Dirty English
Dax? Nice name.
I shot Blake a quick look, but he avoided my eyes. He was a bit possessive when it came to protecting me, and a few times over the past few years I’d had to tell him to back down. I started to lean in and tell him it was fine, but the guy spoke first.
“What? Can’t I even say hi?” He turned dark gray eyes at me. “You. Do you eat sugar all the time? ’Cause you are the sweetest thing I’ve seen all night.”
A surprised snort came from me. “That’s the worst pickup line ever.”
He looked crestfallen. “Ah, angel, don’t laugh—or snort—at me. You’re killing my fragile ego.”
“Truth hurts.”
He grinned, not deterred. “Okay, this isn’t a line, but have we met before? You seem really familiar.”
I stuck my hand out. The more forthright I was, the easier it made things. “I’m Elizabeth Bennett, and we’ve never met because I’d definitely have remembered your accent. Unless it was in class and we never spoke …” I arched my brow. “What’s your major? I’m in the art department mostly.”
He grimaced. “Psychology, but I don’t go to class much. Maybe it was the Sigma party last year?”
“The one with the goats on the roof? Ah, no.”
“The Delta toga party? The one where the cops came?” He chuckled. “Don’t recall much of that one, although I do remember waking up in a pair of women’s underwear.”
Oh. “Sadly, no, but I did see the students who were arrested on the news.”
He tossed back his head to laugh, calling attention to the strong lines of his throat. I let my eyes take more of him in, checking out the skinny jeans and the Vital Rejects band shirt that fit snugly to his muscled chest. He was gorgeous.
He knew I was checking him out, because he smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. He nudged his head at the crowded dance floor. “Wanna go dance?”
“Ever heard of taking it slow, Dax?” Blake snapped. “She just got here. Give her some space.”
Shelley ignored Blake and looked at me expectantly, obviously wanting me to say yes, but I shook my head at Dax. “Sorry. I’m not your type.” Best to rip the Band-Aid off fast.
“I’m every girl’s type.” His eyes skated over my white strapless sundress. “Especially beautiful angels who just fell from heaven.”
“Don’t angels have wings?” I asked. “Kinda hard to fall when technically you can fly.”
He waggled his eyebrows and held up the Solo cup he carried in his hand. “No one’s splitting hairs here, besides my lines get better the more I drink.”
Ah.
I stiffened but nodded. Trying to be polite. “Hmm, well, I usually spend my Friday nights doing homework while I wear granny panties. I also binge watch Masterpiece Theatre, crochet knit hats, and do calculus when I get bored. I don’t usually come to parties. I don’t even talk to guys who drink, so I’m really not your type.”
He rolled his eyes. “Just one dance, love. We don’t have to get married.”
“Good thing I’m stone-cold sober. Looks like I’m the winner here, brother. You can pay me later,” said another accented voice behind me, and I whipped around to see a replica of Dax. Only with bigger muscles.
Another Brit?
Only this one’s voice was huskier. Sexier.
“Twins?” I squeaked.
They smirked and nodded simultaneously. In the same exact manner.
I blinked. Oh. They were double trouble, sex on two sticks.
The sober one pushed dark brown hair off his forehead and stared at me. His face was classically handsome, the jawline angular and defined, but that’s where the carbon copy stopped. Every inch of this guy’s arms not covered by his black shirt were covered in colorful tattoos, and I got lost trying to trace the designs, from ivy branches to skulls. My eyes paused on the blue dragonfly tattoo on his neck. Odd seeing something so light-hearted on such a bulky dude.
He wore tight designer jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a shirt that clung to a chest that had obviously seen its fair share of the inside of a gym. Intense was the word that came to mind when his silver-gray eyes met mine, sweeping over my face, lingering on my bare shoulders. Warmth spread and I got hot as if I’d just stuck my finger in a socket.
What was that?
One thing for sure, he was pure hot male and if you could put it in a bottle, you’d make millions.
Get away from the hotness and tell your ovaries to settle down, my brain yelled, but I stupidly ignored it.
Something about him had me riveted. Maybe it was the black eye.
I immediately pictured him in a bar, turning over chairs and tables and kicking other big dudes’ asses.
I took a tiny step back. Remember the rules. No hot guys. No popular guys. No rich guys. I was fairly certain he’d check all those boxes.
The sober twin flashed even, white teeth. “In case you’re wondering, I’m the oldest by two minutes. I also get better grades, as you might have guessed.” He tossed an arm around his brother and rubbed his head good-naturedly.
“Yeah, but I’m the babe magnet,” Dax said. “You’re just coasting on my bloody coattails, trying to pluck the birds I found first.”
The bigger one laughed. “Keep dreaming, baby bro. I don’t need to coast. I am the sexiest guy on campus.”
“Whatever. I’m Dax, in case you missed it,” he said to me with a grin.