Bitter Exes

  His fingers dig into my sweater, alive and wild, and I can feel his lust for me growing by the minute. My adrenaline soars as my hands slip up the front of his shirt, and a moan rips through me at the feel of his heated flesh over mine for the very first time in one solid year. Lane is skin over steel, always has been. For a basketball player, Lane was always far more ripped than the other guys on the team. It was the curves of his biceps that have had me mesmerized for so long. Lane has always been strong. He could tear this building from its foundation if he wanted. I have always held him to impossibly high standards. It turns out that wasn’t such a good thing after all. But this moment, the hunger of these explosive wild kisses have the power to erase our haunted past and bolster us to that next phase of who we can become. That’s what this feels like. Something altogether new.

  I don’t know what the future holds for Lane and me, but I’m willing to bet there will be many, many more of these delicious fiery kisses.

  There has to be.

  Life without Lane Cooper’s mouth fused over mine would be downright criminal.

  Lane

  Violet Hathaway has always held my heart. It was a given that I wasn’t about to heal from the fact it was shattered to pieces a year ago. But this kiss, those cool hands of hers roaming freely over my chest have mended both my heart and soul even if it wasn’t their intention.

  Vi pulls back, out of breath, her hair a little wilder than it was when we got here. I may have had something to do with that. I can’t help it. I’ve always been a sucker for Violet’s long silky hair. And that color. It burned itself into my soul. It’s the first thing I want to see in the morning, the last thing at night. I’ve dreamed in red for the last year straight, and it’s her hair that was haunting me.

  My dick twitches in my boxers, and instinctively I take a slight step away.

  “So?” She tilts her head to the side, and her eyes sparkle in the way I love them to. I’d like to think I put the shine in them tonight. “Did you drag me up here to see if I’d show off my nymphomaniac ways?”

  A quick laugh bucks from me. “That’s the last thing I’d want you to think.” I wince. “The pervert in me might have, but the decent guy in me just wanted a moment alone with you. To do what, I don’t know—but I’m pretty happy on what we settled on.”

  She twists those delicious lips, and I sneak a quick kiss off them.

  “I’m pretty happy with it, too.” A tiny laugh bubbles from her. “How about we move the party to the couch, though? My ankle is getting pretty pissed at me.”

  “For sure.” I help her over and dash to the kitchen to grab a couple of water bottles before joining her. “Something other than me to wet your tongue,” I tease and lift my bottle to hers as if toasting her.

  “To the new us.” She gives a sly wink. “May we kiss in private whenever the mood strikes. I like how casual that feels. No strings attached.”

  “So you’re saying you missed me.” I flash a quick smile.

  “Are you kidding? I was so miserable all the time, it was almost as if we were still together.”

  “She shoots, she scores.” I toast her again, this time for lopping off my balls. “Next time I think about getting into a relationship, I’ll think about how hilarious you girls can be. My ego still hurts, by the way.” I slip my arm around her waist and give her rib a quick tickle. “You hungry?”

  “Why, is there a chef in your kitchen?” She laughs at her own joke.

  “Okay, so I may not know my way around major appliances, but I do know my way around a phone. That or I’ve got about ten boxes of Pop Tarts.”

  She makes a face. “Maybe later. I’ll let you know once I hit critical mass, like when my stomach starts digesting itself.” She takes a breath and holds it, her body molding softly to mine, but Vi never takes those jade green eyes off mine. “So, do you think you’ll ever get into another relationship? Is that something you want?”

  I glance out at the dark window and cringe a moment. “Let’s see—stay single and filled with wonder about what the future might hold or pin myself down and be miserable?”

  “Lane!” She swats me, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “I’m teasing, I promise.” I land a quick kiss over the top of her head, and it feels like a natural reflex. Like something I should be doing on a nightly basis. “Sorry.” I pull back a moment.

  “No, I like it.” She gives a little shrug, and that floral perfume of hers permeates me. It strips me of any good sense I might have, and I feel drunk off the toxic elixir. I hate what a poetic pussy I turn into around her. Vi has always turned me upside down whenever she was around, still does. “I like everything we used to do.” Her finger bounces over my lips as her eyes grow wide. “Don’t get that lap rocket of yours too happy. My foot is nowhere near ready to rumble in the bedroom.” She swallows hard. I hate to break it to her, but I’m already on the losing end of a hard-on. “I miss being with you.” She winces. “Is that weird to hear? I bet it is, but it boosts your ego anyway.”

  “It does.” My brows bounce and so do my boxers.

  “We did have a lot of sex that last week, though.”

  “What?” A million memories of that final, treacherous goodbye filter through my mind, and not one of them had us in any compromising positions.

  “Sure we did.” She gives my chest a light slap. “We said fuck you to each other all the time.”

  A dark laugh strums from me. “I miss your dry sense of humor.”

  “Do you miss that with me?” She glances to my crotch, and I’m aching to have her. I give myself five minutes before I’m on the floor begging her for any bit of action she’s willing to chuck my way.

  “Yes.” My jaw tightens as my emotions hit their zenith. I swallow down the boulder building in my throat. “Do you miss that with me?”

  She gives a slight nod. Her long lashes curl up to the sky as she watches me through them. And then in a moment, that smile glides off her face, and her entire body tenses.

  “I want you to know that you were right.” She clears her throat, and I freeze because I hope to God she’s not referencing what I think she is. “About me. About what happened. That whole connection with my parents’ breakup. You were right.” A silent lone tear streaks down her left cheek, a falling star that never had a single wish attached to it, and I’m quick to wipe it away.

  “My grandpa used to say you can be right or you can be happy. I don’t want to be right, Vi. I couldn’t care less about it.” I pull her in closer and bury a purposeful unapologetic kiss to her forehead. “I don’t want to go there. Ever.”

  “We will,” she says it like a mild threat. “But not tonight.” A tiny giggle escapes her. “We were getting pretty good at arguing, though, weren’t we?”

  “Are you kidding?” I inch back with a laugh warming my chest. “We could turn who was going to hold the remote control into an act of war.”

  She gives a furtive nod. “Yup. So, who holds it tonight, sweetheart?”

  “You.” I reach over and give it to her. “If you can figure that thing out, it’s all yours, sweetie.”

  “You are truly evil. Does it take long to tape your pointy tail down to your thigh?”

  “Careful, I’m about to unleash it for the night.” I turn on the TV for her and set her up to master control of our viewing pleasure. “I’m all yours.” I meant to say it’s all yours, but I don’t apologize for my misuse of words. I’m pretty sure I meant it on a subconscious level.

  “You know”— she lands it on the Food Network before tossing the remote to the side, her eyes lit up with a glimmer of deviant intent—“I think I kind of like the way we entertained ourselves at the beginning of the night.” She leans up and catches my bottom lip with hers and pulls it out slowly. “Maybe we should stick to what we know?”

  “Maybe we should. You always did have good ideas.”

  “I dated you, didn’t I?”

  Her mouth closes over mine as Vi and I engage in another r
ound of what we do best, pouring out all of our affection through physical avenues. I pull her over until she’s seated on my lap, and we love one another with our mouths, with our hungry tongues, just like this for the next few hours. I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want this night to end. No, I definitely want Vi right here with me, doing exactly this for as long as she’ll allow. I don’t want the moment to end, but I know that the night will eventually roll over into the morning. I hate how The Social Experiment, our past, and reality all get in the way of who Vi and I could potentially be. Mostly I hate that we got in the way of ourselves. And that is my biggest grievance. But these kisses, they offer up a beacon of hope, of something I’ve been reaching for, even though Vi was nowhere to be seen. She’s always been there, though, in full color on the canvas of my heart.

  * * *

  The weekend tumbles by in a blur. Vi had me take her back to her dorm before midnight, and I went back to the apartment and gave myself a little relief in the shower. I couldn’t help it. Vi and those hot kisses she was doling out practically demanded it. On Sunday night, I head to the Underground for sustenance. A juicy fat burger sounds good right about now, and I head in, cringing at the thumping music, the wall-to-wall bodies, coeds and frat boys all vying for a hookup. But the scent of hot fries nabs my attention and reminds me of why I’m here in the first place. I go to find a seat in the back, but every booth and spare table are taken.

  “Over here,” a deep voice barks from the darkest corner, and I squint against the light to make out the face. And then it hits me who that is, and I make a beeline and land myself in the seat across from him. “Dexter Houston.” He holds out a hand, and I’m slow to shake it. As much as I’m suddenly thankful I’ve joined his madhouse experiment, it could have easily gone the other way.

  Dexter is built like a linebacker, wearing a power suit most likely for no good reason. I’ve always hated guys like that. He’s got dark wavy hair, slicked back with gel, might be light, might be dark, can’t really tell. His eyes spear me as his grin widens.

  “You’re the new kid, Lane Cooper. Loved watching you and your ex hash things out in Finley a few weeks back. How’s her foot? She healing okay?”

  “She’ll live.” I lean back to inspect him, this enigma that’s been haunting the campus, rattling the skeletons in everyone’s closet with this edition of his demented dating game. The waitress comes by, and we put in our orders. “So, what’s your story? I know about your ex—the country crooner. I believe she wrote a song about your breakup.”

  His eyes grow wide a moment, and for a second I recognize that miserable look on his face. “That she did. Scarlett Stafford drove a stake through my heart, then lit it on fire before dousing the rest of me with gasoline.”

  “Ouch. At least she was efficient. That was the past, right? I mean, you’re Dexter Houston, otherwise known as Dr. Love around these parts. You practically whittled together over a dozen new romances with your last crop of lab rats. So, what’s cooking on the front burner for you? You dating again?”

  “Between you and me, I’d have to be nuts to entertain it.”

  I blink back as if I were just sucker punched. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Our burgers arrive in record time, but neither of us dives right in.

  He leans in, his brows furrowed as if he were distressed. “You’ve been through a relationship, the good, the bad, and the ugly. You’ve got to know why I’m not exactly running back into it. Sure, Scar and I had some good times, but after a while all she did was put me down, berate me, nag me over this or that. You ever notice it’s not what you did that matters. It’s what you didn’t do?”

  A quiet laugh rumbles deep within me, and I think it’s best it stays there. “I hear you,” I say in a show of solidarity. Yes, Vi was giving me an earful toward the end, but there were reasons.

  He waves me closer with a flick of his finger. “One night she was in rare form, complaining about me, complaining about herself. She said her ass looked big in her jeans and she looked like a witch, so I said her eyesight was darn near perfect. She threw a shoe at me. High heel.” He points to a light scar that runs up his cheek. “I still wear the reminder of that day on my face.”

  “Dude.” I inch back, horrified. “You can think that shit, but you can’t say it. I guess it was toward the end for you guys then.”

  “That was the end. A big bloody exclamation point.” He glances to the ceiling with a wistful expression. “It’s been three years since our split, and I do have one regret—the two years I lost while I was with her.”

  I can’t help but wince. “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse than that.” He shrugs while spinning his plate. “Relationships haven’t always been so bad with me. I’ve had lots of girlfriends. Some of them were even mine.” He mocks shoots me, and I give a nervous laugh. Dear God, it’s becoming clear there is a madman at the helm of The Social Experiment.

  “So, you like being single, I take it?”

  He stabs a fry into his plate like he was putting out a cigarette. “You know what they say. The grass is always greener on the side you water it. And I am watering.” His brows bounce as if he weren’t really pleased with the results. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the tough stuff.” He looks up at me and nods. “I’m leaving that to you. How are you and Vi? You solid yet?”

  My stomach turns a bit. It’s as if he’s punched in all the right numbers and expects to get the answer he was looking for. I hate the fact Violet and I are finding our way back to each other in this manner, at the hands of this nut job.

  “We’re ironing out a few things.” The ghost of her tongue does a revolution in my mouth, and my gut wrenches because it feels almost as damn good as if she were here.

  “I feel strongly that you’re going to make it.” He picks up his burger and leans in. “No pressure, but I put money on the two of you in Vegas.”

  “What? You’ve got people placing bets on us?”

  “On all of you.” His face smooths out as if it were common knowledge. “I made a pile last go-round. I sure as hell wasn’t about to miss out this time.” He takes a bite out of his burger and looks past me as if silently counting his dirty money.

  “Great. I don’t even know what to say to that.” My food might as well be crawling with maggots. I’m suddenly not that hungry. “So the first focus was the element of surprise. Group B is affectionately called Bitter Exes. And Group C? You want to offer up a sneak preview of things to come? Curious minds want to know.”

  He holds up a finger as he knocks back his beer. “I was thinking about Opposites Attract. I’m bringing in the big guns, pairing the jocks with the nerds. People eat that stuff up. The jaded with the romantics. Either that or something more chemistry-based, sparks flying, something electric. They say two charged particles are likely to combust. That might be fun to watch.”

  “Go with the latter,” I say as I finally pick up my burger. “And you know what? Throw yourself in the mix. That might be the most entertaining experiment in the bunch. They’ll love you in Vegas.”

  We shift the topic of our conversation to Cougar basketball. We don’t bring up anything to do with relationships or The Social Experiment again. And something tells me that’s the way Dexter likes it.

  Bedding Down to Brass Tacks

  Violet

  The last week in January is as glacial and dismal as one would expect, with the sky full of slate gray clouds. The temperature is so cold your breath turns into a winter frost before it ever leaves your nostrils. Leland University gleams like a snow globe full of sparkle and glitter as the students don their best cardinal and gold knit caps, mittens, and scarfs and file into the Cougar Basketball Dome for a game against our rivals, the crosstown Bixby Bears.

  Sophie and Ember have decided to join me, decked out in their matching Leland sweatshirts. Rowen is seated next to Sophie, so she might as well be in another world, even though she’s right beside me. Ember sits to my left, howling with approv
al at all the Cougar b-ball players as they make their way onto the court. She waves wildly once she spots Lane, and he does a double take our way before grinning from ear to ear. I didn’t tell him I would be coming. I’m not even sure if I should be here according to the rules, but I’ve never been big on rules to begin with. Lane jogs over. Thanks to my big fat foot we scored courtside seats. Rowen might have had something to do with it, but I’d like to think the universe is just that generous. Get your heart and your ankle broken all in the same year—you’ve got a couple of courtside seats coming your way. Okay, so the heartbreak didn’t exactly take place in this calendar year, and technically, the ankle is not broken, but my world is rife with exaggeration and so the analogy still fits.

  “You’re here,” Lane pants as if he had already run the length of the court twice over. He leans in and offers me a hearty embrace. And as much as my mouth has been watering for one of his electric kisses, Seth and Petra have warned us both against public displays of affection. If they knew we hit it with our mouths for hours at a time last Saturday night—right in front of that gargantuan picture window in Lane’s apartment—they might actually boot us off the show. Now there’s something to consider.

  “Of course, I’m here.” I hold back a smile. “I’m rooting for Bixby, by the way.” I come just shy of winking, and he laughs.

  “I talked to Petra this morning.” His dimples dig in and make my stomach do that obnoxious roller coaster thing. “She says you and I have the pick of the dates this week.”