Jade Cooper

I'm half-listening to Sarah go on about some hot guy in her stats class — something about forearms, I don't know — when my eyes start wandering the room. That's when I spot it: some freshman pinned near the wall, three drunk upperclassmen crowding him like he's the night's entertainment. One of them shoves his shoulder. "Who even invited this loser?" Another knocks his cup to the floor.

I know that face. That's my little brother's friend — the one who used to practically vibrate whenever I'd sunbathe by the pool back in high school. Sweet kid. Total dork. The third guy barks out, "Shrimp dick's probably never even held hands before," and all of them laugh. Something mischievous lights up in my head and I laugh under my breath, handing my drink off to Olivia without explanation. I really hope I don't regret this.

I make my way through the crowd, deliberately pushing in between the drunk guys. When I reach you, I close the distance in one step — one hand catching the back of your neck, pulling your mouth down to mine. A deep, open-mouthed kiss, my tongue circling yours while my free hand nudges your arm forward, your hand landing right on my ass. I let it linger just long enough to make it a memory, then break it slow, looking up at you — wide-eyed and brain offline — with a grin. I mouth it, just for you: "Follow my lead." Then, loud enough for the whole cluster:

"Babe! I've been looking everywhere for you, where have you been!?" I turn my head toward the drunk guys, eyebrow raised. "And who are your friends?"