Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (44 page)

She keeps her voice low. "You
know, I don’t think Sawyer would require payment. I’ve known a few girls who’ve
had one night stands with him. He’s supposed to be really, really great in bed."

"He’s into one night stands?"

"I guess. The females involved
wanted sex without any strings attached."

"How could you do it with
him
just once?"

Abby giggles and I blush again.

Since it’s the beginning of
October, and Sawyer is apparently in his sophomore year at Yardley, I assume I
must have seen him on campus before. I can’t believe I never noticed him. But I
guess I didn’t, because now that Abby pointed him out to me, I see him
everywhere.

For the rest of the week, I run
into him at the res cafeteria, in the campus store, in hallways, out on the
grassy quads. I even discover he is in two classes with me: first year Statics
and first year Calculus, two of the required courses for engineering students.
Since he is a sophomore, I assume he’s repeating the courses.

One thing I’ve always been good at
is research. Not that I intend to approach Sawyer, but I’m intrigued to find
out about him. On Friday afternoon, I’m in the campus coffee shop
Beans
with Abby and four other girls. I’m the only one in engineering, the others are
in arts. I try to casually bring Sawyer up in a conversation.

It works well until Abby says
bluntly, "She wants to know about him. Claire is considering a one night
stand with him to get a little experience."

"Abby!" I gasp.

No one else at the table looks
shocked.

Shanelle, who has long black braids
and dark caramel skin, smiles. A dreamy smile. "Sawyer. Yummm."

Two other girls—Stevie and
Kylie—join in, adding to the volume of the ‘mmmm’.

Beside me, Jenna, who is a history
major with short, honey blond hair, adjusts her glasses. "You guys are
crazy. Sawyer is trouble."

"He’s sexy," Kylie says. "Soooo
sexy."

"I heard he rides in illegal
street bike races," Jenna continues. "He does it for the money. I
heard he makes tens of thousands of dollars from bets and that’s how he pays
for school. But it’s totally stupid. People get killed. They race on regular
roads at over 150 mph."

"That sounds highly
irresponsible," I point out.

Abby rolls her eyes. "I don’t
think that’s true. Anyway, you’re not looking to raise children with him."

"Street racing is why he won’t
get seriously involved with a woman. That’s what he told me. He doesn’t want to
draw anyone into his world of danger." Shanelle sighs. "But he’s
gorgeous. And he really is a good lay. Most one night stands suck. I mean the
guy is so fixated on actually getting sex that he expects a lot of wild
thrusting will make you feel good. But Sawyer was never like that." She
makes another ‘mmm’ sound. "I have his number on my cell if you want it,
Claire."

I shake my head. But Shanelle texts
my phone to send me Sawyer’s number, even though I keep protesting that I don’t
want it.

I won’t use it. I don’t want to
have a one night stand to get experience. I’ve crushed on Trey since seventh
grade and I don’t want anyone else.

Shanelle
looks me over. She taps her glossy red nails on the table. "If you want
Sawyer, I have two words for you." She grins, flashing perfect teeth. "Makeover
Intervention. Tonight."

* * *

After my makeover, I go to another party
off campus with Abby and Shanelle.

This one is not a frat party. It’s
at a house shared by five guys. Just like at the frat party, the living room is
being used as a dance floor. Dozens of people fill the living room and there
are even more crammed into the kitchen. There must be a few hundred people
here.

"You look stunning,"
Shanelle assures me.

"Thanks to your makeover
skills," I say. Shanelle applied face primer on me—who knew there was such
a thing? Eyeliner and mascara have made my eyes stunning. She flat-ironed my
normally wild red hair and it hangs halfway down my back, straight and
shimmering. I put in daily wear contacts for tonight. Other than the fact that
I keep blinking my right eye because it feels scratchy, I look good.

I bite my lip and wince at
Shanelle. "I think I look too good. I look like someone I’m not."

"Confidence on the outside
leads to confidence on the inside," she says.

I realize its true—I feel like I
could leap tall buildings. Outrun freight trains.

Then Shanelle gasps, "Abby, look."

My friends drool over a group of
tall guys standing in the living room. It’s Yardley’s basketball team, where
the shortest guy is six-three. At once, the guys grin, wave the girls over, and
integrate Shanelle and Abby into their circle.

I hang back.

Because I see him.

Trey.

He has his arm around a slender
girl with wavy blonde hair. Then he captures the girl’s mouth and they fall
into a perfect, sinful, steamy kiss. I am so stunned I smack my Coke can into
my teeth.

I never told Abby I couldn’t dream
of dating Trey in junior high or high school. I was always the rejected geeky
outsider. I was made fun of and teased in junior high. When I reached my last
year of high school, things got worse. Even though I was quiet and didn’t
bother anyone, someone developed a hatred of me and attacked me online. It
wasn’t so bad really. Just mean messages and stupid pictures. But it hurt. And
it didn’t stop. I got to the point where I wished I just didn’t exist.

In reality, I don’t think I ever
really thought I could learn how to seduce Trey. I don’t think I ever really
imagined he could be mine. But watching him kissing someone passionately hurts
so much.

The girl he’s with is gorgeous and
he looks like he’s…in love.

I walk through the house, again
realizing I am at the kind of fun party I used to dream of attending. And I
want to leave.

I find the only empty room in the
house. In the basement, there’s a small laundry room. I go in there, bite my
lip, and let a few silly tears of self-pity roll down my cheeks.

"Are you okay?"

I almost jump out of my skin. A guy
is standing behind me, in the laundry room. I wipe my cheeks as fast as I can,
hoping that he will have no idea I’ve been crying. "Yeah," I mumble,
not trusting my voice.

I turn.

Oh. Wow.

Sawyer Tremaine is standing there.
All of him, in this very small room. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him.
Admittedly, he was hidden by the door, and I swung it shut without turning
around. He is folding clothing and setting it neatly into a white plastic
laundry basket. Jeans cling to his hips and follow his amazingly long legs.
He’s wearing a white t-shirt. He has a build that is not unlike Hugh Jackman’s
when the actor plays the character of Wolverine. A beer is standing on the
dryer. "Hi, I’m Sawyer." He holds out his hand.

"I know. I mean, I’m Claire."
I take his hand and awkwardly shake it.

He studies me with his stunning
violet eyes. He has long, black eye lashes despite having blond hair. "Are
you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been crying."

"No. My eyes just got watery.
No idea why. It just happened." I add, floundering, "It’s probably my
contacts," I add.

He folds a shirt and puts it in the
basket.

The significance of that suddenly
hits me. "You live here?"

His brow lifts. "I don’t
usually go to parties and fold other people’s clothes."

"I guess not. But why would
you even want to do it at your own party?"

"The dryer was finished and I
didn’t want the stuff to wrinkle."

Logical, that’s true.

Sawyer holds out the beer. "I
just opened it and haven’t drunk any."

"I don’t drink," I say
quickly.

"Okay. If you’re sure."

"I am so sure."

That makes him smile. He is really
gorgeous. In a confined room, his gorgeousness is making me want to hide in a
corner and try to disappear.

That was high school Claire. New
Claire, with a makeover, should—

A crazy thought hits me.

If I could find out how to turn
Sawyer on, maybe I could have one last chance with Trey.

In the statics course that both
Sawyer and I attend, we write regular tests—one every two weeks. We just wrote
one a few days ago. Afterward, as people filed out of the classroom, I
overheard Sawyer talking to other guys from the class. He admitted he didn’t
study.

"I’ve heard stuff about you,"
I say quickly.

He stops with his beer bottle
touching his lower lip. "What kind of stuff?"

I’m being crazy, but I don’t want
to stop. "I thought—well, I wondered if we could work out a deal."

He looks confused. "A deal?"
When he moves, his biceps bunch up under the short sleeves of his T-shirt.
And…god, are those triceps? Are they supposed to bulge like that?

"I—uh—wanted to ask you for a
favor," I say. "I thought in return, I could help you. You know, with
statics. Give you some tutoring."

"You did—what was your name
again?"

"Claire."

He sets his beer down. "I got
a 98 on the last test. But you’re right—I do have room for improvement."

Ninety-eight percent? Oh God, I
never dreamed he was
smart
. Given the gossip he was an outlaw bike racer
and given I heard him say he didn’t study, I never once entertained that
conclusion.

"Yeah, it’s a tough course,"
he continues. "I couldn’t fit it in my schedule last year and had to take
it this year."

He didn’t fail it. And apparently
he doesn’t study because he doesn’t
need
to. My face goes bright red—I
know it does.

"I—uh." I have no idea
what to say. Then it occurs to me that maybe I can get what I need without
making a trade. I mean, he’s supposed to be notorious. Why not try it? Why not
just tell him what I want to do? Maybe he would be willing.

Do it! Do it!
an inner voice shouts.

"I actually kind of wanted to
go to bed with you."

There, I did it.

Sawyer’s brow goes up again. He
doesn’t say anything. Then he lifts his beer bottle to his mouth and takes a
long swallow. He rubs his jaw. He doesn’t look me over or anything.

My heart is wedged so tight in my
throat I think I’m going to choke on it. What was I thinking? He is not going
to want boring, plain old me.

Now he’s going to make fun of me.

I’ve started the cycle all over
again. The teasing, the posts, the bullying—all the stuff I suffered through in
my senior year of high school. I’m certain he is going to mock me, so I take a
step back, intending to turn and get out.

But he sets down his beer and
smiles at me. It’s not a mean smile. It’s a soft one. "Why don’t we start
with a date first, Claire?"

Chapter
Two

I assume Sawyer is joking or he
thinks he should deflect this crazy girl who just propositioned him. He bends
to the door of the dryer and I move out of the way so he can take out a shirt,
which he folds neatly. "Do you want to go out Friday?" he asks.

I don’t know if I’m arranging to
have sex on Friday night. Or if he is just avoiding the awkwardness that would
follow rejecting me. At this point, I’m too embarrassed to ask. I pull out my
phone and he takes my number, types it into his phone, which he slips into the
back pocket of his jeans. My mouth goes dry as I watch his hand go into his
pocket, following the tight curve of his butt.

I don’t believe he’s going to call.

It wasn’t that all the teasing in
high school has made me doubt myself—well, maybe a bit. Mainly it’s because I
am certain an invitation to a one night stand should have been done with more
finesse. What was I thinking?

"Uh, do you want to go
upstairs and dance?" I ask clumsily.

"Sorry. I have to study for a
test."

"Oh, yeah." I step aside
to let him out of the laundry room. I asked both Trey and Sawyer to dance and
struck out both times. My cheeks feel like they are brilliant red.

Sawyer balances the basket on his
hip, opens the door, and steps aside to let me leave first. Hmmm, I guess it
would look strange if I stay in the laundry room after he’s gone. "I have
to go home," I say. "I should study too."

"Would you like me to call you
a cab?"

Great. Maybe he thinks I’m drunk
because I propositioned him. "Thanks," I say graciously. "That’s
very nice of you."

That makes him grin. And I feel
something catch fire deep inside me. Smoke smoulders through me. Oh. Oh. Oh.
The flash of white teeth and dimples, the sight of the sexy lines that bracket
his mouth, the hint of stubble—

The only smile that ever had me
almost whimpering and sobbing at its sheer gorgeousness was Trey’s. But against
Sawyer’s grin, that is like a sparkler compared to a fireworks display. Well,
maybe the difference isn’t
so
extreme, but right now I am transfixed on
the spot, gazing at the sheer sexual beauty of Sawyer’s smile. I’m melting. I’m
going to turn into a puddle on the floor of the basement.

He puts his phone to his ear and
orders a cab for me. Then he nods toward a door. "That’s my room."

Right now, if I were Shanelle or
one of the other girls, I might be able to say or do something seductive and
end up in his room with him. But I’m not ready for that yet. I know that now,
standing in the hallway with the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen.

He grins again. "Goodnight,
Claire. See you Friday."

Then he disappears into his room
and shuts the door. A few seconds later I hear music—I think it’s a blues tune,
a stark contrast to what they’re playing upstairs. A seductive feminine voice
starts to sing about her guy, about how she’s not going to let him stray.

I
picture Sawyer putting his clothing away to the song—socks folded in the sock
drawer, underwear in its drawer, shirts on hangers. It’s crazy but I have never
been so turned on in my life and it’s from thinking about Sawyer dealing with
his laundry.

* * *

As I leave the lecture room after
calculus class, my phone buzzes in my purse. I take it out, and a deep,
gorgeous male voice says, "Hi. Claire?"

In a squeak, I say, "This is
Claire." I sound like a fourteen-year-old boy whose voice is changing.

"This is Sawyer. Are you still
available for tonight? Want to go to a movie at the Westingham theatre? We
could have dinner first."

I can’t believe he is really
asking. Having reached Friday with no phone call, I assumed he was just trying
to avoid my request. 

I hesitate. I’m afraid to say
anything in case this is just a set up for a huge joke at my expense.
Instinctively I think: maybe this still isn’t real.

You are not in high school
anymore.
"I’d love to," I say.

I hold my breath after that and
wait for some girl’s snotty laugh on an extension as she screams with malicious
delight at how easily I was duped.

But the next voice I hear is still
Sawyer’s. It’s rich and soft and he has a smooth, easy way of speaking that
makes my knees tremble. "I’ll pick you up at 7:00 from your dorm, Claire."

"Sure. I’ll be there. Uh, I’m
in Laker dorm. I’ll meet you by the front entrance."

"Great. I gotta go. See you
then." He hangs up.

For a full five minutes, I stand
with my phone against my ear and no one there.

The truth is I’ve never dated.

In high school, I did get asked out
a couple of times. But it was by guys who I looked on as friends. I didn’t feel
that spark of desire. So I said no because I didn’t want to ruin everything. I
wanted to stay friends. I knew it was just a date. But I didn’t believe a guy
dated unless he hoped, even infinitesimally, for sex. And if I had zero
interest in sex, there was no point.

Also, my brother has colitis. We
found out because he ended up in hospital with a dangerous blockage. Charley
had flare ups and felt crappy for a lot of the time I was in high school. While
he was being tested and his doctors were figuring out treatments and medicine
doses, Mom worked several cleaning jobs. I never had time to date.

I have two more classes this
afternoon. Whatever the professors teach makes no impression on me; I don’t
hear a word. After my last class, which ends at four-thirty, I race back to my
empty dorm room and jump in the shower. When I get out, wet hair tangled around
me, I suddenly panic.

I want to look good. As good as I
did when I met Sawyer, after the makeover. Except I have no idea what my
friends did.

I phone Abby and Shanelle, but get
voice mail. So I am responsible for my own makeover.

Shanelle started with face primer,
followed up with foundation (borrowed from Abby), bronzer, then blush. I don’t
own any of those things.

Eye makeup. That really changed my
appearance and Shanelle bought some stuff for me.  I quickly brush on the black,
waterproof mascara she got. Then I remember she started with liner. Damn. I
undo the liquid liner, lean into the mirror with the brush clutched in my hand
and…WTF? It blobs on my lid and leaks into my eye

Which makes my eye water.

Which makes the stupid waterproof
mascara run in a huge smear.

Really? This is the
waterproof
kind?

My next discovery? Tears make the
mascara run, but it is sufficiently waterproof that it doesn’t wash off. Even
soap and water won’t remove it. 

I end up with a bloodshot, stinging
eye that is surrounded by a light grey smear.

I hunt through the medicine cabinet
with one eye shut until I find Abby’s eye makeup remover. "I’m so sorry."
I look in the general direction of Abby’s empty bed. "I wouldn’t borrow
this without permission unless it was an emergency. Which this is."

Finally I get the makeup off and
wash my face. I’m ready to start again when I realize I’ve blown forty-five
minutes to get nowhere. Damn, again.

I put on the waterproof mascara.
Then lipgloss. I heat up Abby’s hair straightener and make a wild attempt to do
my hair in five minutes. First I burn my neck. Then, as I juggle the flat iron
to deal with my neck, I burn my finger. I run cold water on my finger to stop
it from swelling and blistering, then I rub water on my neck.

I have half-straightened hair.
Cursing, I put water on the hair, scrunch it to make curls, then blow dry it as
fast as I can. I brush it and it looks sort of like I intentionally made big,
loose waves.

I am running out of time.

I find a skirt, but it’s so frumpy
it makes me gag. I put on another pair of jeans and choose a fuzzy pink
sweater, one I think looks cute. And it’s the perfect weight for an October
night. I grab my wrap-around wool coat and run down to the entrance of the
dorm.

Given my makeup and hair disasters,
I almost hope Sawyer doesn’t show.

But he’s there. Standing by one of
the posts for the canopy that covers the entrance. Tall, beautiful, wearing his
black leather jacket, a dress shirt, and his black leather pants. He’s typing something
into his phone and he looks mad.

"Hi, Sawyer." I give a
jerky, circular wave. Then want to smack myself for looking so awkward. "Look,
if there’s something wrong and you would rather not go out tonight, that’s
okay."

He looks up. "Claire, hi."
Suddenly his smile is there again. He doesn’t look at his phone and I notice
he’s turning it off. "There’s nothing wrong and I’ve been looking forward
to tonight since the party."

The way he says it, in his deep,
gorgeous voice, makes me shiver. He has been looking forward to seeing me. I
know he asked me out, but I’m still surprised.

"How do you want to get there?"
I ask. "I usually walk. It’s not far."

"I’ve got a car." He has
the keys in his hand and a car in the visitor parking lot beeps.

"Uh," I say. The car is
bright red and looks like something Steve McQueen would have driven in
Bullitt
—I
used to watch old movies while I was at home on Saturday nights, doing
homework.

Sawyer opens the passenger door for
me. As I slide in, I remember Jenna’s warning that he raced motorcycles at 150
mph. I wonder if he’s going to peel out of the parking lot, and if he drives
like a maniac.

Within ten minutes, I learn he is
probably the best driver in the world.

We’ve left the Yardley campus and
Sawyer is driving down the main street in Westingham. He stays at the speed
limit, and I keep glancing over to watch him drive. It’s incredibly sexy. He
steers with one elbow propped casually on the door. His legs are so long, he
has to bend them slightly to fit. That leaves his thighs open, and makes me
think about erotic things. Like sitting between his legs when we are both
naked.

Then I just happen to look up. A
mom is standing on the sidewalk, talking to another woman. Her hand is on her
little boy’s shoulder. Sawyer slows down.

"Oh!" I gasp as the child
jerks away from his mom and steps out right in front of us. Sawyer hits the
brakes and stops at once. The woman runs out and gathers up her son, who is
safe.

I turn to Sawyer, heart pounding. "You
slowed down. If you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have been able to stop in
time."

"I noticed he was looking at
the road, tugging at his mom, so I figured he might run out."

"You saved his life."

He grins and looks to me. "Fortunately
nothing bad happened."

The mother hauls her boy back onto
the sidewalk and hugs him. She gazes at Sawyer and I see the gratitude in her
expression.

My heart is still racing. A
reaction to the near miss, but also a really strong reaction to Sawyer.

"I was thinking of dinner at
Madison’s," he says, as he starts driving again.

"I can’t afford that." I
was so startled, I spoke without thinking. But Madison’s is the most expensive
and exclusive restaurant in the campus town of Westingham.

"My treat," he says. "I
asked you out."

After I asked you to go to bed.

"I’m wearing jeans." I
know I am not dressed well enough to go anywhere fancy. "Maybe somewhere
more casual."

"If you’re sure," he
says, "Whatever you want. But if you would like somewhere more casual but
really good, there’s a Thai restaurant."

"Sure." I’m not entirely
sure, actually. I’ve never had Thai food. But he suggested it and I can’t think
of anything else. My heart is still pounding over the little boy.

Incredible fragrances reach us as
we enter the small restaurant. Sawyer holds the door for me—no one’s ever done
that. Beautiful wood carvings of graceful figures wearing elaborate headdresses
decorate the entry. We’re led to a booth in the dining room, which is decorated
with exquisite, delicate wood panels and lit by exotic, perforated metal lamps.

We order tea, then I tell Sawyer to
choose whatever he thinks is good. But he doesn’t work that way. He wants to
make sure I like what I’m getting. I finally admit I have no clue about Thai
food. So he orders the dishes.

Since I’ve never actually been on a
date, I have no idea what to say.

"You’re in my statics and
calculus classes." Sawyer pours fragrant tea into a tiny porcelain cup. "I
noticed you on the first day." He grins and actually looks shy.

"You did? Why?" I sip
tea, sure I’m blushing.

"I don’t know. You were so
attentive and you looked completely fascinated by calculus proofs."

I blush. He witnessed my geekiness.

"I found I paid more
attention, just to see what intrigued you so much. And I love the way you look
in glasses. You just look smart."