Chapter One
Elizabeth Peterson was stressed to the max as finals week came to a close and graduation loomed. She had one more exam to take tomorrow afternoon and while she didn’t need the class to graduate, she needed the grade to reflect on her transcripts the kind of woman she was or at least wanted to be, the kind able to tackle a challenge and come out with something she earned. She sat in the common area of the campus apartment complex and flipped through notecards until she was the only one left. She sat here often after her work at the bookstore so she could catch a glimpse of him as he came home after practice. Football was over and he was as rare as Bigfoot in the sighting department, always the possibility, but rarely any solid proof that was him.
“Still at it?” A familiar voice asked and she nodded. She looked up and her heart caught in her throat as it usually did when she saw him and her ability to speak seized with its placement. He looked around the room, at the door, pushed his hands over his jean clad thighs, and looked like he was going to bolt. He did that a lot, the few conversations they had had basically revolved around minor words and phrases and then one or both of them getting so awkward they walked off.
She gulped down her surging emotions. She was not being very brave right now or tackling a challenge. He looked over her head at the apartments and then at her again while letting out a puff of breath. “Help.”
Her eyes widened a bit and she gulped. She rarely saw him talking to anyone not on the team. It took four years for this to occur to her, but maybe he was just as awkward in this situation as he was. He took in a breath and clarified, “Do you…want some?”
“Help.” She found the word and surprisingly, with the revelation this might not be asy for him it became easier for her. The next one followed smoothly, “Yes.”
In that moment, Constantine Titus Crosby did something she hadn’t seen him do in four years, he smiled. She could feel the heat spread through her from that look. He didn’t just smile, his entire face lit up. She had seen him grin and once heard him quietly chuckle in class at something funny. She smiled back. He motioned with his head and said, “Come on.”
She picked up her stack of cards and followed him out of the common area, across the lawn, then the parking lot, and then to the apartment section they both lived in. Only he probably didn’t know that. She was quiet, and shy, but interested in this man in such a deep way that she could be adequately described as a stalker if she had malicious intent. She didn’t. This year, the living arrangement only made her life both better and worse. Better, because she knew for a fact he was either single or never had anyone over to his apartment. Worse, because she could have staged a hundred opportunities by now to speak to him outside of class, and didn’t.
“Can I change into something more comfortable real quick?” She had the thought but realized she had voiced it when he stopped and looked down at her.
“Yeah. Sure, do you need a ride somewhere? We could study at your place if you would rather…mine is just close…”
Her whole body was flushed and in the dim light provided by the streetlights along the sidewalk she could see he was blushing. It helped. She looked at her apartment and admitted, “I’m right there.”
He looked at her then she turned her head to look at the door to her apartment. He asked, “I’ve been right on top of you all year?”
She bit her lips and he processed how that sounded. He amended with, “I mean, you’ve lived under me…”
“Yes.” She giggled. They walked to the door and she unlocked it. “You can come inside if you want.”
It was her turn to say awkward things with double meanings. He shook his head, but stepped in anyway. She flipped on the light and sat the cards on the nearby table. It was a small space, but she liked it. “I’ll be right back.”
Elizabeth tried to remain composed as she walked to her room, but once she was in there, she was flooded with so many emotions she couldn’t process one before another popped up. She stripped out of her kakis and button down shirt and pulled on a pair of cut off sweatpants and a t-shirt. She talked with customers in the bookstore without any problem these days. She tried to tell herself she could talk to him the same way.
She knew better. Probably because he was the only one that sent her heart racing, her blood boiling, and made her think thoughts she had never acted on. She slipped into a pair of flip-flops and headed back to the man waiting on her.
He was a writer and they had been in every English, literature, and creative writing class together for the past four years. All of their communication up to this point had been a few shared facial expressions, some pleasantries, and the close proximity of their seating in the lecture halls. In workshops, they made notes on each other’s work, and he once defended her poem when someone had called it pedestrian after she read it aloud in group. He never sat in her group again, but she knew sometimes he sat nearby to listen.
“Hi.” Libby took a fortifying breath and made her way over to the man now looking at her bookshelf.
“This is an impressive collection.” He ran a long, thick finger down the spine of one of the books and she felt a line of heat slide down hers.
She gulped. “It’s what my father left me. Books and a college fund.”
He nodded. She had shared a lot of her family drama in class through writing.
“We should go to your place now.” She stepped back, unsure where that forwardness came from. All she knew was that this living room and her bedroom were the last places she had to pack. If he wanted something to eat or drink, she had a few water bottles in the refrigerator, but nothing else. He moved from her bookshelf to the door and picked up the stack of cards as she followed him out.
They didn’t speak between the stairs and path to his door, directly above hers. She was anxious to see what his private space was like. Would it be as reserved and serious as the man or would there be the living quarters of a football player away from the frat house? He was quiet, she knew that. The entire year she had never been distracted by more than occasional footsteps.
When he flipped on the light, she was relieved to find it a neat and tidy space, sans any overwhelming sporting equipment, and it smelled like vanilla. He looked at her and said, “I have cookies if you want some?”
“You made cookies?” She asked and followed him to the small kitchen space.
“Yep.” He shrugged. “I make them when I get stressed.”
“What are you stressed about?” She bit into a cookie and then closed her eyes on a moan. “These are so good.”
She realized what she just did and opened her eyes to find his baby blues fixed on her lips as she licked them. He nodded. “Libby I…”
She took a step forward as he sat the container on the counter. He called her Libby. He remembered from that story she wrote how she hated all of the other abbreviations for Elizabeth. Most people just called her Elizabeth. Something was happening. Something unstoppable and necessary. She was hoping he felt it the same as she did or else she was about to make the biggest fool of herself. “Constantine.”
All she could hear was the sound of him reading that poem he shared three months ago.
When we dare.
The bold action, the chance taken.
The earth moves, the body shaken.
Hearts pound, fingers touch,
Lips taste. But only
When we dare.
She dared to live out that poem. The moment she touched his arm, everything spun out of control. Her hands slid up, his arms moved around her and his lips came down to meet hers in a tentative kiss. She thought for sure the football player would be more aggressive, and urgent, but he was exploring and tender. The kiss deepened, her tongue slid to test his lips and his slipped out to greet her. It reminded her of something they had read in a lit class. He was proper in his hand placement and the entire event seemed to take on a romantic yet somehow formal tone.
She pulled back a little and looked up at him. She wanted to say something, but he let her go and stepped back. “I’m not…doing this right, am I?”
Her brows drew down and she thought about it a moment. “I…uh…”
“I’m trying to do this right, Libby. Inside I just…want you.” He ran a hand through his dark brown hair and took several steps away from her.
Inside, she really wanted him. She supposed honesty would be the best policy. “I think maybe we should just…dare…”
His long strides made quick work of putting him back in her personal space. He wrapped her up this time and his kiss seared her lips. They began moving, walking. Her hands pulled at his t-shirt and his pulled at hers. The entire experience was new to her and she wanted to take some time to feel all of it, but they were moving quickly, connecting and disconnecting at the lips, by the hands, as they undressed their way down the short length of the hallway to his bedroom.
In nothing but bra and panties, he eased her down to his bed. He slid in next to her, still in his boxer-briefs. The rush from before, slowed just enough for her to open her eyes and see him sharing that gorgeous smile of his. Hers matched it easily. She felt his fingers trail down her neck, over her shoulder, tugging at the strap of her bra as if testing to see if he could continue removing her clothes without protest.
She let her own hands move and wander over his shoulder and chest, down the firm line of abs and to the band of his briefs. The sharp inhale as he closed his eyes encouraged her. She slid her hand beneath the band and gently caressed the length of him. Her heart beat faster, pounded harder as she realized that the size of this man matched the rest of him. She wasn’t exactly petite, but aside from her gynecological exam, nothing other than her fingers had been in there before.
“Constantine, I should tell you…I’ve never…” She whispered against his neck. He had the bra loose and as his hand slid down her side and his lips moved to cover her nipple, she lost the words. She could feel the tremble of his fingers as they slipped beneath the band of her panties and the rock of his hips as he pressed himself harder against her palm.
Her fingers wrapped around his shaft and tugged, earning her a moan from him. He shifted, moving out of her grip as he slid down her body, taking the panties off as he repositioned them in the bed. He stroked the insides of her thighs and before leaning in to do things she had never had done before he admitted, “Neither have I, so you have to tell me if…”
His words were lost to her most intimate flesh and her hand pushed into his hair to both hold him there and steady herself. She had brought herself to orgasm before. She just didn’t realize that it could be more intense when someone else was doing it for her. She let go, lost in the sensations, chasing the feeling, encouraging him with words, aiding him with the lift and roll of her hips, until she felt the sizzle of it slipping through her, climbing her legs, running down her arms and spine, centering, tightening, coiling to break at her very core when she called out his name and dared to let go completely in that moment.
Her legs trembled, her entire body twitched with aftershocks as the sobering sound of a ripping wrapper met her ears and a moment later he was there, pressing into her. She adjusted to the invasion as he settled over her, lips on hers, kissing, until she was feeling her body relax and then he pressed more making her aware that he was barely in. Her name a whisper, she raised her hips and his knees gave out as she drove him deeper.
“Wait.” He put a hand on her hip and stilled her before she could do that again. She looked at him and he studied her intently. Then his hand moved up and brushed away a tear. “Did that hurt?”
She shook her head no. She inhaled a steadying breath and said, “The orgasm was more intense than I…and I…”
He smiled again and his entire body relaxed a moment. “Then I can move?”
She nodded, bit her lower lip. “If you dare.”