Fractured Heart: a Fairy Tale Romance (LUV Academy Book 1) Page 8

  He was misunderstood

  But so was she.

  They were both all alone

  In misery.

  And then one day their paths crossed

  And it was fate.

  A love story for all time

  Within the castle gates.

  No one from the little town

  Would understand.

  But there in the castle,

  Her wish was his command…

  It’s the song I wrote about Beauty and the Beast, not about Cinderella and Prince Charming. It’s meant for Charles and his sexy bass, but Tate sings it beautifully. His voice plays with my heartstrings, sending my pulse racing, while Charles shifts in his seat behind me, listening intently.

  With each line, Tate’s voice softens, growing quieter, and his face moves closer and closer to mine. I’m so mesmerized that there’s no time for me to feel nervous before his lips touch mine.

  I gasp and marvel at the feel of my very first kiss. It’s exactly how I’ve always pictured it: magical. Tate's lips are warm, and soft, and gentle. My eyes drift shut, and I return the light pressure as warmth fills me.

  My song continues to play in the background of my mind—my words in his breathtaking voice—creating the perfect melody as our lips slowly dance. It feels like the two of us are in an empty ballroom, sharing our magical first kiss as the music plays.

  I sigh against Tate’s lips and he pulls back slightly and stares into my eyes. Seconds pass, and I get lost in the beauty of the moment.

  I know the dazed expression that must be reflected on my face, but it quickly turns into a smile as happiness warms my heart. I just had my first kiss and it was perfect and magical and exactly what I’d always dreamed of.

  “Roonie,” Charles growls, bringing me back to reality with a jolt.

  “Oh,” I gasp, my happiness replaced by a wave of shame. I just kissed Tate in front of Charles. Like he wasn’t even there. Was he watching the entire time? Did he look away?

  Tate smirks at Charles, not the least bit embarrassed by our public display. I try desperately not to cringe. What must Charles think of me? And what do I say to him after what I’ve just done?

  Charles spins my bar stool around to face him. I open my mouth, a pleading apology on my lips, but he doesn’t give me the chance to explain. He threads one large hand through my hair, leans forward, and covers my lips with his.

  My gasp quickly turns into a moan. Kissing Tate was like a magical dance in a brightly lit ballroom. Kissing Charles is like being consumed by a fiery beast. He crushes his lips against mine and my entire body bursts into flames. His beard turns the kiss feral and I let out a moan of desire.

  Taking my parted lips as invitation, Charles slides his tongue inside, hard and fast. Heat pools between my legs and I grab fistfuls of his shirt, yanking at it as I try to pull him close. Charles doesn’t budge. It would take a lot more than my weak tugs to move the Beast. Need and frustration drive my desire to new heights, and I scramble forward. I’m almost on Charles’s lap at this point and Tate groans.

  Tate! I gasp and wrench myself away from Charles. My cheeks are flushed, and my breath comes out in fast pants.

  Charles’s muscular chest rises and falls quickly, and his eyes are glued to my lips. He looks like he wants to grab me and kiss me again, and the worst part is, I want it, too.

  With a panicked cry, I scramble away from him. How could I forget all about Tate five seconds after I kissed him? I made out with another man right in front of him—his roommate of all people—while he was sitting right here.

  “I’m so sorry!” I cry, looking from Tate to Charles and back again. I don’t even know who I’m apologizing to. I kissed Tate in front of Charles. Then, I kissed Charles in front of Tate. What is wrong with me?

  “You’re sorry you kissed me?” Charles growls, the hurt in his tone unmistakable.

  “Yes! No! I’m sorry!” I cover my face with my hands as the sinking feeling in my gut grows. There’s no way out of this, no way to avoid the hurt look I’m sure must be reflected on both their faces.

  “Roonie,” Tate croons, gently peeling my fingers away from my face, “if you don’t like kissing Charles, you can kiss me again.”

  “What?” My eyes widen. Tate seems one hundred percent serious about kissing me, and not the least bit upset about what happened with Charles.

  “You can kiss me again,” Tate repeats, breaking into a happy grin. My stomach does a summersault and my lips tingle. Then I remember Charles. How could Tate expect me to kiss him in front of Charles?

  “No.” I shake my head vehemently.

  “So, you’d rather kiss Charles?” Tate’s smile falters.

  “You would?” Charles’s voice rumbles with pleasure, his tone hopeful.

  “No! I—I don’t know.” I look from Tate to Charles and back again.

  I can’t tell Charles I would rather kiss him when Tate just gave me the magical first kiss of my dreams. The memory makes me melt…until I remember the wild, savage kiss that followed.

  How can I choose between Tate and Charles?

  Between Prince Charming—with his heart-melting sweetness and princely good looks—and the Beast—huge and rough and rugged?

  “You do know,” Charles growls, leaning closer. He towers over me and I forget to breathe.

  “Come on, Roonie,” Tate rotates my barstool to face him. He leans forward, his breath fanning my lips, and I struggle against the urge to lean in. “Tell us who you’d rather kiss. Me?”

  “Or me?” Charles turns my barstool back, facing him, and cups my face. Before I can protest, he kisses me again. His lips are rough and demanding, and after a futile, momentary struggle, I kiss him back. I start to get lost in his lips—in him—when my barstool starts to spin.

  I’m pulled out of Charles’s arms and find myself facing Tate. Again. I kissed Charles in front of him. Again.

  My chest rises and falls quickly as I try to catch my breath. My lips feel swollen from the Beast’s assault. Swollen and wanting more. Tate’s gaze locks on them, and I bite my lower lip nervously when he starts to lean in. He can’t possibly want to kiss me again, not after I just kissed Charles, but then he covers my throbbing lips with his. It’s a soft, gentle caress that leaves me wanting more. When he pulls back, I whimper and lean forward.

  With a triumphant smile, Tate cups my face and complies. I expect him to kiss me again, full-on, but he tugs on my lower lip gently instead. I gasp. When he sucks it into his mouth, I whimper with a mix of pleasure and surprise.

  Tate groans and does it again, this time focusing his attention on my upper lip. He sucks it into his mouth and gives it a soft tug. I moan, loudly, and Tate pulls back, leaving a hair’s breadth between us.

  “I made her moan,” he says, his words directed at Charles while his breath caresses my lips. “Do you want me to kiss you again, Roonie?”

  “Oh, yes.” I whimper and start to lean closer before I fully realize what I’ve said. I pull back quickly and shake my head, feeling another wave of panic.

  “Should I kiss you then?” Charles suggests, his breath fanning my ear.

  I swear my heart nearly stops even as my body ignites. All I want is for them to kiss me again, both of them. At the same time, or one after the other, I don’t really care. All that matters is that I can have them both. Wait, both?

  The thought of being with both Charles and Tate sends my body into overdrive. My pulse races a mile a minute, every part of me burns for them and I forget to breathe. If I was freaked out about being with just Tate—or just Charles—the thought of taking this further with both of them is too much.

  “I can’t do this,” I cry.

  “Do what?” Charles growls.

  “Are you alright, Roonie?” Tate asks.

  He leans closer and so does Charles, both of them crowding me, trapping me, as they wait for an answer. Sandwiching me between their rock hard bodies and the bar, they leave me nowhere to go.

&nbs
p; “I’ve never been kissed before. Before today. Before you!”

  The moment those words leave my mouth I cover it in horror. Did I really just say that aloud?

  “I was your first kiss?” Tate looks shocked, and no wonder. I’m probably the only virgin on the entire college campus, let alone one who’s never been kissed. He must think I’m so immature.

  “We were her first kiss,” Charles growls. Unlike Tate, he doesn’t sound surprised. Does he realize that no guy has ever wanted me? And if so, why did he kiss me?

  “Technically, I kissed her first…” Tate trails off. His eyes widen and he turns to an equally wide-eyed Charles. The two of them hold some sort of silent conversation. I think they come to a wordless agreement, because they share a nod before turning to me.

  “W-why are you looking at me like that?” I swallow nervously, looking back and forth between them.

  Tate’s light brown, soulful, eyes bore into me, as do Charles’s dark, piercing ones. Both guys are close—too close—and the desire to kiss Tate, or Charles, or both Tate and Charles, grows. I want them, both of them, and if either of them were to kiss me again, I wouldn’t be able to resist.

  “We should finish this food before it gets cold,” Tate announces suddenly.

  My lips part in confusion as he turns away from me. He grabs a slice of pizza, takes a huge bite, and focuses all his attention on chewing. He’s obviously ignoring me, and my eyes dart to Charles in question.

  “Tate’s right,” Charles says. He reaches out for a slice of baguette and casually dips it in the pâté. “Let’s eat.”

  Chapter 15

  Partway through the meal, the cleaners make their way into the living room. They push back the couch and surrounding furniture and vacuum up the remaining water. It makes it way too loud for us to talk, but I guess it doesn’t matter. No one’s said a word since my unfortunate confession.

  Admitting that I’ve never been kissed wasn’t just embarrassing; it’s made Tate and Charles completely lose interest. They were probably looking for a one-night stand or whatever it is college guys do. Now that they know I have zero experience, it’s no wonder both of them lost interest.

  I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest, but the guys only make things harder. They stop hand feeding me food and they pretend like I’m not even there. Why are they acting like the magical, scalding-hot kisses between us never happened? They may hook up with girls so often that a measly kiss means nothing to them, but it means everything to me.

  Both kisses meant everything to me.

  I look from Tate to Charles and back again. How can I be interested in both of them, when I know neither one is interested in me? How can I long to be devoured by the Beast even as my body betrays me every time I look at Prince Charming?

  I’m glad for the cleaners, and the distraction, but they work fast. Before I know it, they’re done and rushing out the door. They leave the apartment in pristine shape and promise to return the rug once it’s been properly cleaned. Then, the apartment will look like I was never here. I should be glad that there was no permanent damage, but I feel empty inside.

  I need a distraction, so I focus on filling my mouth with food. Eventually, my hunger—and the utter deliciousness of each dish—wins out. I focus on flavor after flavor and the hurt and embarrassment is slowly replaced by hunger.

  I even manage to get through the entire meal without humming—or worse—singing. Although a song about a beast and a feast and a charming prince would be kind of great.

  “Fun and whimsical,” Tate says. For a second, I think he’s reading my mind, before he adds, “it’s a great tune.”

  “Sorry.” I grimace and quickly stuff a mushroom in my mouth before I accidentally start humming again.

  “Don’t be. It was good. Right, Charles?”

  “It was.” Charles stares at me intently. “Is it an original?”

  “Kind of.” I flush and fix my gaze on the puff pastries. Then I sneak a peek at Charles, who shares an indecipherable look with Tate.

  “Roonie…” Tate places his hand on top of mine.

  “Yes?” My heart skips a beat.

  I glance down at Tate’s hand, which is covering mine, and then look into his eyes. Only my gaze never gets past his lips, and I stare, wondering if he’s going to kiss me again.

  And more importantly, if I want him to. My pulse races and I tense, waiting.

  “Would you come to rehearsal tomorrow?”

  “What?” I look away from his lips in confusion.

  “Charles and I are in an a cappella group. We’d love it if you could come to our rehearsal.”

  My eyes widen. Tate’s in an a cappella group? With Charles?

  I feel like Cinderella being told she could go to the ball, except it’s not a ball, it’s a rehearsal. An a cappella rehearsal. That’s a hundred times better than any ball—no, a thousand.

  I’ve watched so many rehearsals online—and performances and choreographies and practically everything having to do with a cappella groups and musicals—but getting to go to one in person?

  Mom was never well enough to take me, and after she was gone…well, it just never happened. So, this? Me, getting invited to a real, live rehearsal? It’s a dream come true.

  Then, it hits me. I’m not just going to a rehearsal. I’m going to hear Tate and Charles sing. My heart nearly stops. I don’t want to wait for tomorrow—I want to beg them to do a duet right here, right now—but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to do anything that might make them change their minds.

  “It would mean a lot to us,” Charles says, though it can’t possibly mean as much to them as it does to me.

  “Please, Roonie?” Tate looks at me with puppy dog eyes and I can’t resist. Not that I’d want to.

  “Of course I’ll go.” I smile and Tate breaks into a happy grin. I turn to Charles, and he smiles too. Not as broadly as Tate, but his lips curve up beneath his beard and his eyes crinkle.

  I can’t believe they both want me to go to their rehearsal. I’m not a student here, so I doubt they want my opinion or advice. Does that mean they invited me because they’re still interested in me? And how can they both be interested?

  “It’s tomorrow at noon.” Tate gets to his feet. He starts to close food takeout boxes, and when Charles gets up to help him, I do, too.

  “Roonie, you sit.” Tate looks at me with concern. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine. I should help.”

  “No, you need to rest,” Charles orders, picking me up gently and setting me back onto the barstool. He’s really making a habit of that. “Have the painkillers kicked in?”

  “How…” I glance up at him in surprise.

  “Tate told me.” Charles shrugs as he starts closing all the takeout containers from Chez Caviar.

  “Just that you fell, and I took you to see a doctor,” Tate says quickly. He shares a concerned look with Charles.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” I say quickly. Then, I realize that I haven’t even thought about my bruised ribs or sore back in the longest time. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  “Good.” Tate smiles and gathers up the Pizza al Volo containers to put in the fridge. “I left the rest of the painkillers on the coffee table. You should take two more in the morning…and we should get to bed.”

  “You don’t mind me staying? Even after I flooded the bathroom?”

  “I told you that was my fault.” Tate stops what he’s doing and turns to face me. “I shouldn’t have left you alone after you took those pills. I’m lucky you didn’t fall asleep and drown.”

  “It wasn’t the pills, Tate.” Even though I wish I could blame it on the medication and leave it at that. “I’m never paying attention. I get distracted and mess things up and—”

  “Oh, Roonie,” Tate comes around the bar and brushes back a strand of my hair, “don’t say that about yourself.”

  “But it’s true,” I whisper back.

  “No, it
isn’t,” Charles barks, even though he couldn’t be more wrong.

  “You guys just met me. You don’t know me.”

  “But we’d like to.” Tate takes my hand gently in his. “Now, come on. Let’s get you to bed. My room is just down the hall.”

  “Since when is Roonie sleeping with you?” Charles snaps.

  “I’m not,” I squeak.

  Tate grins. “Since I offered to sleep on the couch.”

  “I can sleep on the couch,” Charles argues.

  “You barely fit on it as is.” Tate winks at me.

  “I fit just fine,” Charles growls and takes a menacing step toward his roommate.

  “I’ll take the couch,” I cry, not wanting them to fight. “I don’t want to sleep in either of your beds.” Tate and Charles share a look and my cheeks flame. “I mean, I’ll be fine on the couch.”

  “Are you sure?” Tate asks, his tone seductive. “You’ll be a lot more comfortable in my bed.”

  “Or mine.” Charles smirks.

  My pulse quickens. “I…um…” I shake my head emphatically. “I’ll be fine…out here, that is. On the couch.”

  The guys smirk and hold another one of those silent conversations. They seem to come to some agreement and Tate heads to a closet to grab blankets and a pillow for me. He stacks them on the couch and then heads to his room without saying goodnight.

  “Good night, Roonie,” Charles says for him.

  I wait for him to head off to bed, too, but he just stands there. I fidget at his intense stare. What is he waiting for?

  “Charles?” I ask nervously.

  “Yes?” His eyes flash with hope. Despite his beastly appearance, I know there’s a softer side hidden behind his rough exterior. His classy wardrobe and the gentle kindness he’s shown me are the markings of a true prince.

  Which is why I have to know. “Why were you reading that book, Charles?”

  “What book?” His brows furrow.

  “Grimm’s Fairy Tales…do you really like those stories?”

  Charles shrugs. A few seconds pass, and I figure he’s not going to answer, when he finally says, “It’s research.”