Fair Game (The Rules 1)

“No.” I toss my phone away from me so I can’t stare at it. But I still do. I look at my iPhone like it’s a bug and it’s making its creepy way toward me. “I should’ve never texted him.”

“You big baby,” Kelli mutters just as my phone dings.

I lunge for it and read his message. It’s one word that leaves me a little confused.

Scantily

Frowning, I send him another text.

Say what?

You asked how you should dress. I suggest scantily. As in, wear as little clothing as possible.

Oh. My. God.

My cheeks burn and I can feel Kelli watching me, her curiosity growing like a living, breathing thing. She sits up, perched on the edge of her mattress like she’s going to take flight.

“What did he say to you?” she demands.

I shake my head. “Nothing,” I mumble as I send him a reply.

You’re a pervert.

And you’re only just now realizing this? I figured you’d already been warned.

I want to laugh, but don’t. I should be mad. He’s sort of awful. In a sort of sexy way.

Seriously, should I wear something casual or maybe a dress…

Dresses = easy access

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I should find that totally offensive, right?

“What’s he saying now?” Kelli asks again like the nosy bee she is. She leaps to her feet and starts pacing.

“Nothing important.” I furiously type my answer, telling myself I absolutely do not want to wear a skirt or a dress tonight. No way.

Like how you tried to slip your hand beneath my skirt last night?

I didn’t TRY anything. I DID slip my hand up your skirt.

And made me mad because I didn’t even notice. Because I was too enraptured with his lips.

Ugh.

I’ll definitely wear jeans then.

“I’m wearing jeans,” I tell Kelli, who immediately heads back to my closet and starts looking through my shirts.

“This calls for a sexy shirt to show off your boobs,” she calls from over her shoulder.

Just the idea of Shep looking at my boobs, let alone touching them, sends a warm, tingly sensation through my blood, making me shiver. My phone dings again and I glance down.

Jeans. An unfortunate choice.

Frowning, I continue texting him, dodging the shirt Kelli just tossed in my direction.

Unfortunate for you since you can’t slip your hand up my skirt.

I think you liked it when I slipped my hand up your skirt.

No, I really didn’t.

Stop denying your true feelings.

My frown deepens. He’s a total pain in the ass.

“I’m not wearing jeans,” I tell Kelli, who turns to glare at me. “Do you have a skirt I can borrow? The shorter the better?”

The slow grin that curls Kelli’s lips makes me smile in response. “Look at you, trying to drive Mr. Prescott out of his mind. I love it.”

Hmm. I don’t want him to love it. I want him to hate it. Because my policy tonight is look, but don’t touch.

This might be the greatest plan in all the world, or the worst plan ever created.

I hate dorm halls. They remind me of my not so distant past. When I was a freshman and eager to fuck any cute girl who so much as smiled at me. My first year in college, I snuck my way into more dorm rooms than I can count. I’ve had sex on more narrow twin beds than you can imagine. And bunk beds? Fuck, I think I almost broke one once.

Lesson learned? Don’t have sex on the top bunk in a dorm room. It doesn’t matter if the girl weighs a buck-oh-five and you know you plan on only lasting for ten minutes tops. Those bunk beds are made out of sticks.

I told Jade I’d pick her up but I’m wary about actually going inside because that means I’ll see a variety of girls. Some of them I might’ve…been with before. Maybe? I don’t know. Most of the girls in the dorms are on the younger side and I haven’t fucked a freshman in a while.

That I know of, at least.

I swipe a hand over my face, feeling like a world class asshole. I’ve never cared about all the girls I’ve been with. It’s not that I use them and toss them away like yesterday’s trash when I’m done with them but…okay, yeah. That’s sort of how I’ve always treated women. I’m not mean. They know what they’re getting when they hook up with me. After all, those are the key words.

Hook. Up.

Commitment is for sissies. I see the way my parents are. I seriously believe they don’t like each other. More like they tolerate one another. They’ve been together for so long, they don’t know how to function without each other. My sisters are all lined up to be involved in the same sort of marriage. Giant, over the top wedding, spit out the requisite kids quick like, get a little plastic surgery to keep the bod and face intact, work out like crazy while the husband works long hours. Or pretends to work long hours. Extravagant house, glorious vacations. Wash, rinse, repeat.

No thanks.

I’m a free agent. It’s the best way to be. I’ve seen enough turmoil and bullshit to last me a lifetime. Girls want to sink their claws into me and I shake them off every single time. They’ve eventually given up. My reputation precedes me. I usually prefer it that way.

So what’s up with the way I think about Jade? I’m freaking myself out. I want her…that much I know. She acts like she hates me most of the time and I fucking love it for some twisted reason. She’s a challenge. No girl is a challenge for me.

Ever.

Deciding to hell with it, I get out of my car and hit the keyless remote, locking the doors. I head toward the front of the dorm hall, shoving my keys in my pocket, my steps determined, my thoughts in turmoil. Let’s hope she walks out and meets me. That would make my life so much easier. So freaking much easier it’s not even funny…