Reckless Love_A Second Chance Romance Page 2

  “I know you,” a deep timbre wrapped in pure, heated sex says, rumbling through the room like thunder before the rain on a summer night. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know he’s talking to me. I can feel his eyes on me, electrically raising the hairs on the back of my neck and causing my stomach to do an annoying swooping thing. I don’t acknowledge him. In my estimation, he’s gotten too much female attention in his life and I like the idea of making him work for it.

  Or maybe I’m being unfair to him. After all, it’s been years since I’ve seen him.

  “Melody, right?”

  Or maybe I was spot on. Dick. Melody is my sister’s name. She’s four freaking years older than me and was the goddess of our school and town. He knows I’m not Melody. He was good friends with my boyfriend in high school, and by extension, friendly with me. He knows I’m Lyric. So yeah, dick seems to work.

  The feet of the chair beside mine screech in protest against the linoleum floor before his large body descends into the seat and he slides himself in. I’m still facing Cass, whose dark chocolate eyes have officially bugged out of her head.

  “You know him?” she whisper-shouts, like the guy is not actually sitting on the other side of me within hearing range. “Totally would not have pegged you for the hot jock type. No judgement, but really?” She scrunches her nose up in distaste now that she’s past her physical admiration of him.

  “Of course, Music knows me. We go way back.”

  I close my eyes and release a silent breath. Couldn’t he just have kept going? Ignored me the way I’m ignoring him? I haven’t moved, but I’m getting closer to turning and giving this arrogant prick exactly what he’s after. My irritation.

  “You do know him?”

  I nod.

  “Do you want me to get rid of him? I can be a scary bitch when needed.”

  Jameson chuckles, and a large, well-groomed hand extends beyond me toward Cass. “Jameson,” he says smoothly. “Pleasure to meet any friend of Sonata’s.”

  I can’t stop my growl this time, and I hate that I just gave in to him because now he’s laughing instead of chuckling and his chair is moving just that much closer to mine. And hell, that laugh.

  “I’m Cass. You do know her name is Lyric, right? I seriously cannot tell if you’re just being a dick or if you really don’t know her name.”

  “He’s being a dick.”

  “You sure about that name, Cass? She looks more like an Opera to me.”

  “And by that you mean artistic, classic, and timelessly beautiful?” I say in a saccharine sweet voice, unable to stop it. My back is still to his because I haven’t dared to face him yet.

  “Timelessly beautiful, maybe, but I’d say more like, overly dramatic, brightly colored and larger than life.”

  I can’t help the small bubble of a laugh at that. I’m wearing a bright yellow shirt, ripped pink jeans and black Chucks. Touché.

  His shoulder nudges into my back, rubbing up and down once. “Nice to see you again, Lyric.”

  I turn, unable to resist the pull. I can’t determine if it’s curiosity or annoyance fueling me on. And hell, he’s even better up close. I don’t remember him looking like this when we were in high school. I remember him being tall, yes, but lankier and less defined. His hair wasn’t this caliber of perfection, either.

  College has turned Jameson Woods into a full-fledged man. He smiles at me, big and bright like he’s actually happy to see me, showcasing his perfect teeth and the tiniest hint of a dimple in his cheek. “Are you done checking me out yet? If not, take your time, because it’s giving me an excuse to do the same to you.”

  I roll my eyes at him and he gleams. I forgot what a flirt he could be.

  “Football?”

  “Soccer and baseball. Singer?”

  “Producer.”

  “Living on campus or in private housing?”

  “Campus in a single. You?”

  “Off-campus house with two friends.”

  “Finance major?”

  “Business and finance.” Jameson leans in and whispers in my ear, his warm breath brushing across my skin. “Charlie mentioned you were transferring here.”

  I turn fully to him, scrunching my eyebrows. I’m still vaguely friendly with my ex, as I am with most people we went to high school with, but not that friendly. I definitely don’t recall mentioning that I was coming here.

  “He Facebook stalks you, I think.” He throws me a wink and then grabs a beat-up notebook from his equally worn black shoulder bag and tosses it on the desktop, followed by a pen that has been chewed on and then some.

  “I never go on Facebook, and I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

  Jameson shrugs, popping the end of that pen into his mouth and rolling it around between his teeth a time or two before taking it out to speak again. “Don’t know what to tell you on that. I’ve been avoiding that guy like herpes for over a year now. You’re not the only one he stalks, and a straight dude stalking another straight dude is just fucked. So, what the hell brings you here? I thought you were in New York.”

  “I was. This school has a better program.” I leave it at that without elaborating. And really, I like New York, but I didn’t love living there. The constant hustle and bustle and overpopulation mixed with tiny, cockroach-infested living conditions grated on me.

  “Wait. You left New York to come here?” Cass interjects, her tone incredulous.

  I can only offer her a half-shrug and a placating grin. I don’t have much of an explanation that I’m willing to divulge. My father is a music legend. Rock-and-roll royalty. His band, Burnt Tears, is on Rolling Stones’ top twenty bands of all-time list. Every music conservatory I applied to only saw his name. The students and professors at NYU were only interested in him and not me. This school may be small and pretty much in the middle-of-nowhere Tennessee, but it has a dedicated music-development program that gave zero fucks about my last name or industry lineage.

  “I knew you were a music person,” she continues, satisfied in her pervious assumption. “I am, too, actually, but I’m a pianist. I take it you haven’t met Saylor, yet?” she asks cautiously.

  I shake my head. Cass pushes up the bridge of her glasses and sags a little like she’s relieved by this. “You will, and when you do, you’ll know it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Saylor Bennet?” Jameson asks and Cass nods. “Nice girl. I hang out with her sometimes.”

  “Of course you do,” Cass says, not even bothering to hide her sarcasm. “She’s bitchy Taylor Swift goes to college.”

  I can’t help but laugh at that.

  “As entertaining as this is to watch, you both realize that class started like two minutes ago, right?” I interrupt, jutting my chin toward the front of the room. Cass and Jameson track my movement toward the professor, who closely resembles a neo-Nazi fascist complete with sharp features, brown tweed skirt suit that ends mid-calf and a severe expression. And given the fact that this is an advanced corporate finance course, I give the woman my undivided attention.

  I punch my password into my laptop and pull up a blank page in my finance folder, ready to take notes.

  “Shit, I forgot how organized you are.” Jameson leans over, trying to get a better look at my screen. His large frame brushes against mine, the heavenly scent of his body wash or cologne or whatever, permeating the air around me.

  “Back off,” I mutter, trying to elbow him back and getting nowhere in the process. He’s too close. Too unexpected.

  He offers me a sly grin, flipping open the first page of his notebook and scribbling something down on it before sliding it across the table and angling it for me to see. “Truth or dare?”

  I read the words and then glance up at him with a raised eyebrow. He returns the gesture, his expression mocking, and I’m helpless to stop my smile. I reach over and point to truth.

  He nods like he knew that’s where I was going and then writes, “You’re even prettier than you were in high
school.”

  I do my best to ignore the flutters. And the butterflies. And hold in my smile this time. He taps on his first question, truth or dare, again with his chewed pen. I shake my head, knowing how fast this little game can go downhill. He does it again, nudging his elbow into my side. I follow the professor, who is going on about the syllabus and expectations for the semester, using my pen to point to dare.

  “Study with me,” he speaks aloud instead of writing it.

  That’s not what I was expecting after his pretty comment. I’m unable to decipher if study is a euphemism for something else, but then I catch the sober expression he’s pinning me with and I can’t help but stare back at him, utterly baffled. He licks his lips nervously and then leans into me, pressing his chest against my arm and shoulder and whispers directly into my ear, his breath warm against my sensitive skin, “I need an A in this class, Lee, and I won’t be able to do it on my own. You’re smart and organized. Will you study with me?”

  Lee?

  He pulls back, watching me intently.

  “I’m not fucking you,” I warn.

  He smirks, tilting his head to the side, his black hair falling across his forehead, his wolf-like eyes bouncing around my face feature by feature. “I’m not asking you to. Promise.”

  “Just studying?”

  “Just studying.”

  “Okay,” I relent with an exaggerated sigh. “But I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.”

  His eyes continue that inventory of me and then that smirk turns into an impish grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And I have a feeling I’m going break my promise.”

  Chapter 2

  Jameson

  * * *

  “Dude, are you gonna pick up your phone?” Cane asks, standing on the threshold of my bedroom door. I’m lying on my bed with my arms tucked under my head, staring straight up at my ceiling. My stepmother has been calling me all afternoon about Thanksgiving and I have no desire to join her and my father when they go to her family in Canada. Her family hates me. Views me as the bastard stepson—which I guess I sort of am. I already told her last week that I wasn’t going, so I have no idea why she continues to blow up my phone.

  “It’s my stepmother, so no. I have zero desire to listen to her bullshit, half-hearted guilt trip about going to fucking Canada.”

  “Why the hell is she nagging you about that now? It’s only September.”

  I shrug with one shoulder, since my other arm is behind my head. Damn, I’m sore. “Because she wants to buy plane tickets and evidently me telling her I’m not going is not a good enough answer for her.”

  “I thought you told her you were coming home with me?”

  I lower my chin and meet Cane’s brown eyes.

  “I did. Why do you think I’m not picking up? I’m tired. I’m sore as balls from practice and the last thing I want to do right now is talk to the woman my father felt the need to marry.”

  “Right. So, should I tell the hottie downstairs that you’re in a bitter crappy mood and that she should come back another time?”

  I furrow my eyebrows, propping myself up onto my elbows so I can see him better. “What hottie? I’m not expecting anyone.”

  Cane grins impishly, his eyebrows bouncing up and down suggestively. “In that case, I’ll run back downstairs and entertain the little honey myself.”

  “Stop being a twat and tell me who’s here.”

  “Go see for yourself, asshole. She said you were supposed to meet her in the library and no-showed. But this girl—”

  “Shit,” I mutter, flying out of bed and cutting Cane off as I push past him. I cannot believe I forgot about studying with Lyric. She’s gonna kick my ass for this. “Lee?” I call out in a desperate rush of air, before I hit the stairs, running down them as fast as my aching leg muscles will take me. “I’m sorry,” I say as I hit the floor and zip around the corner.

  Lyric is standing in my living room, wearing light blue jeans, a bright pink blouse and a pissed off scowl. Her long, platinum braid hangs over her shoulder, her fiery hazel eyes narrowed with a look that says don’t bullshit a bullshitter. She’s way too pretty when she’s pissed off. If I didn’t need her help so much, I might push this a bit further just to see where it could go.

  “You’re a dick,” she says, pointing a stern finger at me.

  I nod. I am a dick. But today I was an unintentional dick, so that has to count for something, right?

  “I waited in the freaking library for over an hour. And since you’re not dead or have some crazy disease that renders you incapable of moving or answering a call, I’m done with you.”

  “I’m so—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry,” she snaps, interrupting me. “I seriously do not want to hear it. It was not my idea to study with you. It was yours, and then you don’t show up?” She shakes her head, folding her arms across her chest and pushing up her tits enough to make my eyes drop down to look, before coercing them back up to her face under threat of losing her completely. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this with you. There is nothing in it for me. You didn’t even pick up your phone when I called.”

  Shit. It was Lyric calling and not my stepmother.

  I walk across the room and grasp her shoulders, her neck craning to meet my eyes. She tries to step back, to force me to release her, but I can’t do that. She’ll bolt on me. I know she will. I’ve known this girl since I was six and we started kindergarten together. We were never what you’d call close or even friends per se, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know her. That doesn’t mean I didn’t watch her from the sidelines for years.

  And she chose to date douchebag Charlie.

  “I fucked up,” I say, staring deep in her eyes and trying hard to concentrate on my apology instead of the different patterns of green, gray, and brown. “I had a shit practice and the team had to run stadiums for an extra half an hour. My stepmother has been calling me non-stop about going to Canada for Thanksgiving with her family. She’s already called four times today. When my phone continued to ring, I assumed it was her and ignored it. Please don’t go,” I beg. “I didn’t mean to ditch you, and I am so sorry that I did. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  I release her shoulders and hold my hands up in supplication, knowing this gesture, along with big, contrite, puppy dog eyes might seal the deal for me. She still looks angry. Or maybe like she is questioning why she’s here when she probably doesn’t need studying help. Crap. That’s not good. Because as I stand here, looking down on her, I realize I really want her to stay and it’s for more than just helping me study.

  I’ve always had a crush on Lyric Rose. Every guy did. She’s beautiful and smart and funny and cool. At least, to high school kids she seemed very cool. Confident and always herself. Sexy as sin in that unapproachable, unattainable way. But she’s not unapproachable. She’s sweet. So goddamn sweet. I like talking to her. I like looking at her. And if I can do both of those things and have her help me study, well, then I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.

  But I have nothing to offer this girl. No real incentive to make her stay.

  “I’ll do anything if you help me out. Anything. Name it and it’s yours.”

  She shakes her head again, her teeth sinking into her full bottom lip. She’s softening. I know she is. I’d smile at her. I’d give her my best charming look. The one that disarms women completely and makes them mine when they don’t even want to be. The one that has them forgiving me when they should hate me. But Lyric isn’t just any woman, and she knows me well enough to know all my tricks.

  “I’m hungry,” she says and now I do smile, but this one is genuine, because how cute and random is this girl?

  “I can buy you dinner. Whatever you want. We’ll eat and we’ll study. That can be our thing. You help me study and I feed you, because the cafeteria food isn’t all that great. You’ve probably already figured that out. But I live off campus and I have a car. So yeah, I’ll
feed you, Lee. Whenever, whatever you want.” This is the ramblings of a desperate man, but I don’t have it in me to care, not if it gets her to stay.

  She’s smirking now, hopefully finding my crazy babbling endearing. I think I just won her over. “I want veggie tacos from that excellent Mexican place in town.”

  I nod, moving my hands firmly back onto her shoulders. I can’t let go, because if I do, I might hug her. It’s the most bizarre sensation. One I have definitely never experienced before. But I want to hug Lyric Rose. She’s like a soothing balm on my ravaged soul. I knew it the second I saw her in class two weeks ago. Hell, the first minute I saw her in kindergarten with blonde, braided pigtails and a brightly colored dress. There’s just something about her. Maybe it’s the familiarity of home without the stress and agitation that typically comes when I think about that place. Maybe it’s her unassuming beauty and quick tongue. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s a giant softy, even when she’s trying to be tough. I don’t know. But whatever it is about her, I like having her around me.

  “I can get you veggie tacos. Will it bother you if I eat ones with meat?” I vaguely recall her being a vegetarian.

  She smiles, those teeth still embedded in that supple, full, bottom lip that I have a tremendous urge to nip on just to see if it tastes as good as it looks. “No. I don’t care if you eat meat, as long as I don’t have to.”

  “We’ll never have a happily ever after with you being a vegetarian.”

  She laughs and pushes me away. I release her, because I’m about ninety-eight percent sure she’s not going to run out the door, and because if I don’t let her go and step back, I might do something really foolish. Like kiss her. “I think I’ll survive. Order my food and I’ll set up what we need to study before the exam on Monday.”

  “You got it, babe.”

  “No sour cream, and guacamole on the side. And please ask them to cook the onions. Oh, and I don’t like that pico sauce thing they put on them, so please have them omit it.”