The Kiss

two evils.
    “Eliza.” Cal nodded. “I was just getting these from a friend.” He indicated the armful of books he carried.
    She’d expected him to apologize when he saw her next, but he was obviously going to pretend the whole thing at the party never happened. She was too exhausted to confront a third man in less than twelve hours. So when he said he’d see her around, she smiled tiredly and went straight to her room counting the seconds until she could be in bed.
    She was pushing her key into the keyhole, when a large hand grabbed hold of her left shoulder.
    Her first thought was that Cal had followed her up the stairs, and the invasion of her private space was too much after the day she’d had. Years of martial arts called forth the primal instinct to defend herself against whoever dared touch her. Without looking at his face, she cut her gaze to the floor and spotted his left foot. She was about to stomp on it and spin around to thrust an elbow into the guy’s ribs, when she realized she was looking at a familiar combat boot.
    “Was the overgrown boy scout what you felt like doing?” Nate whispered against her ear.
    His breath smelled like tobacco and alcohol, a scent she’d associated with the promise of a fairy tale before she’d realized it was his scent.
    She wanted to kiss him again.
    Instead, she went ahead and stomped on his booted foot with her heel, despite knowing he’d feel nothing through the tough leather. When he withdrew slightly, she raised her bent arm, ready to strike.
    He jumped back awkwardly, regaining his balance at the same moment she turned to face him. He was leering at her, and she couldn’t help herself. Her fist flew towards his face, but he was faster.
    He grabbed her wrist and used his entire body to pin her against the door. “I kissed you because I wanted to,” he said. “Wanted you , since I first saw you.”
    She might have asked him why he’d been such an asshole to her for all that time—might have tried to push him away—but his lips found hers, and she forgot how to think.
    *
    He’d done what his father had said he should, and went to find Eliza, meaning to talk to her and work things out. When he’d seen her talking to the man who’d treated her like dirt the night before, however, he’d seen red. All thoughts of a talk had vanished from his mind, and he’d run after her, driven by sheer panic.
    He was kissing her now—that same panic making the kiss more urgent, more demanding than before—and she was kissing him back, this time fully aware of who he was.
    He let go of her wrists, giving her a chance to push him back, and was afraid she’d do just that when she placed her palms on his shoulders. She bunched her fingers in his shirt, however, and only pulled him closer.
    *
    He was pressing against her, his body hard and firm. She needed more of his body. Closer. Needed to feel his skin on hers. She didn’t care if the following morning he’d call Greg to say he’d nailed her. All she cared about was being naked with him. She withdrew from the kiss. “You’re a jerk.”
    “I know.” He searched for her lips again, but she turned her face from him. “I’m sorry. I’ve wanted you for so long, but you were his, and then you were hurting.” He found the column of her neck and placed open-mouthed kisses along its curve, his hands roaming the sides of her body. “Wanted to piss you off. Pissed off is better than hurt.”
    Once again, she had before her the Nate she’d seen in his bedroom. If what he was saying was true, if he’d gone through so much trouble to make her hate him just so she wouldn’t hurt anymore… His words brought tears to her eyes. He’d sounded pleading, yet she felt her ire rise at the memory of all that had happened between them.
    How did he dare choose for her? How did he dare try and make her despise him, when she might have— they might have—been so much different if he’d shown her this side of him, with the hopeful eyes that looked at her as if she were more than just a girl? “So you’ve been an asshole for two years for my sake?”
    He nodded against her shoulder, his hand playing with a lock of her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
    “So I’d hate you and get over Greg?” He mumbled something she couldn’t hear. “Huh?”
    “That was the plan.” He’d stopped moving completely.
    “You suck at plans.” She pushed him away, but the hurt in his eyes softened her. “Let’s hope you