A. Jackson - When We Met

I had, that was for damned sure.

I could kiss a thousand girls and not one of them could stir up a modicum of the feeling Misha had brought to a full boil in me in one singular touch.

To be honest, it scared me a little, just how intense it was.

I mean, shit, here I was, basically stalking this girl, looking for a moment to talk to her. Chasing her. And I would have let it go . . . let her go . . . if I hadn’t witnessed what I’d seen so clearly on her face last weekend at the club, like she was begging me to somehow make it better and she was just too scared to ask, too many doubts holding her back.

There was no place inside me that could ignore that silent plea.

I’d gotten lucky and seen her slipping out the door this evening. She’d walked in the opposite direction of campus, heading to whatever secret place she stole to those evenings when she came back with a smile flooding her precious face.

Maybe I’d get to see it now, where she went, and from afar I could experience what brought her joy.

Every part of me screamed that I wanted to bring it to her, too.

Joy.

My heart squeezed.

How had this girl gotten so far under my skin? Like she’d come out of nowhere, a rogue wave that had barreled over me unseen, dragging me under. And there was no coming back up.

Misha suddenly cut through the crowd. On the left, she swung open a large plate-glass door nestled along the row of businesses lining the bustling walkway. She disappeared inside. Swallowing, I wove a little faster through the crush of people on the sidewalk, anxious not to lose her, more anxious to make out the sign hanging over the door.

I squinted.

CHILDREN’S LANGUAGE AND SPEECH PATHOLOGY.

Frowning, I cupped my hands around my eyes and pressed them to the hazy glass, peering inside to the large, open space.

So it wasn’t the most inconspicuous move. But what the hell? It wasn’t like she hadn’t already known I was there.

Chairs lined the walls of the front room, and a reception area sat to the far back in the center. White double doors rested on each side of it, passageways to what I could only assume would be some sort of clinic-style rooms behind them.

But none of those things were what interested me.

It was Misha.

She stood facing away, lost in an army of all these little kids that were probably four or five years old circling her legs, their faces all lit up with excitement as they smiled up at her.

Like she was their light.

Guess she had that way about her.

People who I could only assume were their parents sat in chairs that were placed along the walls, watching with soft smiles on their faces while Misha and another girl I’d never seen before, although she had to be close to Misha’s age, gathered all the kids and started playing these games with them. Enraptured, the kids all went along with the instructions, grinning through their small faces, tossing their heads back as they roared with laughter, Misha tickling and loving and smiling so wide it twisted me up tight and my breath got caught right in the center of my throat.

She was always stunning. Beautiful. But seeing her there, so happy amid all those kids?

I rubbed at my chest.

I didn’t know what to make of her or what I felt. Why I was so intrigued.

Why I was hooked.

Images made an unwelcome pass through my mind. Every fantasy I’d ever had of her slammed me with guilt. Because I never should have witnessed her that way. Not like that. Not with him.

Anger built inside me, interlocking with that shame Misha wore like a broken crown on her head.

My fists clenched.

All of it just pissed me off.

This girl was innocent. I could feel it radiating from her, saturating her being.

Thoughts of the interactions Misha and I had shared eddied through my vision, this flustered girl who stumbled all over herself, stuttered over her own damned name.

I looked back to the glass. With pure affection, Misha dragged her fingers through the red curls of a little boy who had some sort of device stuck to his head with wires coming from it that ran to his ear. Giggling, he grinned up at her.

She spoke and laughed, leading them through a bunch of different activities.

Working with them, but not like it was work, but because it was her passion.

All of this? It meant something to her.

And I had the desperate need to mean something to her, too.

Misha

I read below the dim bulb attached to the generic floor lamp that was set up next to my bed. Sighing, I shifted, tucking my bent legs up closer to my chest while I adjusted the huge textbook on my lap. I rested back on the wooden headboard, going through the last two chapters in my psychology textbook, reviewing yet again all the material that would be covered on our test tomorrow.

Tonight had been good.

I’d been with my kids. Seeing their smiling faces always reminded me why I was here, giving me that encouragement to continue on.

Things had been difficult lately.

Well, lately meant since the moment Darryn Wild had come like a battering ram into my life, battering his way right into my heart.

Said muscle skipped and pattered, just a knee-jerk reaction that came with every thought of him, like a little thundered affirmation of my stupidity.

I liked being around him.

Way too much.

I liked the way he made me feel, liked the way he looked at me. God, I barely knew him, and still I liked everything about him.

But kissing him this last weekend? It’d shaken something loose in me that I was doing everything in my power to ignore.

It didn’t matter if I wanted to ignore it or not. It was there.

What I wouldn’t do to be normal. Maybe then I could embrace it.

Normal.

I scoffed, shifting my book as I struggled to focus on the words bleeding across the page.

What did that even mean?

But whatever it was, it wasn’t me. I never had felt that way, at least. My parents had worked so hard to ensure that I grew up living a normal life, but all their efforts had only made me feel the opposite. They didn’t mean to hinder me, to stunt my emotional growth, to narrow my developing mind.

But they’d done it nonetheless.

Still I wished I wasn’t this awkward little girl who didn’t have the first clue how to traverse the normal path of a college student.

Here I had made that one bold attempt with Hunter. And what did I do? Failed miserably. I’d been foolish enough to think I could just shuck it from my consciousness like a pair of dirty socks, leave it behind. One touch from Darryn had proven that theory wrong, and all those doubts came flooding back.

What if he was the same kind of guy as Hunter?

Every time Darryn came close, all those danger bells started ringing.

So I pretended I didn’t feel the pulsating ache in my chest when I thought of him. I wanted him. So much. And that scared me.

Bitterness shook my head. I was so tired of being scared, of being fearful people were watching me, worrying they were judging me. When would it ever stop?

Two soft knocks at my door stalled my reading, not that I was doing much of it.

I barely glanced up when I called, “Come in,” figuring it was one of my roommates.

The door cracked open. I gasped when all those darts of energy pinged against the boxed-in barriers of my walls, that tangible tension that seemed to follow him like a broiling summer storm spreading out to saturate every inch of my room. Only now they were amplified, driven by the frustration of what I had cut too short.

My legs flew from my chest and flat onto the mattress, and I splayed my book across my lap as if it would afford me some sort of cover. All I was wearing was a pair of black boy-short panties and a tank top, no bra, my hair loose.

Exposed and vulnerable.

And he was there, that boy-man-god standing in my open doorway.

Beautiful. Commanding. Potent.

Heat rushed and sped, covering every inch of my skin, smoldering on my neck and face. I felt myself glow like an ember under his gaze as he devoured me with his eyes, the same way he’d done with his mouth and hands and tongue this last weekend.

Oh. God.

A tremor traveled my body, dripping like melting ice as it slipped down my spine.

Hesitation held him back, like he was coming to some sort of decision, his steely gaze so intense I found myself at a loss for words. I had no power to make them form on my lips. Even if I could, I didn’t know what to say, because part of me was screaming at him to leave, to demand to know how he made it this far, invading my private space where I hid away.

The other part was just begging him to come near.

Apparently that was the part he heard.

Without a sound he stepped inside. He didn’t look away from me as he blindly snapped the door shut behind him and twisted the lock.

I gulped for the nonexistent air.

It was almost too much, being with him this way, drowning in the intensity of his presence.

He said nothing as he crossed the room.

Desire throbbed between my legs, a sensation that was a little bit foreign and a whole lot terrifying. I swallowed down the knot that formed in my throat. Finally I managed to force the words from the dried-out cavern of my mouth. “Wh-wh-what are you doing in here?” I sat forward, blinking through the stupor. “Y-you shouldn’t be here.”

The smallest of smirks lifted one side of his mouth as he tilted his head, not so cocky as self-assured. He dropped to his knees at the side of my bed. Without warning, he grabbed me by the outside of my legs, dragging me to the edge of the mattress, and he nestled between my bare thighs as his stomach pressed to the burning heat of my center.

I yelped, this tiny sound of resistance that was really an utterance of surrender.

“Yes, I should,” he murmured as he looked at me, his warm hand cupping my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.

Oh. Lord.

Defenseless.

That was the way he left me, a shivering mess of nerves in his arms as he stared up at me.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to mine. Softly. I whimpered but gave in, succumbed as he tugged at my bottom lip with his mouth before his tongue made a slow pass against mine.

Fire.

I let my hands wander over the planes of his chest and shoulders, my body jerking with pleasure as I felt his quiver beneath my touch.

“God, Misha,” rumbled up his throat as he rose onto his knees and deepened the kiss, pulling back before he dove in again, teasing us both with the idea of what we could be together. He gripped my face and whispered at my mouth, “I can’t stay away from you anymore. Can’t go one more night without knowing you’re mine.”

Inside, that timid girl shrank, but still I kissed him in between all her words that I couldn’t keep from tumbling out. “I c-c-can’t, Darryn . . . can’t do this . . . can’t be what you want me to be. . . . I’m not ready for this.”

He pulled away a fraction. Both of his hands tangled in my hair, not letting me go. “Then tell me what you’re ready for . . . anything. I just want to mean something to you.”

His words nearly tore me apart.

I wanted that so badly, to really mean something to someone.

He’d just reflected it back.

And the truth was, I wanted to mean something to him.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, stretching out a shaky hand and tracing the lines of his face. I trembled doing it, disbelief radiating to my bones that I was touching him. That he was here. And he wanted me.

“I can’t just jump into something with you, Darryn. I don’t even know you . . . a-a-and . . . and . . . I’ve been . . .” I paused, looked to the wall as I chewed at my lip and the red flushed hot. Maybe one day, as my trust grew, as he showed me what was happening between us was real, I’d tell him. Tell him everything. He needed to know. But for now, I settled on what I could bear. “I’ve been hurt.” I cast it from my mouth like a dirty confession.

A soft sigh filtered from his mouth, and he lifted himself up higher on his knees, bringing us level, nose-to-nose and face-to-face. He smiled slow. “We don’t have to rush, Misha, but we can’t ignore this, either. Just tell me . . . tell me you’re mine. That you want to be. Be my girl . . . and I’ll be satisfied to take whatever comes along with that.”