"Shame."
"You can tell me right now."
"You are beautiful," he whispers, accentuating each word.
"Orange hair not a turnoff?"
"Turnoff?" He frowns. "That’s the best part. A girl daring the world to notice her is the kind of girl you’d want by your side."
A knot forms in my throat. I swallow past it. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. And I guess it’s the truth. I do want the word to see me. To see me as an individual, not as my parents’ daughter. Because in their eyes, I’ll always be good for nothing.
"Ride or die kinda girl?" I ask gingerly.
Cruz shakes his head. "Fuck no. I’m talking about the kind of girl who’d walk through fire and come out on the other side screaming ‘Is that all you got?’ No fucking dying here."
I try to hide my smile. "Sounds exhausting."
"It is," he admits. "But it’s also the best feeling in the world. With great risk comes great reward, right?"
Then he leans in, the space between our mouths shrinking, and I brace myself for another kiss.
And when it comes, it’s pure bliss. A combination of soft and firm. His hands are all over me, mapping my curves, and I arch into his touch. I run my fingers over his body, memorizing the contours of his abs, the tattoos on his skin, the swell of his biceps.
It’s not enough, I realize. This teasing is not enough to satisfy my craving.
Breathing heavily, I pull away from him and instruct him to lower the back of the seat. He does it without questioning my intention.
I lift myself up and hurl myself across the console to straddle him.
"Oh…okay," he rasps out, and his large, warm hand cups my ass through my tee.
"This will give us some strategic advantages," I explain.
"Strategic advantages, huh?" He smirks. "To do what?"
"What do you think?"
"Beats me."
I grab his chin with one hand, tilting his face up. "But this is a one-time-only deal." I’m being reckless. I know it. I should have told Jett last night that we’re over. Only, he paid for my goddamn ticket. So I’ll do it in LA. In my heart, we’re not together anymore. I deserve to have fun. But somehow, the guilt is still there, in the back of my mind. And I know I won’t be able to look at Cruz after this. Won’t be able to look at him and not think about my stabbing Jett in the back. So the only way I can do this is if it won’t turn into more.
"Well, I’m not a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy," Cruz starts.
"Today, with me, you are."
He thinks for a long time, as if I’ve given him a math problem, then says, "Okay. If that’s what you want."
I nod, leaning in, and whisper in his ear, "Let’s fuck, then."
Cruz groans, his hips buck up, and I can feel how hard he’s gotten.
From here on, it’s intense. No words. Just the language of two starved-for-release bodies. My tee stays on, but he slips one hand beneath it and cups my breast through my bra. His touch is like an electric charge everywhere his skin comes in contact with mine.
"I’ve been dying to do this all night," he groans.
"I thought you said this wasn’t your intention."
"Intention and wanting are two different things."
