“To whom?” Hardin asks. I know he is mocking me.
“To my professors, my classmates.”
“Tessa, I love you, but come on. Your classmates couldn’t give less of a fuck if you’re there or not. They probably didn’t even notice. Your professors, yeah, because you’re a suck-up and they like the ego boosts your fawning gives them. But your classmates don’t care, and if they do, then so what? Their opinion doesn’t fucking matter.”
“I guess.” I close my eyes and try to see his point. I hate being late, missing classes, sleeping until noon. “I’m not a suck-up,” I add.
“How are you feeling?” I feel the mattress shift, and when I open my eyes he’s lying next to me.
“Like I had too much to drink last night.” My skull is ready to explode.
“You certainly did.” He nods several times, very seriously. “How’s your ass feeling?” His hand grips my behind, and I wince.
“We didn’t . . .” I wasn’t that intoxicated . . . was I?
“No.” He chuckles, kneading the skin with his hand. His eyes meet mine. “Not yet.”
I gulp.
“Only if you want to. You’ve turned into a fucking vixen, so I assumed that would be next on your list.”
Me, a vixen?
“Don’t look so frightened, it was only a suggestion.” He smiles at me.
I can’t decide how I feel about doing that . . . and I certainly can’t keep up or process this type of conversation right now.
But my curiosity gets the best of me.
“Have you . . .” I don’t know how to ask the question—this is one of the few things we’ve never discussed; him saying dirty things about doing it to me in the heat of the moment doesn’t count. “Have you done that before?”
I search his face for the answer.
“No, actually, I haven’t.”
“Oh.” I’m too aware of his fingers tapping along the bare skin where the line of my panties would be, were I wearing any. The fact that Hardin has never experienced that before makes me want to do it, sort of.
“What are you thinking? I see those wheels turning.” He nudges my nose with his, and I smile under his stare.
“I like that you haven’t done . . . it before . . .”
“Why?” His brow raises, and I hide my face.
“I don’t know.” I’m suddenly shy. I don’t want to sound insecure or start a fight. I already have a hangover.
“Tell me,” he demands softly.
“I don’t know. It would just be nice to be your first for something.”
He lifts himself up on his elbow and looks down at me. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean that you’ve done a lot of stuff . . . you know, sexually . . .” I quietly explain. “And I haven’t given you any new experiences.”
He eyes me carefully, as if he’s afraid to reply. “That’s not true.”
“It is, though.” I’m pouting again.
“Like hell it is. That’s bullshit, and you know it.” His voice is practically a growl, and he’s scowling deeply.
“Don’t snap at me—how do you think I feel that you haven’t been with only me?” I say. The reminder doesn’t come as often as it once did, but when it does, it stings terribly.
He winces and gently tugs at both of my arms to pull me to sit up next to him. “Come here.” I feel myself being lifted onto his lap; his half-naked body is warm and welcoming underneath my completely bare skin.
“I didn’t think of it that way,” he says into my shoulder, making me shudder. “If you had been with anyone else, I wouldn’t be with you now.”
My head snaps back to look at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He kisses the curve of my shoulder.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say.” I’m used to Hardin’s unfiltered mouth, but these words surprise me. He can’t mean them.
“I never claimed to be nice.”
I shift my body on his lap and ignore the groan deep in his throat. “You’re being serious?”
“Very.” He nods.
“So you’re telling me if I hadn’t been a virgin, you wouldn’t have dated me?” This topic isn’t one we typically discuss, and I’m nervous to find out where it will lead.
His eyes narrow as he regards my expression before muttering, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you recall, I didn’t really want to date you anyway.” He grins, but I scowl.
I press my feet to the floor to lift myself off of his lap, but he holds me in place. “Don’t pout,” he coaxes and attempts to press his lips against mine, but I quickly turn my head.
I glare at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have dated me, then.” I feel overly sensitive, and my feelings are hurt.
I add gasoline to the fire and wait for the explosion: “Maybe you should have just ended it after you won the bet.”
I stare into his green eyes, waiting for a reaction. Still, it doesn’t come. He throws his back in laughter, and my favorite sound fills the room.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Hardin says and hugs me tighter, taking both of my wrists in one hand to prevent me from wiggling off his lap. “Just because I didn’t want to date you in the beginning doesn’t mean that I’m not glad I am.”
“It’s still not nice to say, and you said you wouldn’t be with me now if I’d been with someone else. So if I had slept with Noah before I met you, you wouldn’t have dated me?”