Beyond Me (2 page)

We’d met freshman year in English 101 and the moment we started chatting, something clicked. It was as if each of us brought something strong to the group, and I liked that. I had lots of acquaintances at Chicago State, but Cassie and Mackenzie were true friends.

Cassie and Mac started arguing over the rules of turning on a Kindle, and I turned back to the window. Maybe this was a good thing for me. I was tired lately, and not up to my usual strict standards of achievement. A little sun and relaxation may jump-start me to finish the quarter strong, and getting prepared for my summer internship at the rehabilitation center. Maybe I’d even meet a cute boy I could flirt with. Even sleep with. Someone who could give me an orgasm. I was tired of reading about the experience in magazines and hearing about its greatness constantly in the dorm.

I settled my head back in the seat and tried not to hope for too much. After all, I was usually disappointed.

Sunday

A
RED
Solo cup was thrust into my hands, and I automatically grabbed it. Foam spilled over the top and dripped on my flip-flops. I had never gotten into the taste of beer, and was hoping for one of those sweet cocktail drinks with the umbrella in it. Like Sex on the Beach. The girls had gotten me hooked, and I’d had my fair share since we landed. Of course, I wasn’t at the hotel, and this was probably going to be the best I got. Unless I wanted hard liquor. I suppressed a shudder. I’d gotten drunk on rum once and threw up for hours. I still couldn’t smell it without getting nauseous.

I forced myself to take a sip and maneuvered my way through the crowds, heading outside. The house was set up on a hill in a more rural part of the island, and reminded me of those mansions shown on HGTV. White with powder blue shutters, it was three stories and held an enormous deck that showcased the in-ground lagoon-type pool, tiki bar, and hot tub. Girls in tiny bikinis lounged on the side with their feet in. Some were on guys’ shoulders doing chicken fights and pretending to be embarrassed when their tops slipped and they flashed the crowd. Of course, they had breasts, not like me, who was built with more of a slim frame and barely filled out a B cup. Boys stood in tight groups, drooling over beer, drooling over women, and drooling period.

Ah, crap. I shouldn’t have come. The first day was perfect—we got off the plane, settled into our awesome rooms, and relaxed for the evening. The hotel was first class—Mackenzie only did top shelf—and the place boasted four restaurants, two pools, swim-up bars, a dance club, and the all-important room service. We swam and hung out the rest of the afternoon, then had dinner at the pool. That was the type of event I enjoyed—my best friends, beachy drinks, a stacked hamburger, and some laughs. But today they ditched me early, citing excuses about plans made already, so we arranged to meet at the local bar this evening. The first few hours were cool, but then I began to feel pretty pathetic alone in my one-piece suit while couples or groups swarmed around me. Then a girl with a bobbing red ponytail thrust a flyer in my hand and invited me to a party in one of the private villas on the island. Not that I was special. She handed them out to everyone in lounge chairs, chirping about how it was the party of the century and a tradition for Key West spring break.

I never went to places alone, with people I don’t know. But I could only do so much sunbathing and pretending to read a hot romance on my Kindle. I was getting twitchy and bored. Water sports weren't my thing, so I figured, why not? Do something daring, Quinn. Go to a party where you’re a stranger, and maybe meet a hot guy. Hook up, get laid, get happy.

Now, I wished I’d stayed put.

I sipped the lukewarm beer for something to do, and found a spot near the balcony. Hooking my elbows over the top, I watched the show at the pool while music pounded out in grindy hip-hop rhythm to inspire abandon and nakedness. For one second, I wished I was the type of girl to climb in the pool, shake her ass, and enjoy a little feminine power. I always felt so out of place wherever I went, unless it revolved around work. Social scenes reminded me I wasn’t flashy enough or bouncy enough or enough of anything.

Poor Quinn. At a cool party in Key West on spring break and complaining
. My inner voice—who I termed my “inner bitch”—rose up and made me smother a giggle. I had gotten used to talking to myself back in the day and never got out of the habit. Sometimes I was my best company.

My gaze swept the pool deck to see if there was anyone I may know, or want to get to know, and then—
boom
.

There he was.

Mr. Perfect.

I blinked and tried to clear my vision. Trust me, I’m not one of the swoon-worthy girls who describes a guy like some male specimen. I’ve never been into the visual as much as enjoying a guy’s sense of humor and conversation. Always thought I wasn’t built that way. Even the first naked guy I saw on HBO didn’t do it for me, and all my friends had gone on and on about his abs and ass and dick like they were dying to do him. Me—not so much.

But for the first time, I kind of lost my breath.

He wasn’t movie-star handsome and didn’t own rippling muscles or crazy tats or piercings. He leaned against the railing behind the bar, watching me, a tiny smirk resting on those full lips. As if I amused him by doing nothing. His hair was midnight black, rich against his tanned skin, and fell into perfect, tousled curls over his forehead. His eyes were a startling light blue, so pale they seemed to shimmer in his face with an odd light. I tried to break the gaze, but he wouldn’t let me, just held my stare and refused to let go. As if the first one to look away lost.

I actually shivered under the hot sun. Something about that gleam of interest and laziness said he was trying to decide if he wanted to play the game. If he played, he’d bring it hard. This guy was no bumbling, inexperienced boy. Probably twenty-three, but his gaze said he’d seen things, done things, and would maybe like to do them with me.

He was bare chested, with plain navy-blue board shorts, and nicely built. Toned, but not overdone. His stomach rippled, and he stood with his feet slightly braced apart, as if he owned his space.

Whoa.

My heart fluttered in my chest, and suddenly my palms grew damp. I squeezed the railing tighter and tried to be cool. Ridiculous. He may be hot, but I don’t think I even liked him. He was too confident, too used to girls falling over him and giving him what he wanted. I hated men like that—as if just by showing up they deserved more than anyone else. It was an entitlement thing, and since I’d had none of it, and had to work my way through every struggle in my life by myself, I didn’t respect him.

He suddenly arched a brow, as if he read my thoughts and was even more amused. Usually, that would embarrass me enough to race inside to escape, but this time I did something that was quite unlike me. I gave him a tight smile, and deliberately turned my back on him.

There. Take that.

Way to go, Quinn. There goes your one opportunity to sleep with a guy who probably knows what he’s doing.

Nah, not worth giving him another notch for his sexual belt. I did have my pride.

But not orgasms.

Please, shut up.

“I didn’t even say anything. How can I shut up?”

Oh God, it was him. I knew it.

I dragged in a deep breath and turned around.

T
HE MOMENT
I saw her, my heart stopped.

I know it sounds like bullshit. That stuff doesn’t happen. It’s always glamorized in those pussy chick flicks. The music blares, their eyes meet, and you know they’ll be fucking each other in the next half hour. Trust me, I’ve been with tons of girls, thought I was actually in love once but quickly got screwed—and not in a good way—and not once has my organ paused in my chest.

She was fucking gorgeous.

Not in the way I knew. I was so used to tons of makeup, tight, tanned bodies, and big tits. It’s the way it is. I run in circles of society and money, and no matter how much I try to get out of it and despise the surface crap, I’m stuck. The few times I met a girl who seemed genuine, I found out later it was an act—a way to grab my attention and seem different.

But this girl rocked me. First off, she came alone, and seemed content to keep to herself. She watched from the edges of the party with a thoughtful, analyzing air that intrigued me. She emanated a quiet, confident presence that radiated around her, like she was a calm in the storm of chaos. She seemed completely removed from the laughter and antics in the pool and around the bar. Not necessarily above it all. Almost like she longed to join but had accepted she wasn’t meant to belong. Her hair fell straight and silky past her shoulders and hid her face, like a screen that swayed back and forth in a game of peekaboo. It was a rich shade of brownish black that contrasted with her pale skin. Sort of like Snow White in modern day. When the curtain finally parted, I was fascinated by her face.

Large almond eyes, dark as sin, stared back at me. Her mouth looked swollen, as if she chewed on her lips as a nervous habit, but maybe they were natural. She owned stark features—high cheekbones, strong jaw, broad forehead. The one-piece bathing suit shouldn’t have been sexy when surrounded by miniscule bikinis, but it was. Hell yeah it was. The simple black was demure in the front, but cut high on the thigh to emphasize gorgeous, non-ending legs. The thought of those calves gripping my hips as I thrust inside her made me hard. When she turned to the side, I realized the suit pretty much had no back, and the fabric stretched over her ass like a gift from the gods. I imagined cupping her, lifting her up so I could take her brutally against the wall, forcing moans from those lush lips, and biting them myself. Swirls of raw lust caught me off guard. She was unlike anyone I had ever seen, and my dick demanded to claim her.