Fifty First Times

  “Mal,” I said again, my voice steadier.

  Malcolm looked up, his eyes full of anguish. I’d never seen him like this—so vulnerable. He was the guy who was afraid of no one, who would never back down from a fight, who went into any situation with pure male confidence.

  I swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t have let you kiss me tonight.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that,” he said, a bitter edge to his voice as he dropped his attention to the floor.

  “But there wasn’t anything I wanted more.”

  That green-eyed gaze met mine again. And there it was—all the pained desire I’d stuffed down daily reflected back at me—but this time I wasn’t looking in the mirror. He’d been there with me all the time. He knew how this felt. He’d walked this road, too. A few long seconds passed, both of us afraid to look away.

  Then Malcolm was stepping forward, grabbing the front of my jacket, and turning me into the wall. The swift pain of my back hitting the wood hard was the sweetest I’d ever felt. Malcolm’s lips met mine in a rush and his body crushed against mine, all the secrets between us falling away in a few, hot sweeps of our tongues—in urgent, whispered words and roving, hungry hands.

  In that moment, we weren’t best friends or roommates or even two guys sharing their first kiss. We were the real Bates and Malcolm, meeting each other for the first time.

  Five

  I COULDN’T SLEEP.

  I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling both exhausted and exhilarated to be back in the dorm. The week at Malcolm’s house had been a whirlwind. That first night, we’d stayed in the barn’s loft into the early morning hours. First kissing and exploring like two virgins on our last night on Earth. Neither of us really knew how to go about things. It was awkward and bumbling and freaking perfect. But we knew we were at risk for taking it too far too quick. We’d known each other forever, but not like this. This was so new, so exciting and different, and it had been tempting to want everything at once. But we hadn’t had any condoms and a dirty barn loft wasn’t exactly an ideal spot, so we’d slowed down and talked until the sun came up.

  The rest of the week had been packed with family stuff. And Malcolm’s parents and siblings had treated me like their own, helping ease the sting of my first Thanksgiving without my mom and sister. I’d even gotten the guts to call my dad and invite him to Thanksgiving dinner, unable to bear the thought of him being alone when I had the power to change that.

  Turns out he’d given me the line about work because he didn’t want to put pressure on me to come home. He’d sensed how much I didn’t want to be at our house. After dinner, we’d gone outside and talked. He’d told me how relieved he was to see me, to see I was doing all right—happy even. Without planning it, I’d admitted to him what I’d been going through, how lost I’d been feeling. The moment the words “I’m gay” were out, I’d gone into a panic. But my dad had just taken a long, deep breath, nodded, then squeezed my shoulder and thanked me for telling him. He said after losing people you love, everything takes on a new perspective. And judging me for who I wanted to date would be ridiculous. We made plans to see each other for Christmas break, and for the first time since Mom and Samantha had died, I had hope that we’d both be okay.

  I smiled into the darkness. By the time pumpkin pie had been served that night, I’d realized that I had a lot to be thankful for at Thanksgiving after all. And a big part of it was the guy sleeping across the room from me. The guy whose mere presence was keeping me awake.

  I rolled to my side, trying to will myself to sleep. But a few minutes later, a ding came from Malcolm’s side and the dark room lit with the light of his phone. There was fumbling then a groan and a few choice words.

  “Who the hell is texting you this late?” I asked, surprised that Malcolm hadn’t been sleeping after all. He hadn’t said a word in an hour.

  “Chrissy’s drunk texting me. Either that or her autocorrect is really screwed up. Wants to know if she can come over.”

  My teeth ground against each other, but I tried to keep calm as I lay there, eyes closed, counting to ten. A lot had changed between me and Malcolm, but I also was aware that he was bi, and we hadn’t made any kind of exclusive dating declaration. Girls could still turn his head. “Do you want her to come over?”

  There was a long silence and then a pillow landed right on my head, earning an oof from me.

  “Stupid ass,” Malcolm said from across the room. “What part of this past week didn’t you understand?”

  I pulled the pillow off me and tossed it back his way. “I don’t know. Maybe you want both.”

  “Or maybe I’ve been lying over here for two hours, trying to go to sleep but can’t because I know you’re over there.” He shifted in the bed. “But we promised to take things slow, so I’m being good.”

  I grinned. Malcolm being good. The apocalypse must be around the corner. “Very valiant of you.”

  “You’re telling me,” he grumbled. “I deserve some sort of medal.”

  Or maybe he deserved something else. I rolled to my side and reached for my phone. After pressing a few things, I opened the window I wanted and typed.

  BamaBoy42: Wanna chat?

  Malcolm’s phone dinged again. He huffed in frustration, no doubt expecting another booty call text from Chrissy, but I could almost hear his smile from my side of the room.

  Derrick362: Shouldn’t u be sleeping?

  BamaBoy42: I would be but can’t stop thinking about my hot roommate. Distract me.

  Derrick362: I’m completely naked right now.

  I pressed my face to my pillow, breath whooshing out of me. Was he teasing me or being serious?

  BamaBoy42: That IS distracting. Why r u naked?

  Derrick362: Was thinking about my 1st time.

  BamaBoy42: Yeah? Was it that good?

  I guessed Malcolm was still playing the Derrick role because I knew for a fact his first time was with Kate Meyer and he’d broken three condoms before he figured out how to get one on the right way. It hadn’t been ideal.

  I stared at the screen, waiting for the reply.

  “No, but it’s going to be,” Malcolm said, his voice right behind me.

  Everything inside me tensed. I rolled onto my back, finding Malcolm standing at the side of my bed. I raised myself up onto my elbows, letting my gaze openly travel over him. That simple act was such a luxury after spending so long averting my eyes. He’d lied about being naked. He wore a pair of low-slung track pants, and his hair was a disaster from lying in bed. But seeing him half dressed like that never got old—my stomach clenched every damn time.

  I wet my lips. “You’ve already had a first time.”

  “No, nothing’s counted before now,” he said, peering down at me, his stance confident but vulnerability written all over his features. “But if you want me to walk back over to my side of the room, I will. No problem. But if you don’t . . .”

  I scooted over and pulled the covers back. I couldn’t say anything, my heart had climbed right up my throat and set up camp. But I’d thought about this for so long, for so many nights, dreamed of Malcolm one day crossing those few feet that separated us and climbing into my bed. After only a moment of hesitation, he lowered himself to the bed and stretched out alongside me. The warmth of him, his scent alone, had my body waking up and standing at attention.

  This was it. This was happening.

  He turned onto his side to face me, nervousness rolling off him. “Please tell me you want this.”

  I swallowed past the knot in my throat and reached out for him, cupping the back of his neck and touching my forehead to his. “I don’t want this. I want you.”

  His muscles relaxed in my hold and his mouth met mine, the kiss drawing our bodies against each other and settling some of the fear. The sensation was new and different with each step we took forward. Intimidating and a little scary, too. Holding a guy like this, feeling arousal that matched mine pressing against me, anticipating what would
happen next. But despite the nerves, everything finally felt right, like I was where I was supposed to be.

  Malcolm groaned when I rocked my hips against him, and his reaction gave me the confidence I needed. I let myself off leash, exploring however I wanted. His hair, the hard planes of his chest . . . lower. When I wrapped my hand around him, the low, sexy sound he made nearly did me in. Yes. This.

  Somewhere along the way, clothes were tugged off and tossed to the side. The kisses moved from lips to other places, seeking, tasting. And by the time, I reached for supplies in my bedside drawer, there was no fear left between us.

  In those moments, in that small cell of a dorm room, the place of so many months of torture for us both, there were three things I knew for sure.

  One: This wouldn’t be easy.

  Two: We still had a lot to figure out.

  Three: I didn’t freaking care.

  Because when I woke up a few hours later, finding Malcolm stretched out behind me, arm thrown over my waist, I knew it would all be worth it.

  Two in the morning had never felt so right.

  About the Author

  RONI LOREN wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives in Dallas with her husband and son.

  If she’s not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rock stars, er, rock concerts. Yeah, that’s it.

  She is the nationally bestselling author of the Loving on the Edge series.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.comfor exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Believe in Me

  JENNIFER L. ARMENTROUT

  WRITING AS J. LYNN

  IF THERE WAS ever a manual—something like Picking up Girls for Dumbasses—I could edit slash ghostwrite that mammoth tome in a nanosecond. Ever since I was twelve years old, I had a knack for obtaining company of the feminine kind.

  Hell. When I died, my tombstone would read something like: Here lies Oliver (Ollie) Ryan. He sure got a lot of play in his charmed life.

  And I didn’t discriminate.

  Cougar. Kitten. Black. White and every shade of skin tone in-between. Curvalicious and then some or skinny as a sheet of paper, it didn’t matter. I just loved females and they loved me.

  All except for one girl.

  Brittany Simmons had never been a fan of my happy—and quite delectable—ass. My med school would be paid for if I had a buck for every time she rolled her eyes at me when I suggested we get to know each other better or walked away from me while I was in the middle of telling her something extremely important.

  Like how great we’d look together in my bed. That hadn’t gone over like I expected.

  When I’d said it to her at a party once, she’d looked like she’d been seconds away from punching me in my balls. And I liked my balls just the way they were, so I’d moved far, far away from her that night.

  And if I remembered correctly, I moved on to this cute little brunette who wanted to do other things with my balls that didn’t involve pain.

  Brit and I had this sort of antagonistic flirt thing going on my whole last year of undergrad. She was good friends with my roomie’s girlfriend, so we ran into each quite a bit around campus and outside. No conversation we had didn’t involve heavy innuendoes and end with some sort of insult being flung in my direction.

  Maybe I needed to buy her a turtle. That seemed to have worked for Cam.

  Then again, she’d probably throw the turtle in my face and that wouldn’t be fun, but she’d look hot doing it.

  Brit . . . well, Brit was a different type of girl than the one I spent time with. As sexy as any of the girls with her shoulder-length blond hair and deep brown eyes. And what I’d seen of her curvy hips and shapely legs was enough to make me start drooling at any given moment. But it was more than that. The girl was smart and didn’t seem scared of shit. With her snappy comebacks and nuclear level of resistance when it came to me, she’d always presented the kind of challenge any guy would go for.

  But a month or so back, the night before I’d left for med school, something had changed in her when we’d ran into each other in the parking lot of Cam and Avery’s apartment building.

  Dressed in sweats and a plain T-shirt, hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and without a drop of makeup on, she’d still managed to pull off sexy like no one else.

  I’d grinned as she’d stopped between the two first rows, waiting while I swaggered up to her. “You miss me already?”

  She’d cocked her hair to the side and raised an eyebrow. “You’re leaving tomorrow, right? For WVU?”

  “Yep.”

  “Med school?” When I’d nodded, she’d laughed softly. “You’re going to have to cut back on the partying.”

  “Whatever. I’m great at multitasking.”

  Brit had stared at me, the skin around her full lips—lips I’d give up all my fingers to know how they tasted and felt—pinched. “You are not going to still party like you do now while in med school.”

  I wouldn’t. I’d be stupid to do so, but she hadn’t needed to know that. “Why not?”

  Her eyes had rolled. “Because the last time I checked, med school is pretty hard.”

  “Believe it or not . . .” I’d leaned down, tweaking the tip of her nose. “I’m smarter than most people realize. “

  Her nose had scrunched as she’d pulled back. “I know you are.”

  The statement had caught me off guard and I’d said nothing as a slight smile crossed her face. “That’s the one thing I like about you, Ollie. You’re smart.”

  I’d snapped out of it. “The only thing you like about me?”

  “It’s not the only thing,” she’d replied. “You have a nice ass.”

  A laugh burst from me, and her smile had spread. “I always knew you’d been checking me out this whole damn time.”

  Brit had shrugged as she shifted her weight.

  “And you wait until the night before I leave to tell me? That’s wrong.”

  She’d laughed softly, but the smile on her face had quickly slipped away. “Are you going to behave yourself?”

  To this day I had no idea why I’d said what I had, nor could I have predicted its effect on me. “Of course,” I’d said. And the next words had to have climbed out of my ass. “For you.”

  She’d drawn in a shallow breath and then stretched up. She’d kissed my cheek, and fuck if my heart hadn’t lurched like something crazy in my chest. “Please take care of yourself,” she’d whispered, her lips brushing my cheek.

  I’d watched her rock back and a small, sad smile filled her pouty lips before she’d nodded once and then turned, heading toward the apartment building.

  Damn if I hadn’t wanted to chase after her.

  That had almost been two months ago, and that chaste, sweet little kiss on my cheek was the most action I’d seen in that time.

  It was like being a damn virgin again for me.

  But I was back in the little speck of the Eastern Panhandle for the weekend. I was out here, sitting in my car like one of those weird men who hung out near college parties in vans, reminiscing about the good old days.

  Scrubbing a hand down my jaw, I then killed the engine and glanced over at the three-story home. Light spilled out of the garage. Place wasn’t too packed. Hell, I wasn’t sure why I came here. Okay. That was a lie. I’d been planning on coming down for a visit to see my friends, but I hadn’t planned on the party. But Cam was going. So was Avery.

  And they told me Brit would be here.

  And so here I was. With a purpose that didn’t involve getting shit-faced. At least right off the bat. I needed all my functioning brain cells, because I had to talk to Brit. Needed to know if there was some
thing between us after a year’s worth of flirting and smack talk. If there was, then damn if we didn’t need to act on it, so I could get her the hell out of my head. And if there wasn’t, then at least I had my answer and I could get her the hell out of my head.

  The whole point of tonight was to get back to normal, and normal for me wasn’t lusting after any one girl in particular, especially one who’d only kissed my cheek for shit’s sake.

  Yanking the rubber band off my wrist, I pulled my hair back from my face and reached for the bottle—

  A knock on the window jarred me and my head swung toward it. My heart jumped. Not from surprise either. Surprise would’ve been better.

  Brit stared in at me. Those big, beautiful brown eyes of hers were outlined in black. A grin curled her lips up at the corners as thick lashes lowered. “Scare ya?”

  For a moment, I did nothing but stare at her like a dumbass. God, it had only been about two months since I’d last seen her, but I swore I still could feel her lips on my cheek.

  “Ollie?” Her smile started to slip.

  Snapping out of it, I reached for the door and stepped out. Brit moved back, her eyes following me as I straightened to my full height. I was a tall guy, well over six feet, but Brit wasn’t too much of a shortie. Her lips lined up with my chin.

  “You’ve been waiting out here for me?” I asked, grinning as she rolled her eyes. “Admit it. You were.”

  Wearing one of those sweater dresses, I had a hell of a hard time keeping my eyes off her pretty legs as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Actually, I just got here and saw you sitting in your car. I was hoping you weren’t passed out already.”

  “Come on, you know me better than that. It’s at the end of the night when I’m usually passed out in my car.”

  “True.” She laughed softly as she glanced at the frat house and then swept her gaze over me. “You look . . . you look good.”