Finding Her Way Page 5

“Ahem.”

  The sound from behind me startles me and I whip my body around and smack right into a wall. Well, not a wall, but a chest. And when I say smack, what I really mean is that my over-sized boobs bounce against this gigantic chest-wall in front of me.

  My hands fly up to said chest instinctively and I place my palms against his pecs. I feel them strain and flex under the weight of my fingers, and instead of dropping my hands, I dig my fingertips into the T-shirt. Wobbling slightly, my shoulders tremble – is that from the cold air or this guy’s massiveness? – and the sweater that was hanging over my back falls to the floor.

  Leaving me staring up into the amused eyes of the biggest man I’ve ever seen. And he’s staring down at me, the deep hazel gaze drifting over my face and then down to my…

  Oh crap.

  I drop to my knees, pivoting on my heels to scrounge around the floor for my sweater, and then look up again at the mountain of man in front of me.

  He’s glancing around the room with an embarrassed smirk across his mouth, a pinkish blush creeping up and around his neck, his ears turning bright red.

  That’s kind of cute.

  Yet, all I can think about right now is a quote from D.H. Lawrence from Lady Chatterley’s Lover. “…and the moment you begin to be aware of your body, you are wretched.”

  I quickly stand, yanking the material of my blue azure cardigan over my chest as I turn and fumble around at the table with my things. I try to hide my humiliation over being such a klutz and for my appearance, but it doesn’t work so much because he gently touches my shoulder.

  His voice is calm and quiet, as if nothing was amiss. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that, but I thought you saw me walking toward you. I assume you’re Brinley?”

  My voice, on the other hand, quivers. Like a babbling brook over the smooth rocks of the river bed. “Y-yes. I’m Brin. You’re Preston?”

  I nervously turn to the side, sticking out my hand for him to shake, but not fully facing him, for fear my nipples will remain fully erect missiles and he has the launch code.

  Slinking into my seat, I do everything I can to avoid looking at him. I shuffle some papers, pull out my notebook and pen, check my phone and then nervously fiddle around with my hair. Which is still damp on the ends, so I must look like a drowned rat. I figured I’d have time to dry out since I’m ten minutes early for our session.

  “You’re early,” I blurt out.

  His lips quirk up into a half smile and he glances away before his eyes connect with mine again. He has super long lashes that frame his deep inset eyes. They are warm and hold a thousand untold stories in them.

  “Sorry. I can go and come back if you want.” He points toward the door and I blink at him.

  I’m confused. Is he serious? “Uh…”

  Preston chuckles. “I’m just fucking with you. I was able to grab a bite to eat after practice and had some extra time, so I got here early. But if it’s a problem I can…”

  “Oh, no. It’s all good. We’re fine. Okay then, let’s get to it, I guess. Where should we start?”

  He looks at me helplessly and it kinda turns me into a useless puddle of goo.

  “I have no idea. Wherever you think is best. You’re the expert here. I’m all yours.”

  Oh my. I’m screwed.

  In less than five minutes, I’ve lost all sense of direction. Like Preston is some electrical storm that’s messed with my compass and is going to blow through me, leaving me completely electrified and unrecognizable.

  13

  Preston

  What the hell was that all about today?

  Meeting Brinly for the first time was like crashing into a wave in the deep end of the ocean leaving me unable to ascertain any clue as to which way was up and practically drowning.

  And I am a goddamn practiced swimmer.

  Girls don’t normally affect me like that. I mean, sure, they turn me on. I’m a guy. I see a gorgeous body, I’m gonna show some interest. I date. I fool around. I fuck.

  But fuck me sideways, meeting this girl did something to my brain. Like rewired it. Like reengineered my mechanical systems, disassembled my parts and restarted my engines.

  It wasn’t just her tits that got me. But holy smokes, they were something to be revered.

  She tried valiantly to cover them up with her sweater, but it was useless. They were eye-popping, in your face breasts that had no reason to be hidden or covered up. My mouth watered with the need to touch, lick, fuck.

  Yet it wasn’t just her incredible breasts that drew me to her – she was the entire package. The way she stared at me, with these big, blue-violet-colored doe-eyes, looking right through to my soul. She took my breath away and had my dick jumping in my pants.

  There was also the sultry sound of her voice, like burnt-sugar. If sound had a taste, that’s what it was. And her hair – it was long, dark and thick. I wanted to take hold of it in my fist, wrap it around my hand and tug her head back so I could get better access to her lips and neck.

  And those goddamn lips. I will be dreaming about those lips tonight.

  Which reminds me, I’m out of Kleenex.

  I shove my feet over the edge of the bed and sit up, just as Quinn swings open my bedroom door, practically buck-naked.

  “Yo, Pres. I’m in a jam.”

  I lift a brow, even though this does not surprise me. For being such a smart guy, he’s a total idiot sometimes.

  Quinn and I have been friends since freshman year and have roomed together in an off-campus house since last year. He’s also on my hockey team and is a power-forward. The guy has no qualms about walking around naked in the house we share with two other guys, even when there are other people over.

  Right now, he does have some kind of bunched-up shirt covering his junk. Thank God for small miracles.

  “What’s up?”

  He turns his head to look surreptitiously down the hallway toward his room then leans in through the doorway just a little more, whispering his response.

  “I’m out of condoms, dude. Can you help a brother out?”

  I roll my eyes, indicating my annoyance. This happens every few weeks or so. Jace Quinn is a great guy, good friend and helluva hockey player, but a prepared player, he is not. Or maybe he is and goes through them so fast that he never has time to restock? Who knows. He has a new chick in and out of his bed at least every two days. The dude is a fucking stud.

  Me, on the other hand, am a bit reserved on the hookups with puck bunnies and the like. I’m cool with whatever anyone else does, but for me, I need a connection with a girl, not just a pussy.

  Opening the drawer of my bedside table, I toss him a string of Trojans, which he catches with ease.

  “Thanks, bro. And you best be putting on your headphones, cause it’s gonna be getting loud up here.” He waggles his eyebrows and vanishes from sight down the hall.

  I hear the door click and some giggling and laughter before music muffles the noise from the creaking springs of his bed.

  With a heavy sigh, I grab my laptop and books and head downstairs to the kitchen. Stoney is on the couch playing video games with a headset and mic on and I give him a nod of my chin as I walk past him. He’s not a hockey player, but a video game nerd and Jace’s brother. His real name is Max, but he has a reputation for toking up all the time, thus the name Stoney.

  It’s been a long day and my body is just now feeling the distinct soreness that only a good hockey workout can provide. We have a game coming up this weekend, so I need to be careful to keep myself hydrated and eat well. I make myself some sandwiches and grab an apple before sitting down at the table and opening my Lit book.

  I’m not normally a guy who blushes or gets embarrassed easily, but I have to admit, reading about sex in fiction and the literature and poems representing the sexual human condition has me a little heated and well, horny. It certainly didn’t help matters as I sat in the library across the table from a smok
ing hot tutor whose shirt clung to her boobs, her nipples poking through the see-through blouse, discussing books and poems representing all things sex and relationships.

  One of my assignments for this week is to read and provide my analysis of a Tennyson poem, entitled The Princess. It’s a hard-fucking assignment, too. To make matters worse, I’d asked Brin what her name meant, and wouldn’t you fucking know it, it means “virtuous princess.” Now every time I read a passage or see that word, I automatically picture Brin and her full mouth, blue-marine eyes and captivating cleavage, and wonder if she’s as virtuous as her name suggests.

  I groan loudly. Even the prologue of the poem has me wanting to pull my hair out. I have difficulty reading and comprehending even the easiest of verses and passages. But this old English literature shit? Just shoot me now. It’s painful.

  Hoping to alleviate my stress, I decide to go for a quick run. I’m already dressed in my nylon jogging shorts, T-shirt and running shoes. Plugging my earbuds into my phone and slipping them in my ears, I head out the door.

  Our house is only a few blocks from campus and I usually prefer the quiet neighborhood streets to the crowded walkways around the quad, but something is pulling me toward the school. Specifically, toward frat and sorority row.

  Yes, Brin mentioned she’s in the Mi Alpha Alpha sorority house. The big three-story one with the ivy-lattice brick exterior and the cute window boxes decorated in flowers.

  My feet move with purpose as I pump my arms and legs, increasing my blood flow as I loosen up with every step closer I take toward the infamous Greek row.

  I don’t think I made a conscious effort to run past her sorority, but by the time I get here, I’m stuck.

  Because stepping out of the house and down the front path as soon as I near it, comes Brin and another girl, both giggling over something the girl has in her hands.

  Brin’s laughter stops abruptly the moment she sees me standing a few yards away, panting and drawing in breath that literally escaped the moment I saw her.

  I notice the other girl say something to Brin in the form of, “Are you okay?” but all I can see is Brin. She’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, her hair up in a ponytail and she’s carrying a large paper bag in her arms.

  I wave uncomfortably, coming to a stop at the end of the sidewalk as they near.

  Coughing to clear my parched throat, I lamely say, “Hey. I was just out for a run.”

  The other girl nudges Brin, who looks like she’s seen a ghost. Or a creeper.

  “Hi.” She finally says, as her friend walks up to me with a smirk on her face, sticking her hand out.

  “Hey, I’m Lola. And aren’t you…” she looks at me, then at Brin and then her gaze lands on me again with a hard look. “Aren’t you Preston Dahl? Number seventeen on the Bears hockey team?”

  I shrug noncommittally. “Guess so.”

  Lola gives Brin an accusatory smirk. “You didn’t mention he was a hockey player.”

  14

  Brinly

  Can I be any more humiliated? What is with me that every time I see Preston I’m embarrassed beyond reason?

  I smack Lola in the bicep. “I didn’t think it was relevant. Sorry about my friend; she’s a little weird when it comes to hockey players.”

  Preston chuckles at my explanation and Lola sneers at me with a half-hearted snort.

  “Whatevs. You and I are going to have a talk later,” she demands, giving me the pointed look, complete with eyebrow quirk. “But right now, we have to go start setting things up.”

  Shifting the bags in my arms, I nod in agreement. Lola and I have been assigned one of the haunted house rooms and we stopped by at the party supply store today to gather up some decorations. You know, the usual gory décor – bloody heads, body parts, creepy clown faces. But we took it a step further. Our room will be a scene from a bloody Alice in Wonderland.

  Lola loves the classics and is going to dress up as Alice in the Looking Glass. She’s in theater studies and is always overly dramatic and entertaining. Except right now, she’s a pain in my ass with her over-the-top reaction to meeting Preston. Who I may have just mentioned on our way out of the house as my new tutoring student, although I didn’t tell her his name.

  Only that I kind of thought of was cute.

  And then BOOM. Speak of the devil.

  My cheeks must be a five-alarm fire red right now with the mortification I feel at running into him like this. What if he overheard what we were laughing about?

  I would die!

  Thankfully, Preston seems to breeze over this and jumps in.

  “Where ya headed? Can I help with anything?”

  Lola stops in her tracks and gets a huge, cat-that-ate-the-canary smile across her face.

  “Why yes, Preston,” she purrs sweetly, the brat. “We have several bags up in our room that sure could use a strong pair of arms to bring down. Brin, why don’t you show Preston the way? I’ll head over now, and you can drive over with Preston if he’s not busy.”

  She turns to Preston. “You’re not busy right now, are you, Preston?”

  I hide my eyes with my hand, shaking my head in horror.

  “Uh – sure. I’ve got time.”

  Lola slaps him on the top of his shoulder briskly. “Great. Thanks, dude. I’ll see ya over there.”

  She steps forward, and from behind Preston’s back she shoots me a salacious wink, before heading toward her parked car.

  “Toodles,” she calls after us and then she’s gone, and I’m stuck looking like an idiot in front of a college hockey player.

  I cross my arms under my breasts, but then his eyes track my movement and I drop them to my side. Not like I don’t like his attention there, but if he is observant at all, he’ll likely notice my erect nipples indicating my excitement over seeing him.

  I wave my arm dismissively. “Listen, Lola’s just kidding. You don’t have to do this just because she pressured you into this. I’m fine, really. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  Preston reaches in and plucks the bag from my hand, lightly brushing his fingertips to the skin of my forearm.

  “Absolutely not. Here, let’s get this in your car and we can go grab the rest.”

  He stands there a moment, possibly rethinking his offer to help. But then again, his gaze doesn’t hit me as if he’s annoyed with being suckered into this. He kind of seems pleased. His smile is warm, and his hazel eyes sparkle with a genuine interest. In me.

  My car is parked behind the house in the small eight-car lot that I was lucky to get a spot in earlier this afternoon after filling up with gas. I open the trunk and he sets it down, eying my Audi A3 convertible with an appreciative gaze.

  “Nice car.”

  I shrug. “My mother’s idea. Safe, practical yet has a little giddy-up.”

  He nods as he follows me in the back door and up the rear stairway up to the third floor. I lead the way up to my room and open the door, stepping aside so he can come in.

  As he does, his shoulders brush against the tips of my breasts and the zing it shoots down to my toes is electrifying. And alarming. I suck in a silent breath and step back against the door frame to keep my distance.

  Preston scans the room. “So where exactly are we bringing these things and what are they for?”

  We both pick up some bags – his four to my two – and head back downstairs, I explain what we’re doing.

  “We’re decorating a haunted mansion for our Halloween charity event. The house belongs to one of the girl’s parents.”

  We make our way through the corridor past the kitchen and I carefully dodge the incredulous looks from some of the girls. Casey catches my eye from in the kitchen and fans herself when she notices Preston.

  He’s kind of hard not to notice. I don’t usually bring guys into the house – like never – so I’m sure the girls are going to grill me later tonight. There’s nothing to say, though. I’ve known him for all of a few hours – has it only been that long?
– and he just happened along at the right time.

  The fact that he not only has a very fit athletic physique, but also that he’s very easy on the eyes has given me heart palpitations. A nervous sweat has broken out in my palms and between my boobs.

  Gross, boob sweat. Not convenient.

  We shuttle the bags to my car and Preston opens the passenger side door. I stare across the convertible roof at him, still uncertain of why he’s doing this for me.

  I give him one last chance to back out. “Preston, seriously. I can just drop you back at your house. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  His smile is like warm honey spilling over my shoulders, over my chest and down in my tummy, where it swims in languid peace.

  “It’s all good. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have time. Plus, you’re doing me a solid helping to tutor me, so I owe you.”

  As I back out of the parking lot, I glance over at him and admire his side profile. His nose is a little crooked, but the perfect shape and length for his face. His blond hair feathers at his ears and does a little side-swoop over his forehead, just meeting the top of his eyebrows.

  He’s so handsome and sweet.

  Waving him off, I stop at the four-way at the corner. “You don’t owe me anything. I tutor because I like to help others. I’m getting my degree in teaching, so it’s what I do. What’s your major, again?”

  “Finance. I’ve always been better with numbers. Reading wasn’t my forte. Numbers come easy to me, but words just get jumbled.”

  I nod. “I’m just the opposite. Maybe you can help me with my stats course. Three weeks in and I’m already pulling out my hair.”

  “We wouldn’t want that…it’s such pretty hair.”

  I practically swerve and slam on the breaks. Did he just compliment me?

  I feel my cheeks burning bright and I try to keep my focus on the road, hoping to change direction of our conversation.

  “You’re a hockey player, huh?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah. It’s fun. Where I come from, if you have the size and strength, you’re either into hockey or football.”