003: A Total Of Eight-Pack

He isn’t kissing me back.  

He’s actually not kissing me back.  

If anything, Trey’s statue-still, his rigid lips against mine while the world goes dead silent. Even the thumping bass from the speakers seems to have magically vanished. It feels like every single person at this party is holding their breath, waiting for the explosion that has to follow a stunt like this.  

And frankly? With how badly this is crashing and burning, so am I.  

God, I’m so stupid. What was I even thinking? Of all the people to recruit for my fake-boyfriend scheme, it just had to be the most dangerous guy at VSU?

Yeah. RIP to me. It was a good run.  

Accepting my inevitable doom, I begin to pull my face away, ready to peel myself off him and run into the night.

But I don’t make it far. Trey’s lips finally move against mine before I can back an inch. A large hand snapping around my waist and pulling me against a hard chest sends my oxygen packing. The crowd mirrors my shock by letting out a loud gasp.

I don’t get a second to think about that, because my mouth starts moving on its own.  And all I can think is... wow.  

For a guy with a reputation as terrifying as his, you’d think he’d be aggressive. That, however, isn’t the case. He’s shockingly gentle, melting into my lips with such slowness and sweetness.

The universe narrows to just us under the string lights, and the cool night air vanishes, replaced by the heat radiating off him as his tongue slides past my lips, deepening the kiss until my brain short-circuits.  

I’m on flipping cloud nine.  

Eventually we break apart, both gasping for air. Opening my lids slowly, my vision focuses on the most beautiful pair of ice-blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

Sweet baby Jesus.

That was, without a doubt, the best kiss of my twenty-two years on this planet. Shawn doesn’t come anywhere close to this. I’ve never had an orgasm, but I’m pretty sure I just had a kiss-gasm.  

We’re still locked in each other’s gaze when a furious roar shatters the spell. “Skylar! Get the fuck down from there now!”  

Right. There are people here. Dozens.  

Aggressively blinking, I turn to see Shawn storming toward us, rage and disbelief painting his features. Everyone else has gone mannequin still.

Wait. Get down? What does he mean, get down–

Oh.  

Oh, sweet Zeus.  

I look down. At some point during our absolute masterclass of a make-out session, I’d somehow managed to fully straddle Trey. My legs are wrapped entirely around his waist, and his massive palms are resting squarely on my butt to keep me hoisted against him.

My face turns a strawberry shade and I scramble back, sliding down his body until my feet hit the dirt.  

I barely find my footing before Shawn yanks me by the arm. His grip bruises. “What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What do I think I'm doing?” I echo, wincing and trying to pull free. “What’d you mean?”  

Grey eyes darts to Trey before drilling back into me as he leans in, saying in a low tone, “Whatever the fuck you think you’re trying to prove, stop it. Immediately.”  

I can’t even focus on his words because his fingers are sending agonizing pain up my arm. “Let go of me, Shawn!”

He ignores me, absolutely blinded by his bruised ego. “Come on. We’re getting you back to the dorm before you do something even more stupid. You’ve clearly had way too much to drink.”  

Mind you, I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol in my life.

Attempting to drag me toward the lot, he turns, but doesn't make it two steps before a gravelly voice halts him dead.

“The lady said to let her go, Crawford. So if I were you... I’d do just that.”

Murder in Shawn’s orbs sees him slowly whirl to face Trey. “Or what? What you gonna do, dipshit? You gonna fight me?” A mocking laugh falls out of him. “You think you’re some kind of big shot because of your little underground fights? Butt the fuck out. Unless you want a repeat of eight weeks ago.”  

My jaw slacks. He can’t seriously be using that as a threat, can he? Because from what I recall vividly, Trey beat him to a living pulp. If campus security and the coaches hadn't dragged Trey off, Shawn would probably still be sipping his meals through a straw.

Trey’s aware of that too, because a crazed smirk spreads across his face. He closes the distance until he’s in Shawn's face. Shawn’s tall, but Trey easily clears him by a few inches. His bulky frame swallows my ex whole.  

“Is that so, Crawford?” His voice is dangerously calm. “Is that what you want? A repeat of eight weeks ago?”  

Malice rolling off Trey in waves has Shawn flinching, but pride won’t let him back down. Instead, he drops my hand and puffs out his chest. “Let’s fucking go then, Parker.”  

“Hey, hey! C’mon, man, drop it.” Thankfully, Chris wedges between them, hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “You already have one massive PR headline hanging over your head. You can’t afford another, dude.”

Shawn’s not having it. He tries to push past, glaring at Trey, who looks entirely unbothered. Downright ecstatic, even.  

Chris grips Shawn’s jersey tighter. “Look around, man. Just let it go. Seriously.”

Finally glancing past Trey’s shoulder, reality smacks Shawn in the face. At least half a dozen phones are out, flashlight lenses twinkling.

That’s the final nail.

Glaring at Trey with enough heat to flame the woods, Shawn spits, “This isn’t over, Parker.”

Then without so much as a glance my way, he marches to his car.  

“Shawn, babe, wait for me,” comes the annoyingly desperate voice of my stepsister. She tosses a venomous look at me before hurrying after him, but Shawn doesn’t stop–he peels out the lot, engine roaring. A second later, her pink Ferrari screams after him.

With the main source of entertainment gone, the tension deflates. The crowd scatters, murmuring as they head to their respective cars.

Within minutes, the edge of the woods is empty. Except for me. And Trey.

He’s just standing there, piercing blue eyes staring intensely at me. The memory of the kiss chooses that exact moment to resurface, making my stomach do a crazy backflip.

Looking down, I try every tactic to avoid eye contact. The last thing I need is him asking why the resident library bookworm just launched herself at his mouth.

As I win the award for Most Intense Staring Contest With A Patch Of Dirt, Trey suddenly speaks. “Come.”  

I raise my head. “Huh?”  

“Don’t you want a ride back? Or do you have someone else to take you?”  

“Oh–no, I mean, you really shouldn’t bother! I was supposed to go back with Jade, but she... well, she kind of ran off, but I can just walk, or call an Uber, or–”

I’m still blabbering when the breath is knocked right out of me. Trey eats the distance, reaches down, and scoops me up bridal style.  

If it was possible for my face to get any hotter, it definitely does now. My hands fly to his shoulders for balance. “W-what are you doing?”

No answer. He just carries me to the bike and sets me on the leather seat carefully.

“Giving you a ride,” he says finally, before placing a helmet over my head and strapping it under my chin.  

The drool-worthy mix of leather and pure masculine heat assaults my senses as he settles in front of me. It takes me a solid three seconds to realize– “Wait. There’s only one helmet. What about you?”  

Instead of answering, he reaches back and wraps my arms around his waist. The second my palms make contact with his torso, I still. Beneath his shirt are a set of ridiculously defined, rock-hard abs.

“Hold on,” he orders.

Then he kicks up the stand, revs the engine, and next thing I know, we’re flying on this two-wheeled death machine. Squeezing my lids shut, I bury my face in his back and hold on for dear life.  

To distract myself from the terrifying speed, my hands stay glued to his stomach and my fingers involuntarily twitch. I wonder how many packs he actually has. Four? Six? Eight?

Curiosity wins and I start mapping the ridges through his shirt. I gasp under the helmet when I count a total of eight-pack. Woah.

My stupid romance-novel-corrupted mind takes over, exploring the hard planes of his body, and a strange flutter sends heat shooting down my girly bits.

Sucking on my bottom lip, entirely lost in my exploration, my hands slide a little lower, tracking the line of his abs downward until my fingers suddenly wrap around something long, thick, and very hard.

I pause with a furrowed brow. Since when do things grow on a guy’s stomach?  

Confused, I give the firm object a curious squeeze.

Almost instantly, Trey lets out a throaty groan that vibrates so intensely against my chest I freeze.

Yanking my head away from his back as the bike halts, I flutter my lids open and see we’re parked right in front of my dorm.

And that’s the exact, horrifying millisecond my brain finally connects the dots. That wasn't a bone. That wasn't part of his bike.

I just forcefully squeezed Trey Parker's...

Oh my gosh.

A gasp pulls from me. I go from flushed to nuclear cherry-red. I practically launch off the bike, catch myself before I face-plant, and wish the ground would open up and swallow me.  

“I’m so sorry!” I blurt, fumbling the helmet off and shoving it at him. “I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I thought it was–oh my god! Thank you for the ride! And I’m sorry about the kiss too, I was desperate and Shawn was being such a jerk and I didn’t think and… Okay. I’m blabbing.”  

Trey just stares at me with a dark, hooded expression that has shivers skating up my spine.  

“Thanks for today anyways!” I squeak, before fleeing toward the entrance.

Naturally, because the universe loathes me, my sneaker catches on the step and I trip, barely catching myself on the glass door.  

A deep chuckle echoing from behind mortifies me. Bursting inside, I sprint down the hall and slam into my room. Sliding down the door, I press my burning face into my palms.

Okay. New Rule: Avoid Trey Parker at all costs. Starting now.