And my decision to cross that line?
Was no longer a decision, or a question, it was a promise.
One I sealed with a searing kiss.
Chapter Nineteen
Fallon
HE NEEDED TO STOP kissing me. It wasn’t fair. To either of us, but mainly in our current situation—it wasn’t fair to me. To girls like me in general.
His mouth hungrily nipped at mine, as his lips explored.
I put a hand between us to create some space and took a step back, Zane’s breathing was heavy, laborious, his eyes wild. “What’s wrong?”
“You.”
“Me,” he repeated dumbly, then took another threatening step toward me, this time tugging my body against his while he swallowed kiss after kiss until I lost count of how many times our lips brushed—or the number of moans he emitted out of me as he angled his head different ways, pressing his hands to my hips then running them up my body until I trembled.
I felt thoroughly seduced.
And taken advantage of.
“You’re,” I said between small, heated, wet kisses. “Paying.” He was persistent, I’d give him that, but I couldn’t let myself fall for it, fall for the guy who was ninety-nine percent wrong and maybe one percent right. “Me.”
“Then I’ll stop paying you,” he growled, his scruff brushed against my skin as he peppered more kisses across my lips. “Do you even realize how much you talk?” His calloused hands grazed the skin beneath my sweatshirt, my knees knocked together as I let myself give in to him, just briefly, just enough so that I’d be satisfied.
But it was Zane.
And every kiss was better than the last.
So stopping with the knowledge that he just got better and better, made me want to throw something across the room—mainly him.
He smiled against my mouth. “Stop thinking so much.”
“You’re a horrible influence,” I huffed, taking the lead in kissing as I tangled my hands in his hair and tugged his mouth harder against mine.
With a curse, he wrapped his arms around my body and crushed me against him.
None of my high school experiences had ever felt like Zane: pure, raw, masculine. I wasn’t kissing a teenage boy from the football team. He was worldly, experienced, playing me like his favorite guitar as his fingers deftly skimmed up my back and pulled off my sweatshirt, only pulling away seconds before his mouth was on mine again.
One minute I had a sweatshirt on.
The next, it was magically on the floor, joining my shorts as he tugged them down.
What was happening?
It was like I was watching everything outside my own body. The moans coming from my throat foreign as his tongue flicked across my lower lip.
Seriously, did he have a degree in kissing too?
Should I ask?
Was that appropriate?
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against my neck, taking his time to kiss every inch of exposed skin until I squirmed.
“Don’t.” I finally caught my breath as he glanced down at me. “Don’t call me beautiful just to get me into bed.”
He frowned. “Is that what you think? Seriously?”
I didn’t nod. But I also didn’t answer.
“Fallon.” His voice was gruff. “Tell me you don’t really think I’d lie to you just so I could sleep with you.”
“Well.” I shivered and stepped away. “You do call me four eyes, and you compared my last pair of glasses to something you’d find in a donation box, so what do you expect me to think? That in the last few days you’ve suddenly developed a thing for me?” Finally thinking clearly, mainly because he wasn’t kissing me anymore but staring at me with this weird horrified expression like I’d just run over his dog or something, when clearly I was the injured party, I grabbed my sweatshirt and tossed it over my head tugging it down. “It’s fine. You just got caught up. I’m sure it happens to you all the time.”
He pressed his lips together then ran his hands over the back of his head, turning around in a small circle before crossing his arms. His gaze met mine again. “So… I’m just caught up in the moment?”
“Zane.” I rolled my eyes. “Stop making such a big deal about this. I’m not mad. I get it, you’re used to getting a lot of action, and I’m…” I shrugged. “Available.” I offered a small smile. “I’m honored you would stoop to my level.” He winced at my joke. “But, I’m a girl.”
“I noticed,” he grit out.
“And regardless of how hard I try, I will end up falling more, and that’s not fair, you know? I’m fully capable of understanding what this is between us.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows shot up. “And what is it?”
I shrugged. “Convenience and maybe a bit of pity.”
He glared.
“On your end, you pity me, which is fine. I just—it’s just not fair, and I’m pretty sure any girl in my position would hop into bed with you and take a selfie, but I’m not that girl. I think I’ve discovered I’m more fragile than that.”
Zane shook his head and then cursed out an. “Unbelievable.”
“Hey!” I wagged my finger at him. “You’re the one who climbed into my window. I just don’t want to be the reason you can’t finish your album, and honestly, the only chance we have of coming out of this friends is if you keep your promise.”
“And what was that?” he whispered hoarsely. “My promise?”
“You said you wouldn’t seduce me.”
“Hmm.” He seemed to think about that sentence way longer than necessary. “Does it work both ways, my promise?”
“Huh?”
“What if you seduce me?”
“Uh…” I took a cautious step back. “That won’t happen.”
“Sure it won’t.” He winked. “I suddenly feel so much better.”
“That concerns me.”
“It should.”
“Zane….”
“Fallon…” He grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I know you don’t believe me, but sometimes, a guy kisses a girl with pure intentions. Did you ever think that I kissed you simply because you looked pretty and I couldn’t help myself?”
No. Because it was a line. I shook my head.
“It would be nice.” He looked past me out the window. “Just one time, to be treated like a normal human. One who scaled a girl’s house because he wanted to see her, apologize to her, hear her voice. It would be nice, to be that guy, the one that she was waiting for. The one she didn’t reject just because she was afraid. The one she didn’t deny because she assumes things she shouldn’t.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“Don’t believe everything you see or read, Fallon. I thought you were better than that.”
“What are you saying?” My eyes narrowed as he dropped my hand and walked past me. “Zane?”
“I’m saying,” He put one leg over the window then the next. “That things aren’t always what they seem. And I’ve never been desperate or bored enough to climb into a girl’s window and take the leap of faith by kissing her, especially with her armed father downstairs just waiting for a chance to try out his new gun.”
I pressed my hands to my lips and sighed.
Zane winked. “Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.”
I scowled, removing my hands. “And sometimes it’s exactly what it looks like. A guy crawling into a girl’s window in hopes for a midnight booty call.”
Shock registered on his face before a smile curved the corners of his beautiful mouth. “I think you’d be shocked to find out just how many of those I’ve had.”
“Trying to keep it in the double digits, huh?” I fired back just as he climbed down and waved goodbye.
Frustrated, I slammed my window shut and locked it, then stomped over to my bed and hugged a pillow.
It didn’t matter what he said.
Because I’d only known him a couple of days.
And he was asking me to trust him, not the hundreds
and thousands of media sites that painted him as this horrified virgin deflowering villain.
How many girls I wondered, had fallen under the spell of his kiss, the way he made them feel like it was the first time for him too—how many?
I didn’t want to be number thirty-seven or eighty-seven in a long list of women who were seduced by his insane amount of charm.
I sent one last text to him.
Fallon: What time tomorrow?
Zane: For sex?
Fallon: Very funny. What time for inspiration?
Zane: Are you asking about sex again?
I let out a little growl and typed furiously on my phone.
Fallon: Do you need me or not? Because I have things to do.
He waited a few minutes then texted back.
Zane: I like doing things.
I rolled my eyes and glared up at the ceiling. Great, now I had to make up a thing I needed to do.
Fallon: Shopping for…clothes.
Zane: I love shopping.
Had to admit, he was persistent in every area of his life.
With a sigh, I typed back.
Fallon: Fine, but no kissing, no touching, no seducing, none of the above. We go as friends or co-workers or something.
Zane: Did you really just co-worker me?
I smirked down at my phone.
Zane: Four eyes, we cleaned bathrooms together, I HELPED YOU DISPOSE OF A CONDOM, is this all our relationship means to you? Co-workers?
I giggled and turned off my light as the phone buzzed again.
Zane: You may as well call me your “acquaintance” when making introductions, even though I’ve tasted you—numerous times.
Fallon: Stop!
Zane: At least three times now? Right? Or is it two? By the way, did you know that you taste amazing? I may write a song about it, strawberries and cotton candy, damn, I could go for those right now. You may even be better than marshmallows.
Fallon: BLASPHEMY!
Zane: Don’t yell, they’ll hear you.
I tucked my phone under my pillow only to hear it buzz again.
Zane: Let me take you shopping.
Fallon: Are you pulling a Pretty Woman on me, Mr. Gere?
Zane: Well, I am rich.
Fallon: Should I be charging more?????
Zane: Hilarious. I’ll pick you up in the morning, bring snacks, this could take a while. I’ve been in your closet.
Rejection washed over me. See! I knew it! He was kissing me because I was convenient! Not because he found me even the least bit attractive.
Zane: Though my vote will always be no clothes, you have killer legs, you know that right? BTW I wouldn’t say no to a few scantily clad pictures—just to get me through the night.
I Googled a picture of a marshmallow and edited it to put a bikini top on it then sent it.
Zane: I think I just orgasmed.
Fallon: There’s more where that came from.
Zane: Talk dirty to me—wait let me get comfortable—shirt’s off, I’m ready, hit me with it.
I grabbed a few more pictures of s’mores and sent them over.
Zane: Oh baby…That’s the spot. I think—I’m—going to—
His text ended.
Two minutes went by.
Fallon: Did you die?
Zane: No, I got hungry then felt awkward eating food porn, so I stole Jay’s Lucky Charms. Hey, since we’re sending dirty texts I think we should have phone sex, you know, to make it not weird that you were just sending me pictures of marshmallows. What are you wearing again?
Fallon: Nice try.
I yawned and smiled down at my phone. AH! Why did he have to be so funny?
Zane: I’m naked.
My breath hitched, and my mind shot to the visual of him dropping the blanket. Bad Fallon. Bad Fallon.
With trembling fingers, I typed out.
Fallon: Naked in bed with marshmallows? I may be jealous.
Zane: I did offer to share…
Fallon: I’m pretty sure our ideas of sharing are different.
Zane: Doubtful. After all, you did kiss me back. Damn it, just think of all those places my tongue didn’t get to explore! Cruel woman.
Fallon: I can’t believe you just said that!
Zane: I HAD PLANS!
Fallon: I’m sure you did.
Zane: I guess the marshmallows will have to hold me over until then.
Fallon: Then?
Zane: When you let me keep you in my arms for longer than a few minutes—when I’m yours to keep right back.
The conversation had shifted.
And I didn’t know what to do.
My heart was trying in vain to pump out of my chest while my fingers hovered over the phone. What was I supposed to say back?
Finally, I managed to get a text out.
Fallon: One day you’ll find the marshmallow for you ;)
Zane: What if I already did?
Abort! I needed to stop talking to him.
Zane: I’m making you uncomfortable. You don’t know me. I get it. But give it time, pretty soon you’ll have everything about me memorized, maybe by then your judgment won’t be clouded by what you see on the internet and you’ll see me, just me.
Fallon: And who is Zane Andrews?
He didn’t reply back right away.
Zane: Sometimes, I think, he’s still the scared little boy who was abandoned by his sisters and dropped off in foster care when the love of his life died.
I gasped.
Fallon: I had no idea. I’m so sorry.
Zane: Everyone’s sorry. It doesn’t change the fact that it happened.
Fallon: I know.
Zane: Tomorrow. Don’t forget. And if you don’t bring marshmallows, I’m eating you. Your choice.
Chapter Twenty
Zane
I SLEPT LIKE SHIT most of the night, tossing and turning as nightmares haunted me as if I was experiencing them all over again.
“Come on, Zane.” She giggled. “What’s the big deal? Touch me.”
“I’m busy.” I yawned and snagged my AP Psych book in an attempt to put some distance between me and Cassie, just another girl in a blur of girls whose only goal in life was to get me to jump between her thighs.
But I didn’t have time for that life.
I ran the entire way to the house I’d been living in for the past three months. Rejection heated my face as I ducked and tried to run up the stairs.
“Zane!” Mrs. Angel shouted my name with glee. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Great.
When wasn’t she waiting for me?
“Come have a snack!”
“I ate.”
Silence and then. “I provide a roof over your head, the least you can do is try my chocolate chip cookies. I made them just for you.”
Yeah, I bet she did.
I avoided eye contact as I hurriedly jogged into the kitchen and tried to swipe a cookie off the plate only to have my foster mom, the seventh I’d had in the past ten years, place her hand on mine and giggle. “There, there, isn’t that better?”
She was high again.
I slumped my shoulders and begrudgingly sat on the chair, irritated that I was going to have to stay up until she passed out and make sure the rest of the kids got their homework done.
It was a vicious cycle.
She tried to touch me.
I avoided her like the plague.
Until I agreed to go to her bedroom with her, only to tuck her into bed and leave.
Bile rose up in my throat as her fingertips danced up my forearm. “You’re growing up so much.”
“Almost eighteen.” I muttered snatching my arm away. “You should make these cookies for my birthday.” I took another huge bite. “They’re good!”
“I have lots of good to offer.” Her eyes darkened just as the screen door slammed.
“Zane!” Phillip lunged for my lap then with a huge jump landed in my arms and swiped my cookie, it was in his mouth b
efore I could even utter a hello. “I missed you.”
Mrs. Angel, as she had us call her, reared back and pretended to be arranging the cookies on the plate, but we both knew what she had been doing, again, since the first day of my arrival.
She, like every other female in my life, wanted something from me. Something of the sexual nature.
Sometimes I wondered if it was my fault.
Was I too nice?
Too polite?
Grandma had taught me to be all of those things.
“Phillip.” Mrs. Angel clapped her hands. “Why don’t you wash your hands while Zane helps me upstairs really quick. I’m tired.”
Phillip jumped off my lap and made a beeline for the bathroom while Mrs. Angel narrowed her gaze on me.
Sighing, I grabbed her outstretched hand and walked her up the creaky stairs and into her dark bedroom.
The blinds were drawn.
It smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat.
I stuffed one hand in my pocket, grasping the marshmallow I’d stuffed in there after lunchtime. It was the one thing that Mrs. Angel did right. She bought marshmallows, but sometimes I had to save them for days, making them hard, impossible to eat, but at least I could grasp it, know that as long as I had the marshmallows, Grandma was there with me.
“Tuck me in, Zane?” Mrs. Angel winked, pulling her ratty blonde hair back into a ponytail. On the outside, she was the perfect foster parent. A nurse by day and a fantastic mother to six foster boys at night, her husband was a cop.