The first book in the much-anticipated spinoff to Elle Kennedy’s Off-Campus series is coming in a few days, and I have a little sneak peek for you.
I won’t lie. Having an angry, squirming Summer wriggling in my arms is just the teeniest bit of a turn-on.
Okay fine. I’m rock hard.
In my defense, I didn’t start this argument off with a boner. I was genuinely pissed at her. I still am. Only now I’m also aroused.
So sue me.
“Put. Me. Down.” Summer snarls out the words, and each sharp sound sends another bolt of heat to my cock.
Something is really wrong with me. I just spent the past three hours with a girl who dolled herself up for me, who batted her lashes and touched my hand and all but held up a cardboard sign that said FUCK ME, COLIN!
I didn’t experience so much as a dick twitch.
And now here I am with Summer, who’s wearing baggy plaid pants and a long-sleeve shirt, who’s shouting obscenities at me, and my dick is raring to go.
“You thought I was a bitch before?” she says threateningly. “Well, how about now!”
She resorts to her go-to move: pinching my butt.
But the sting of pain only turns me on. I kick her bedroom door open. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a brat?”
The moment I set her down, she takes a swing at me.
Startled laughter lodges in my throat. I easily block her fist before it can connect with my solar plexus. “Stop that,” I order.
“Why? Because it makes me a brat? Oh, and a bitch too, right? And a drama queen…and a sorority girl…what else…” Her cheeks redden with what appears to be embarrassment. “Oh, yes. I’m surface level. That’s what you think, right? That I’m fluff?”
My stomach sinks like a stone.
Dick’s not doing great, either—one look at Summer’s stricken face and my hard-on says “peace out.”
Her fingers, which were clenched so tightly before, slowly uncurl and go limp. Noting my expression, she gives a bitter laugh. “I heard everything you said to Garrett at the bar that night.”
Aw hell. Guilt ripples through my entire body before settling in my gut, an eddy of shame. “Summer,” I start. Then stop.
“Every word,” she says quietly. “I heard every word you said, and not a single one was very nice, Colin.”
I feel like such an asshole.
Most of my life I’ve made it a point not to be cruel to others. Not to talk trash about anyone—to their face or behind their back. Growing up, all I saw from my parents was negativity. Nasty jabs directed at each other. Your father is a piece of shit, Colin. Your mom is a lying bitch, son. Over the years they’d calmed down, but it didn’t happen fast enough. The toxic environment they’d created had already done its job, teaching me the hard way how damaging words can be. That there’s no taking back the poison once you’ve spewed it.
“Summer,” I try again, and stop again.
I don’t know how to explain my actions without revealing just how badly I’d craved her that night. I’d been looking for negative traits because I was having a good time with her. Because she was making me laugh. Turning me on. I wanted her, and it was messing with my head, so I started picking apart everything I perceived to be a flaw.
“I’m sorry you heard all that,” is what I finally choke out.
And I know immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. Sitting on the edge of my bed, she peers up at me with sad green eyes.
Jesus. Her expression. It’s like an arrow to the heart.