The Social Experiment, Page 3

  The two of them offer up frenetic nods, and we hug it out before I march straight into that dark, unknowable hole that might as well be the bowels of that four-letter word I’ve yet to see, LOVE. I take a deep breath as I follow a sign that reads The Social Experiment with a thick arrow pointing to a room that emanates an unreasonable amount of light.

  Don’t go to the light, my heart screams.

  But my body never seems to listen.

  I was totally wrong about that whole cakewalk thing. I am very much frisked and taken in for questioning. They do a complete purse and body pat down, searching for what I’m assuming is the mace I might inevitably need when paired up with the sex-deprived frat boy who crawled out from under his Xbox. (I may be sex-deprived myself, but that’s beside the point.) Nevertheless, the quasi-physical assault was nothing compared to the machine gun questioning that spanned a painful twenty minutes by a panel of five pimple-faced peers who—swear to God, if I catch on campus, I will cut a look that will be far more lethal than any contraband I might have tried to sneak by their TSA-worthy search squad. Ask me to rate my morals on a sliding scale one more time and see if I don’t turn my bracelet into brass knuckles. I’m here on scholarship. It’s no coincidence I survived thirteen years of the Moon Ridge public school system. Not that the Moon Ridge public school system would invoke a sense of dread in anyone in their right mind, but still. I can smell a trust fund baby a mile away, and I’m looking at five of them.

  Shortly thereafter, I’m sent to hair and makeup, where I’m treated to a blow out and all of Sephora’s finest offerings. I almost don’t recognize myself once the glam squad fairies work their magic on me. I run through legal and sign the next six weeks of my life away. Apparently, one hot mess of a date does not an experiment make, so six painful weeks it is. I’d make a run for it, but they’ve already dusted my face with enough sparkling highlighter to make sure I have that Chernobyl glow you can quickly spot in a crowd. There’s no blending in or turning back now. Finally, I’m escorted into a room decorated with reclaimed wood, black glossy floors, and dozens of cameras all zeroed in on yours truly. Nothing awkward at all.

  A smiling young man with a clean-shaven head speeds my way wearing a sweater vest and torn Levi’s. “My name is Seth Bradshaw. I’ll be your sensory guide for the entirety of your journey.” I heard spirit guide, and now I’m questioning whether or not I’ve signed up for an out-of-body experiment that I’m pretty sure is totally against my religion. If that’s not basis enough to turn and run like hell, what is? In fact, weren’t the last words my mother spoke to me—don’t trust a man in a sweater vest?

  Okay, kidding. Bad joke at that, but at the moment, I’m sweating right down to the soles of my feet.

  “Your assignment is simple,” he continues. “I’ll lead you to the room in the back. The lights will be out. You’ll be in complete darkness.”

  “Darkness? As in zero light? As in Edison-the-asshole’s-great-electrical-heist-of-1879-will-not-be-permitted kind of a darkness?”

  His brows twitch with confusion. “Yes. Pitch-black.” He pauses a moment in the event I decide to throw another historical curveball his way. I don’t usually go around memorizing hard dates, but they just so happened to cover that tidbit in American history the other day. “A bell will go off, and the partition between you and your suitor will be removed. You’re in a small space, so you’ll be within touching distance. This will last for thirty seconds.”

  “Back the train up.” I hold up my hand, and he ducks as if he’s already dodged a fist to the face more than once today, and I’m betting he has. “Touching? Let me get this straight. I’m in for a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven, only I don’t have any clue as to whom I’ve paired me with?”

  “Bingo. The objective is to kiss—if you wish.” That rubber band smile snaps back on his face. “Follow me. You’ll be a natural. Would you like a breath mint?”

  “No thanks.” God, what did I eat for lunch? A burrito? An egg sandwich? I can’t think straight to save my halitosis-riddled life. “On second thought, yes.” Although I’m pretty sure I won’t be smooching with anyone in the next few weeks, let alone minutes. The legal team made it clear that all kissing, loving, touching, squeezing is strictly voluntary—and strictly the point—but at any time either my suitor or I say the word no all bets are off. The TSE team will monitor our every move, assuring me that I should feel safe no matter what situation I’m put in.

  Seth hands me a mint that probably has its own rating on the Scoville heat index, and I painfully chomp it down, turning my entire digestive tract into a peppermint fun factory should my suitor’s tongue decide to dive for stomach acids.

  “And then what happens?” I ask, hardly keeping up with him as he leads me toward a door that reads talent only beyond this point.

  God, I’m not the talent, am I? I don’t have any talent to speak of, unless you count the fact I can pick up loose change off the floor with my toes, and that’s strictly quarters only.

  “And then”—Seth pats my shoulders down as if ironing out the wrinkles on my sweater—“we turn on the lights for ten seconds so you can assess one another.”

  “After that?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “The lights go back out, and you have a thirty-second window to continue doing whatever it is you were doing.”

  “Kissing.” Or in my case ducking—decking sounds more like a possibility. Although, for Vi’s sake, I might be up for a quick peck. Just the thought of kissing a total stranger in the dark has each nerve in my body screaming with alarm—and as much as I don’t want to admit it, a little titillated with excitement at the very same time.

  Seth grunts as he shoots a disproving look to the door. “Believe me, people have been getting a lot more mileage off of different body parts in there this afternoon.”

  “Oh.” I take a half-step back. “You’ve disinfected, I’m assuming.” I’m going to kill Vi. I’ll use that paisley cardinal and gold scarf she’s purchased with my virginal blood to do it with.

  A red light blinks on overhead.

  “He’s in.” Seth moves me to the door.

  “He’s in?” Every cell in my body hits its panic-riddled zenith as I’m shoved into the dark pit of the cool, dark room that slightly smells of a pine-scented scrub down.

  “And you’re in, too,” Seth sings. “One rule. You don’t say a single word.”

  Just like that, the door closes, and I’m swallowed by a thick blackness I have never known before. A horrible fear grips me, and just as I’m about to scream and pound my way out of this university-issued tomb, I hear the slide of the partition pulling away and a pair of warm hands pats over my arms. Without hesitating, I glide my palms over a sturdy chest, higher still until I reach what I’m guessing is three-day old scruff—something I find sexy as hell, and I’m instantly aroused. Stupid, stupid hormones.

  He takes a step in and cups my cheeks, and I can feel the heat of his body as he edges in closer still. His lips touch over the side of my face, gliding down until they hit pay dirt and our mouths brush over one another, bumping against one another softly.

  My nameless, faceless suitor smells nice, spritzed with just the right amount of what my senses tell me is very expensive cologne. The scent of fresh peppermint emanates from his breath, and for a moment, I’m thanking God I opted for the mint from hell.

  His lips move over mine slowly at first, then hard and lingering until my mouth falls open and I let this nameless, faceless, minty, expensive cologne wielding boy into my world. His tongue brushes over mine, and a pulse of electricity rides along each bedraggled nerve in my body. My fingers press into his steely arms as my mouth drinks down the heady, earthshattering movements his lips deliver to mine. My God this boy can turn water into wine with this blessed mouth of his. The ferocity picks up and soon he’s delivering something darker, deeper than the simple peck we started off with. These are deliberate kisses—I want to bed you kisses, let me take you home with me an
d I’ll show you what else I can do with my mouth kisses. His mouth moves greedily over mine and I can’t help but moan with approval—with wanting. This stranger has me captivated, desperate for one more moment locked at the lips.

  I’ve kissed a boy or two. But this? It’s as if I’ve never lived, let alone touched my lips to another human being. My heart rages against my chest as if begging the moment to go on forever. Wave after wave of adrenaline fills me until I’m about to die a thousand sweet deaths by way of this soft electrocution.

  The lights blink on and we both back away, calm at first, then with the sting of panic.

  Shit!

  That kiss wasn’t gifted to me by some errant frat boy who crawled out from under his Xbox. That kiss was gifted to me by none other than Leland University’s very own star quarterback, Rowen Garret.

  It’s Rowen.

  I’ve just kissed Rowen.

  Rowen Garret just had his tongue in my mouth, and I’ve lived to tell about it.

  He stares back at me with those serious deep gray eyes, that gorgeous dark glossy hair I haven’t seen this close up in eons, looking every bit the sex god he purports to be. Dear God, Rowen is cuttingly handsome to the bone, and I’ve just committed the single physical act I’ve dreamed about with him for the last twelve years.

  And just like that, the lights go out again.

  Rowen

  Sophie Meyer.

  Of all the girls on campus—most of which I have already taken a bite out of, how could it be Sophie?

  Damn, she’s beautiful. The second the lights blinked on, I felt a rattling right down to my bones. And now that the lights are off, I have a decision to make.

  My heart does its best to kick right out of my chest. My ears thump with their own psychotic rhythm. And as much as I want to fight it, the clock is ticking away. I have seconds to decide what to do next.

  My muscles twitch in her direction. Without putting too much thought into it, my hands float up to her cheeks and I cup them, drawing her near to me one more time. I land my lips over hers, soft as a whisper—an I’ve missed you, an apology all at once. If she didn’t taste so good the first time. If she wasn’t so damn beautiful. If she wasn’t on my mind since the day I saw her a few weeks back, then again last night—

  Her arms swivel around my waist as she pulls me in, her fingers digging into my flesh. Those petal soft lips press against mine as her tongue spears me with an intensity only matched by my own. Sophie and I go at it as if it were our last few seconds on Earth, as if the walls were about to crumble around us and Braden himself were about to appear.

  I kick her big brother out of my mind. This isn’t about him, or what’s become of him. This is a moment I’m having with Sophie, the girl who was staring me down last night like she wanted to knife my balls off. But if I’m honest, all I really wanted to do with Sophie last night was this. I had a girl set to go for the night, and as soon as we walked out of that bar, I let her go. I couldn’t get Sophie out of my head, and now here she is, her tongue twisted up with mine like a pretzel. Her sweet, hot mouth melts into me as a hearty groan works up from my throat. My entire body fills with heat just knowing that I’m holding her like this.

  Holy hell. None of this is real. I’m betting that once the lights go on again, I’ll get a better look at the poor girl, and she won’t be anywhere near Sophie’s level of beauty. I just saw what I wanted to see. This is all just a step away from a fantasy to begin with.

  And just like that, the lights pop on like a slap.

  My heart stops. Those are still Sophie’s wild eyes pinned to mine. Our chests pound in sync as if we just ran a miracle mile.

  That face, that mouth, those golden eyes filled with hatred and a mixture of something I can’t quit identify—it’s all too real.

  “Shit,” I pant, soft as a whisper, as I take her in. I can’t do this, so I do the only thing I can—turn and speed out the door.

  Petra, the timid brunette assigned to keep charge over me while I foul up my life in this social debacle, ushers me into the same over-lit room where this nightmare began.

  “How did it go? Did you like her? Would you want to do that again?” Her bright speckled eyes ignite as if she somehow swallowed the light around us. I’ve seen Petra around campus. She let me know she’s a junior, loves drama, but opted for psych. Petra is a girl I wouldn’t usually have a lot in common with, and yet, here we are, locked eye to eye in a strangulating gaze.

  “It went. Yes, I liked her, but—” I rake my fingers through my hair just trying to keep up with the thoughts racing through me. “I don’t think I can do it again.”

  “No worries.” Her eyes flit to the opened door with a look that suggests she is very damn worried. “You have an entire week to think on it.”

  “So, that’s it? I’m free to go? You’re not going to sit us in a room and make us wrangle this out?”

  “Heavens no. You’ll wrangle it out with the panel. Just a few quick questions before you go.” A high-pitched laugh escapes her. “Of course, we’ll meet again next week. Same bat station. Same bat channel.”

  “Same girl?”

  “Same girl.” She gives a friendly wink as if doing her best to settle me down. It’s not working. “And if you both show up and complete the next task, then we move on to the next level.”

  “What’s the next task?”

  “I’m not allowed to say.”

  “Say it,” I bark it out meaner than I intended, and she hugs the laptop in her arms a little bit tighter.

  “Okay,” she whispers, looking suspiciously past her shoulder. “Second verse might be same as the first. But it’s a little more involved.”

  “How involved?”

  “We up the time to ten minutes.” She shrugs it off as if it were no big deal.

  Ten minutes. For a moment, I envision Sophie and me right back in that room doing just that for ten solid, savory minutes, and my boxers twitch with an indelible ache.

  Crap.

  “I’ll see you around,” I say, speeding out the nearest exit.

  “Wait! What about the panel?” Her voice is already small in the distance. “Does that mean you’ll be back?”

  Will I? Won’t I? I have no freaking clue. Screw the panel. Right now, all I want to do is shake the coach for talking the entire damn football team into participating. No, it wasn’t mandatory, but he has a way of persuading us to do just about anything. It turns out Dexter Houston is the coach’s great-nephew, or great-niece, some crap like that. And now his familial bullshit has led directly to mine.

  But I’m not dealing with the coach or anyone else at the moment. Right now, I’m headed back to my dorm, taking a shower, and calling it a day. There aren’t enough hours, enough beers, or cups of coffee for me to wrap my head around the mindfuck that just occurred.

  “Rowen!” a tiny female voice calls from behind, and I keep on walking. Crap. Is that Sophie? Would she even want to speak with me after that trauma we both just partook in? “Ro!”

  And just like that, I recognize that familiar bark as my sweet baby sister—most likely the only person in the world I’d turn around for at this point.

  Sophie and that heated kiss sear through my mind, and I try my best to blink her away.

  “Min,” I say as she launches into a running tackle. “Whoa. What are you doing up here?” Mindy is a freshman at Bixby, another private university about fifteen miles away tucked between the chocolate boulders on the outskirts of Moon Ridge. Our parents were thrilled to have both their alma maters represented in their children. Leland and Bixby are rivals, so it’s nice to have a house that is equally divided.

  “Just thought I’d surprise my big bro.” She gives a cheesy wink but keeps right on laughing. Mindy and I share our mother’s eyes, dark gray and far too intense, same wavy black hair. It seems each time I see Mindy lately I could just as easily be looking at our mother. Mom is an attorney, thus Min’s foray into prelaw. Dad is a sports coach at Moon Ridge Junior Col
lege, thus my greed for all things football. I’m prelaw as well, and I like to tease my little sis that I’m the best of both worlds. It’s safe to say these two apples didn’t roll too far from the Garret family tree.

  “It’s not really a good time.” I have never blown off my sister. Never once have I turned away her company, but I’m rattled, caught off guard. The last time I felt this way was the day I lost Becca. I blink hard at the thought. I’ve seen the two of them holding hands around campus—Braden and Becca. At this point, I couldn’t care less about how it went down between her and me, but it’s what Braden did that I can’t seem to get past.

  Mindy’s mouth falls open, and I can see the disappointment bomb go off in her. “Not a good time? But I’m lonely at Bixby.” She wrinkles her nose, and my heart sinks. “How about I buy you a cup of coffee? Just one.” She holds up a single finger, doing her best to plead while biting back a victorious smile. Mindy knows I can’t deny her a single thing.

  “You bet.” I’m quick to wrap my arm around my sister’s shoulder and lead her over to Coffeeology. “But I’m the one who’s buying.”

  Mindy bubbles with a short-lived laugh. “Have it your way, hotshot quarterback, but we both know this is on the university dime.” That’s not quite true. Yes, I’ve got a full ride, and that alone had my parents singing hallelujah for an entire month solid, but the coffee comes out of my own pocket.

  “I’m all yours, Mindy,” I say, holding open the door to the campus coffee hotspot. I don’t tread in here often, but when I do, I can’t help but get bowled over by the heavenly roasted beans. Damn, it smells good. Coffeeology is decked out in the requisite school colors along with a series of oversized black and white prints of Colorado’s glorious mountains. That’s one thing I’ve been craving as of late, hitting some trails before winter comes and carpet bombs everything white.