.

  I’m not crying because tonight is wonderful, which it is.

  Even if it
’s only one night, I’m living in the moment, and I feel completely, utterly, full of bliss.

  The tear is because in the six years I was with Matt, I was never once romanced like this, never felt something like this in my heart.

  Him humming a tune, me feeling the vibrations of his vocal cords through his chest.

  Dancing in soft rain.

  All under the light of the full moon.

  This is storybook.

  It almost feels too good to be true. Maybe it is.

  But after enduring six years of a man who was emotionally immature, to say the least, I’m going to enjoy every second of this fantasy night.

  The moonlight illuminates the paved concrete path as he walks me back to my place in the quads.

  When we arrive at the door, he presses me up against the red brick and kisses me one more time

  “This was fun,” I say.

  He brushes my hair behind my ear. “So much freaking fun. You have no idea.”

  No, you have no idea. “I needed a night like this.”

  His eyes flash down, and then he looks at me again.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Do you want to come back to my hotel room for a night cap?”

  I thread my hand through his hair.

  My stomach tightens, and the immediate first answer that comes through my gut is...

  Hell yes. Go with him. Why not?

  I think about one-night stands and my prejudgments about the people who have them. I’ve never thought they were for me. Even if you do like someone a lot, why not just wait a few more dates to make sure?

  But as I stare at Morgan, I want to say yes so badly.

  My body, my gut, even my soul, is telling me yes, you need to do this.

  My responsible brain, however, is still in control.

  “Just take my number,” I say. “Maybe some other time?”

  “Okay.” He nods. “Yeah, some other time.”

  I type my number into his phone. He takes it back and kisses me goodnight and starts to walk away as I open the door.

  “Hey, April, one more thing,” he shouts.

  “Yeah?”

  “This might sound silly, but I’m in room 4021 at the Best Western if you change your mind.”

  I laugh. “Thanks. But I highly doubt it.”