“You steer and brake when I tell you,” Ian says, resting a hand on the gearshift. “I’ll handle the rest.”
“Are you sure?” I calculate how many chores it will take me to fix this if I screw up his car. It’s gotta be somewhere in the indentured servitude level.
Ian levels his gaze at me. “Do I strike you as unsure?”
“Remember that when I destroy your transmission,” I squeak.
Ian shifts the car into drive, and I tap the gas. The car lurches forward.
I slam on the brakes, and we both jerk against our seat belts. Ian groans.
“Let’s go slow,” he says, “so we don’t die, because I have so many plans for you that don’t involve dying.”
I punch him in the arm, and I’m rewarded with one of his heartbreaking smiles.
My foot hovers over the gas pedal, and I lay it down ever so slightly. It barely feels like I’m touching it. We don’t even make it out of first gear as we roll down the long driveway.
Ian groans, and by the sound of it, you would think I just stabbed him or something.
“You are killing me, Stormy,” he says through gritted teeth. “I take back everything I said. If we don’t get back to the Academy within the next hour, I am going taste that sweet pussy of yours in my car until you fucking scream.”
I hit the gas a little too hard.
Ian laughs.
“Let go of the gas,” he instructs as we pick up speed. “Gently hit the brake.”
He shifts gears. We continue, him directing me that way until we are out on the highway.
We glide over black asphalt hills, alongside a never-ending thicket of trees, the car hugging curves illuminated by nothing except the full moon and starlight.
27
Harlow
Every movement of his Lamborghini is fluid, the ride smooth and steady.
I’m struck by something as I pull into the student parking garage and then carefully park the car in his spot. He hasn’t once looked at his phone. He seems content with me, no distractions necessary. Even Molly looks at her phone while I’m talking sometimes, and Molly is the most polite person I know.
“You can handle my stick anytime, sweetness,” he teases, turning off the engine and undoing my harness before his own. He grins at me, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness of the car. “Let’s get you to my room before I have a heart attack. You are literally killing me over here.”
I giggle.
It feels like a dream being with him, like I’m going to wake up at any moment and miss this fantasy. I slide out of the car and close the door. He grabs my hand.
“You’re not going to have a heart attack, Ian,” I chide, my tone soft. “You’re like the fittest person I know.”
He leads me to exit the garage and holds the door for me. Chilly air greets me.
“Maybe I’ll take you to the gym,” he says, grabbing my hand again. He looks serious, but I can’t decide if he is messing with me or not. “One of these days, I’ll show you the positions that really get my heart rate going. Maybe I’ll even let you score a home run.”
“You’re a football player,” I tease, my face giving away my blush. “Shouldn’t you stick to football euphemisms?”
Ian raises a dark eyebrow as we cross the quad. Grass pads our footsteps. “Who said I don’t play baseball?”
I laugh because, of course, he’s not joking.
“Are we going to get in trouble?” I say as we arrive at his dorm, a monolithic monstrosity with Roman columns for days.
If I’m being honest, it’s not Headmistress DuMonte or the punishment if we are caught that scares me. It’s me and what I might do with him.
Ian shakes his head. “The Administration doesn’t care as long as no one ends up pregnant. That would be bad for the Academy’s reputation and all.”
He swipes his key card, and the door unlocks with a click. He leads me by the hand into a lobby identical to the one in the girl’s dormitory. We take the stairs. Even as we walk, he never releases my hand. We arrive at the top floor, and I am breathless, but I know it’s not just from the climb.
It’s him. Ian Beckett, star quarterback and dirty talk aficionado, who stole all my breath weeks ago, leaving me to get by on borrowed air.
I glance over at him. His black hair is tousled. His cheeks are warm from the cool wind. He looks like he just went for a mild stroll.
“We really have to work on your stamina, Stormy,” he says with a simper. “Don’t worry. I’ll practice with you every night.”
Fire kindles in my belly and ignites. It feels like I am being incinerated from the inside out, but I relish the burn.
Ian unlocks the door in less than two seconds and tugs me inside.
I expect to see a bedroom like the one I share with Molly. Instead, we stand in a compact kitchen that leads to a living area with a flat screen television mounted to the wall and a sleek black leather sofa across from it.
Ian throws his keys on the counter and shrugs off his jacket before laying it beside his keys. Seeing my perplexed expression, he says, “Perks of being an RA. Someone around here has to keep the boys in line.”
“You’re the RA?” I ask. “I thought that was reserved for seniors.”
Ian shakes his head. “Seniors get even nicer rooms. Plus, if you were a senior, would you want to spend your last year trying to wrangle our fellow classmates?”
I grin. “Absolutely not.”
Ian walks up behind me and stands there. I feel his presence as I take in the room. The space smells like him, exotic yet masculine.
