Free Out on Good Behavior (Radleigh University Book 3) by Dahlia Adler Page B

in her voice, handing over the tea.
    “Samara.” God, my voice sounds raw.
    She swallows hard but continues holding up the tea box as if I haven’t said a word. I take it, and the spark when our fingers touch is so impossible to ignore that she visibly winces.
    Fuck this. I put the tea on the counter and take her face in my hands, gently as if I were cradling a china cup. “Samara.”
    She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t move, either. Her eyes are pleading, and even though this is so stupid for so many reasons, I couldn’t restrain myself if I wanted to.
    The instant our lips touch, it’s like a tidal wave rushing through my veins. Even I have to acknowledge I’ve never felt anything like this, and I desperately want more, whatever she’s willing to give. But apparently that isn’t very much, because she pulls away, panting as if she’s just run a marathon. “Frankie. I can’t.”
    “Okay,” I say immediately, stepping back to give her more room to breathe. “That’s okay.”
    “It’s not.”
    I’m not sure what part we’re talking about right now, or what the right thing to say is. She’s not straight; whether she wants to kiss me or not, I’m damn sure about that now. But she looks about three seconds from falling apart, and I’m not sure if it’s kissing me or kissing a girl or something else entirely that’s throwing her. “Look, I’m sorry if I read you wrong—”
    “You didn’t.” She gulps in a breath of air, and I turn away to pour her a glass of water, giving her a minute to put herself together. “God, I wish you had, but of course you didn’t.” She accepts the glass I give her, but she doesn’t take a drink. Instead, she clutches it so tightly her knuckles whiten around it, and her eyes search my face while her own falls with sadness. “You are so…” Her voice drops to just above a whisper. “I forget everything I’m supposed to be when I’m around you.”
    Chills. Everywhere. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
    “That part isn’t,” she says, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I like you, Frankie. A lot. But I’ve never been with anyone before. And when I am, I need that someone to be…”
    Oh. I see where this is going. “Someone your parents would more likely approve of?” I ask tartly. “Someone without tattoos or piercings or colored hair? Someone with solid career goals? Or is it that I also sleep with boys the problem?”
    “That you sleep with everyone is the problem,” she shoots back, then pales immediately. “No, wait, Frankie, that’s not what I meant—”
    As if I’m going to give her a chance to finish that thought. “I’m so sorry you defiled yourself with such a slut. Don’t worry—that glass has been washed since I last put my mouth on it.”
    “Stop it, Frankie. I didn’t use that word and I don’t think that. That’s not what I meant.”
    “What do you want, Sam? You wanna test out your Sapphic thesis on me? You think I secretly wanna trade in my lace thongs for keys to a U-Haul? I’m not that kind of queer girl. I’m the slut; don’t you know? I’m the kind who’ll fuck anything that walks because I’m greedy, because I can’t make up my mind. I’m not the domestic gold-star lesbian you’re looking for.”
    Samara doesn’t shrink back from my tirade. She doesn’t even blink. It’s infuriating. Her tiger eyes are a little narrowed, maybe, but I’m used to Lizzie’s fire, to Cait’s ice.
    Samara Kazarian is a whole other element.
    The silence between us stretches into unbearable, and the ire in me fades out with it. My racing pulse is approaching normal when she finally speaks.
    “I’m not looking for anything, Frankie. I never was. I just found you. And I don’t want anything that you aren’t. I don’t care who you’ve been with. And I think you know exactly who you are and what you want. It’s one of the things I like most about you. I don’t care if you like girls, guys, both, neither, whatever—I