After We Collided (After, #2) by Anna Todd Read Online (FREE)
After I finish another drink and we talk about how great tomorrow will be, I stand back up. “I’m going to dance again!” I call to them.
Trevor looks like he wants to say something, maybe even offer to come with me, but his cheeks flame and he stays quiet. Kimberly looks like she’s had enough and waves me off, but I don’t mind going out there on my own. I find my way to the middle of the dance floor and start to move. I probably look ridiculous, but it feels good to enjoy the music and let everything else go, like my drunken phone call to Hardin.
After about half a song, I sense a tall figure behind me, near me. I turn to find a pretty cute guy in dark jeans and a white shirt. His brown hair is shaved into a buzz cut, and his smile is handsome enough. He’s no Hardin, but then, no one is.
Stop thinking about Hardin, I remind myself as the man puts his hands on my hips and says close in my ear, “Can I join you?”
“Um . . . sure,” I reply. But really it’s the alcohol that’s speaking for me.
“You’re very beautiful,” he says, then turns me around, closing the gap between us. He pushes up against my back, and I close my eyes, trying to imagine that I’m someone else. A woman who dances with strangers in a club.
The beat to the second song is slower, more sensual, which makes my hips move slower. We turn to face each other, and he brings my hand to his mouth and touches his lips to my skin. His eyes meet mine and the next thing I know he has his tongue in my mouth. My heart screams for me to push him away, almost gagging at the unfamiliar taste of him. But my brain, my brain says something entirely different: Kiss him to forget about Hardin. Kiss him.
So I ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. I close my eyes and move my tongue across his. I’ve kissed more guys in my three months at college than I have in my whole life. The stranger’s hands move to my back and inch down farther.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” he says as our mouths disconnect.
“What?” I heard him, but something in me hopes that by saying what I say I can erase that question.
“My place, let’s go,” he slurs.
“Oh . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh, it’s a good idea.” He laughs. The multicolored lights strobe across his face, making him look odd and much more threatening than before.
“What makes you think I would go home with you? I don’t even know you!” I shout over the music.
“Because you were just all over me and loved it, you dirty girl,” he says like it’s obvious, and not offensive.
Just as I prepare myself to scream at him, or knee him in the crotch, I try to calm down and think clearly for a second. I was just grinding on this guy, and then I kissed him. Of course he’s going to want more. What the hell is wrong with me? I just made out with a stranger in a club—this is not me.