A Quarterback for Christmas

Chapter 3

Bella

The G wagon rolls to a stop. “We’re home,” Drew says with more pep than a hyped-up flyer that hit her mark. Stuck in my arch-nemesis’s jock house for Christmas wasn’t exactly in the plans, but karma had other ideas for me. I blame it on that time I was in London and didn’t tell that girl that her skirt was tucked into her underwear. That was the day I was put in karma jail, and this is my comeuppance.

Drew shuffles his bulky body beside me, and I don’t dare to look because every time I do, I see his happy-go-lucky, eager-to-please face, which annoys me.

He’s a gentleman who looks like the best-looking Hemsworth brother, and no matter how rude I am to him, he’s always, always, always got a smile on his face.

Everything about him is so damn perfect; it’s a constant reminder that I’m not. In fact, I’m so far out of orbit from the word, I’d need to hire Elon Musk to get remotely close.

“Are you awake?” I’m not surprised he’s asking. The only sign of life I’d given since we’d left the hospital was an angry mewl or two when he drove over a pothole a little too aggressively. At least I had the heated seat to cushion my ride, something Uber Dave could benefit from.

“I’m awake,” I answer, looking out at the beautiful suburban street and the traditional brick house with snow covering its black roof. “Is this it?”

“Mhm.”

“Not what I was expecting.” I crick my neck, still wondering how on earth we will get through living together. I can barely stand to be in the same room as Drew at the best of times, but now I’ll be breathing the same air as him all day, every day. I might even need his help.

“Where did you think I lived? Frat Row?” Ah, Frat Row. The exclusive neighborhood where I spent many nights during my younger years trying to find myself. Still haven’t found myself, but on the way, I found a few frat boys whose names I can’t remember and discovered that I was blackballed out of the neighborhood the minute they found out I was Coach Summers’ daughter. At least, I think it was that. It could have been when I fell face-first into a bush after drinking too many shots.

“Wouldn’t put it past you. You are the hot shot of St. Michael’s, after all.”

He adjusts his hat, seemingly uncomfortable with the fabric. “I was offered a place at three frats, but turned them down when Jacob offered me a place here.”

“Jacob? As in Jacob Miller?” That makes me glance over my shoulder for the first time in this journey.

Drew narrows his eyes, watching me skeptically. “Yeah, do you know him?”

I snort. “Everyone in the country knows Jacob Miller. Isn’t he expected to be the number one draft pick? If Dad isn’t boasting about you, Jacob’s his next favorite topic.”

Drew’s usually wide smile drops, and the way he looks at me makes my toes tingle. Maybe it’s just frostbite?

Saying nothing, his eyes drift down to my green shorts, and he takes in a sharp inhale. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You’re getting cold.” I cover my knees, feeling goosebumps across my skin. How could he see them from there?

Drew’s quickly by my side, and when he opens my door, he dips his hands under my knees and across my back. The touch startles me, but I hide the surprise with an annoyed gripe and push him away.

“What the hell are you doing, you beanie hat-wearing heathen?”

Drew chuckles. Chuckles. At me. Then he throws his hands in the air, getting them as far away as possible. Strangely, my body misses the heat of his hands as the cold, snowy air bites across my skin.

“Sorry, I was going to help you since we don’t have a wheelchair. The path to my door is icy, and I didn’t think you’d want to use your crutches in the snow. Your balance has already been tested, and look how well that turned out for you.”

I grind my teeth. It doesn’t matter that he’s probably right. I hate that mocking me comes so easily to him that he can do it with such a brilliant smile splashed across his face.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I quip, already readying myself to get out of the car to face my impending doom. Death by ice would be better than asking Drew for any more help.

He lifts a shoulder and backs away. “Suit yourself.”

Rounding the G-wagon, he opens the back door and gets my crutches out. As I half sit on the seat, clutching at the side of the car, Drew hands the crutches to me and raises his brow in a challenge.

Not one to back down, I snatch the crutches and angle them to touch the concrete.

The minute I put pressure on them, the ice cracks, and my confidence wavers.

“You sure you want to do this?” Drew’s tentative voice only makes me more determined, even though I know it’s a bad idea. I can already feel the lack of grip from the sleet, and when I hazard a step onto the snow, the move only confirms it.

“I’m fine.”

Somehow, I'd forgotten that I was wearing a cast with my toes exposed and a pair of foam sandals that would offer me zero protection from the elements when I so stubbornly refused his help. Not being able to back down now, I push past the tingling feeling in my toes when they touch the snow and ignore Drew’s smug glare as I attempt to walk to the door.

It’s not that far, but the door feels farther away with every wobbled step.

I barely make it three steps before Drew slams the car door, and I can hear his hard, determined steps behind me. Without warning, he wraps his muscular arms around my waist and lifts me with ease as my crutches fall to the ground.

“What the…”

“Sorry, B, but I’m not doing extra drills because Coach blames me for you breaking your other leg.” His biceps clench tighter, holding my arms in place.

“Let me go.” I try to squirm out of his hold, but I can’t move.

“Relax, B,” he whispers into my hair, his warm breath fanning my cold skin. There’s a shiver of intensity, but I push past that feeling. I’m used to my body betraying me after what feels like ninety years of chastity.

He walks up the dark oak steps and opens the door with ease. I’m immediately hit with a warm, woodsy scent when I’m dropped onto the large, U-shaped sectional. A plaid blanket falls across me from the back of the sofa, and my eyes grow wide as I take in my surroundings.

“So, this is it,” he says, almost bashfully, as he wipes his hands on his jeans. Is he nervous? He shouldn’t be. Although not to my taste, this place is a guy’s paradise. Wood accents and warm blankets could make anyone feel at home here. Not that I’d ever refer to a place with Drew McCallister in it as home.

“It’s nice,” I offer because I feel the need to fill the awkward silence. “Do you live with a few gamers?” I tilt my chin toward the gaming chairs and four TVs.

Drew’s mouth curves as he presses his lips together to suppress a smile. “With football and classes, we’ve gotta relax somehow.” I groan because that’s a lie. Drew’s not Henry Cavill. He doesn’t sit at home tinkering with machinery to get himself off. A testosterone beast like him would need something with a little more kick than beating a few pimply kids in Fortnight.

And that’s where Brianna comes in. I roll my eyes at my thought process because it always has to come back to the perfect girl, dating the perfect guy, having perfect sex.

“Oh, sorry.” Drew raises his hands in defense. “Is the gamer talk bringing back bad memories of Jimmy?”

And it happens just like that. I thought we were having a pleasant conversation, but he had to burn it down the only way he sees fit.

“Nah. I already know you’ll fuck anything with a hole. Have you tried out your vacuum yet? I bet it gives great suction.” That shuts him up, but my tongue feels heavy, spewing all that vitriol. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good verbal spar with Drew, but sometimes, it feels like I have to say these things to remind myself why I hate him so much.

Drew swallows, and his eyes track my shorts as I shift uncomfortably into the pillows. A small smirk plays on his lips, but he quickly recovers by tipping onto his toes and pointing his thumb behind him. “I’ll just go and grab the rest of our stuff.”

Watching Drew walk out, I can’t help but notice how well his ass fits in his jeans. Pert and muscular. Just like everything else on him. Leaning back on the sofa, I twiddle my thumbs and blow out a breath because I feel awkward sitting in his house on my own. Even without him in it, it feels like his presence is all around me.

Thankfully, he comes in quicker than expected, carrying two bags and my crutches. As he drops the bags by the door, a piece of bright pink fabric catches my eye.

Gasping, I cry, “Is that my nightie?”

His big paw makes the delicate fabric look like string, and I feel like I might crumble in embarrassment.

“Uh, yeah.” He drops the fabric like it’s on fire on top of the rest of the clothes he apparently rescued. “It fell out of your bag while I was walking in. Didn’t want the neighbors to see.”

Heat rises in my cheeks when I look over to my ripped bag. The hole splits straight down the middle, right in front of the underwear pocket. He can see everything, and the idea that Drew had to collect my clothes off the snow earlier is unthinkable. The only way I can save face in this mess is to pull out more bravado. Sitting up straighter, I say, “Like they aren’t used to your debauchery. I bet you have girls running around naked, looking for your hot tub all the time.”

“How’d you know about the hot tub?” He winks, staring at me challengingly. When I don’t say anything, he licks the corners of his lips as though he’s getting ready for another verbal boxing match. It’s a move he’s done since high school, but it’s one I’m finding harder to ignore. “Just joking, B. We don’t have a hot tub.” He shuts the door and takes another few steps into the room. “Jacob was such a stud when he joined; he got harassed by the girls here. Girls he’d never met before would do all this weird, crazy shit like show up at his dorm in just a trench coat, expecting him to invite them in. He forked out for this place because he wanted some peace and quiet.”

The rattling window forces Drew out of the conversation, and he spends a couple of minutes inspecting the snow. Not sure what he’s expecting to find out there, but at least it’s two fewer minutes to come up with small talk. “It’s getting bad out there. Glad we got in when we did.”

Pushing out a forced smile, I clasp my hands together, not knowing what to do. This whole thing is just weird. How on earth am I supposed to handle being around Drew for the next few days, without tying a rope around his neck and pulling? The longest time I’ve spent in a room with him is a few hours, and that was at prom with a few hundred other people surrounding us. To say that ended badly is an understatement.

“Are you hungry?” He walks to the open-plan kitchen, sounding chipper. “Jacob took up batch cooking this year because he was trying to get his mind off some girl back home. Lucky for us, he left a freezer full of food.” Pulling out a freezer drawer, he rifles through it until he finds what he’s looking for. “Burritos, okay?”

Shifting in my seat, I wave a hand. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

“Perfect. I’ll put them in the oven now.”

Draped across the sofa, I throw my good leg over the top and lie on my side, trying to get comfortable as I listen to the clanking pans as Drew works in the kitchen. A cool, sharp surge of cold air dances across my shoulders from the drafty window. Reaching for the glass, I rub my finger against the windowpane, watching as the snow drifts through the air.

We may be in a crappy situation, but it really is beautiful out there. Too bad it’s my worst nightmare in here.

Suck it up, Belly. That’s what my dad would say if he could hear me now. Awkward barbs and no way to move are my reality for the foreseeable future, so I should embrace it.

“Here you go.” Drew throws an orange soda can my way, and I easily catch it.

“How did you know I liked these?”

He shrugs, sitting on the gaming chair next to the sofa. “You always had them in high school. Figured your tastebuds hadn’t changed that much.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” How did he know what I liked in high school? I barely knew what I liked back then, and to be honest, I thought he was too busy chasing every girl in school to notice me, let alone know my drinking preferences.

Opening the can, I take a slow drink, knowing we have all the time in the world, so there’s no rush. The burritos won’t be done for another thirty minutes, and we have nothing to talk about.

I blow out a breath and roll my eyes in his direction to see if that gets his attention. It doesn’t. He’s too busy looking at something on his phone.

“I’m bored,” I spout out, more for a reaction than anything else.

Gulping down his drink and not looking up, he continues thumbing his phone screen. At first, I’m not sure he’s heard me, but just as I’m about to repeat the sentiment, he replies, “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

Am I so boring that he can’t give me the courtesy of eye contact?

This does not bode well for the next few days.

Sitting up straighter so I can watch his reaction, I decide to toy with him. “Entertain me,” I say in an overly seductive, sexy voice, as I pad to the couch.

He whips his head up, and his dark eyes burn with something other than disdain for the first time. Surprise? Curiosity? Interest?

“I don’t think you’d like how I entertain my female guests, Bella.” His words sound threatening, but the way he says my name, all hot and gravelly, sends little zings of electricity through my body. It hasn’t even been three hours, and my body is already reacting like he’s the last man on earth. Because, obviously, that’s the only reason I’d be attracted to Drew…There’s no underlying tension between us.

None at all.

“And how do you entertain your female guests?” I ask, my voice laced with mock boredom, because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made my panties a little wet.

He waits for me to look before raising a brow with interest. “I’d show you, but that would probably blow your mind.”

Now that makes me laugh out loud. Thankfully, I’d already finished drinking my soda; otherwise, it would have ended up all over his sectional. “Someone’s got an over-inflated opinion of themselves.” I snort out with an eyeroll.

“What are you referring to, Bella? I was talking about my homemade hot sauce. Blows everyone’s mind when I drizzle it on food.” He shucks his chin and chuckles at my silence. “Oh wait, did you think I was referring to the bedroom?” I don’t bother answering. “With your dating history, I know that would blow your mind. Jimmy’s nothing to write home about.”

“And how would you know that?” I ask through a clenched jaw, hating how easy it is for him to push my buttons.

“Do you really think Jimmy didn’t gloat about getting the Coach’s daughter? He was the only dweeb you’d give a second glance to in high school because he wasn’t on the football team. Believe me, I know far more than I’d like to about your dating history.”

My face flushes with anger, infuriated with my ex for talking about us. We didn’t exactly have the greatest start when it came to sex, but we were each other’s first, and we had to learn along the way.

“Why do you always have to mention Jimmy?”

“Like I said, he’s the only guy you’ve ever been interested in, even though he was more interested in the kudos dating you got him than actually being with you. You know, he’d take every opportunity to tell us in detail about your weekend dates and what you’d get up to before your midnight curfew.”

I gulp down my anger because there he goes again, reminding me of every embarrassing moment in my life. I wanted to forget that Jimmy and I dated because he played me for a fool while everyone else was watching, but that was kind of hard to do when Drew would find every opportunity to bring him up. I get it. The only guy I ever dated wasn’t interested in me. I didn’t need it rubbed in my face constantly. “I swear you think about him more than I do, and I slept with the guy. Jimmy was just a small blip in my life that I’ve moved on from, but you have to keep bringing it up. It’s like he’s living rent-free in your mind. What’s wrong? Are you jealous that Jimmy could keep a girl longer than a month?”

Drew’s nostrils flare, and as much as he tries to hide it, I know I’ve gotten to him. As much as he can push my buttons, I can push his right back. To this day, I still have no idea what happened between him and Jimmy when we were juniors to make them stop talking, but Drew sure does love to bring him up.

Drew flexes his jaw, clearly holding back what he wants to say. “The guy was an idiot, and I still can’t believe you wasted so much time with him.”

“Why does it matter? It’s not like what I do with my time affects you.”

He huffs out a breath, exasperated by me, but he seems to forget that I’m exasperated by him too. “Look, we’re going to be stuck with each other for at least another five days, and I don’t think I can handle this.” He points between us. “Whatever this is.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Believe me; it’s not nothing. This tension is cooking on high, and I have no doubt that if we don’t do something soon, one of us will kill the other.”

“Dramatic much?”

“Says the girl who squealed like a pig when she rolled her ankle in high school.”

My mouth drops in shock. “I did not.”

“See. This is exactly it. I want to enjoy the only time I get off of football and class work. I don’t want to spend it arguing with you, so I think we need to call a truce.”

“Truce?”

“Yeah. We get on each other’s nerves….”

I snort. “That’s an understatement.”

“But what are we supposed to do for the next week? Not talk to each other? Maybe we should at least try to get along.”

“And how do you propose we do that? I can barely handle breathing the same air as you on a good day.”

Drew’s shoulders drop, and his lips move from side-to-side to hide his smirk. “Always so dramatic, Bella. I’ve got an idea.” And just like that, the mounting tension is diffused. His easy demeanor is back, and that coiled wire inside my body has relaxed. He stands and walks to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

Grabbing himself a beer and a large bar of chocolate, he strolls back into the room without a care in the world.

“We’re going to play a game.” He places a Butterfinger on my lap.

“Could you sound any more like Jigsaw from those creepy Saw Movies??” I stare down at the ragged edges of the foil wrapper, ready to eat it, but wondering why he gave it to me in the first place.

“’Never Have I Ever?’ How about it?” His eyebrows wiggle up and down. “Let’s get to know each other and diffuse the tension.”

“No,” I spit out.

Drew’s face falls in disappointment. “That’s it? No? Don’t you want to get some dirt on me, Summers?”

Thumbing the chocolate, I push my chin out. “Firstly, you’re a playboy, so I can already see you’re about as dirty as a used dishrag. No need to play a game to find that out. Secondly, I’m on pain meds, and as trippy as it might sound to combine those with alcohol, I don’t do that in the presence of people I don’t trust.”

“Geez, Bella. It’s not like we’ve known each other for nearly a decade or anything.”

“Can’t be too careful,” I sing, opening the yellow wrapper ever-so-slightly.

“You’re right about that. That’s why I got you the chocolate bar. There’s no way I’m risking getting accused of touching you inappropriately. Especially when you can’t move.”

“Why don’t we play Monopoly instead?” I gesture toward the game boxes under the TV. “Who knows, it could take us days to finish, and we won’t have to talk.”

“No.” Drew quips. “That’s not happening.” He grabs the remote and turns the TV on. “If you don’t want to play ‘Never Have I Ever,’ then we’ll watch some TV. Do you like sports? I know your Dad does, but I’ve never been sure you were a willing participant, considering you hardly ever attended his games in high school.”

“That’s because he was worried we’d jinx him. I may not like football, but I would always want to support my dad.”

“Don’t I know it,” Drew mumbles.

A stadium fills the screen, and instantly I know the game is being played in Florida. It’s not just the sandy beaches peeking from the corners of the screen, but it’s the fact that the players are in short sleeves, flaunting their hot, muscular arms. God, I wish I was there right now, wearing my cute flippy skirt instead of Drew’s day-old basketball shorts.

“I’d rather watch paint dry than sit through this,” I lie. If I’m being honest, if my dad weren’t so obsessed with it, I think I might enjoy watching football with Drew. There’s a lot of strategy, and it can get tense when the clock runs down.

“Okay, then.” He flicks through the channels a few times because nothing catches his eye. “What about Baseball Wives ? I know it’s still technically sports, but I read somewhere that they’re doing a Bachelor- style spin off on it next year . ”

I slide my eyes to his and state a short and simple, “No.”

Cricking his neck, he adjusts himself in the seat. “Okay. How about a Christmas movie?” I toss a pillow under my neck, trying to get a little more comfortable and forget the annoying itch developing under my cast. “ The Grinch , maybe? Bet it’s your favorite.” The humor in his voice is only solidified by the smirk running across his face.

“No, thanks,” I respond with a surly attitude.

“Oh, this is perfect.” He doesn’t ask, he just puts it on, and the gawky face of Macaulay Culkin fills the screen. Slapping his cheeks with aftershave, he screams and Drew throws his head back in laughter. “ Home Alone is one of my favorites.”

“I can tell.”

Still chuckling, he wipes away a few errant tears from laughing so hard. “I partly love it because he’s got my last name.”

Drew keeps his eyes trained on the screen, and I soften a little when I see the joy sprawled across his face. “How very…narcissistic of you,” I joke.

Grabbing the navy St. Michael’s blanket from the top of the sofa, I drape it over my cast, more specifically my toes, to keep them warm. “It wasn’t just the name.” Leaning his elbow on the side of the sofa, he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “My mom used to work on Christmas Eve, and watching this movie always made me feel like if this little McCallister kid could defend his giant home, then I could defend our tiny one-bedroom apartment too.”

My stomach knots and my body deflates because that admission just ruined the mood. Here I am, thinking we’re loosening up, but then he has to go and admit that. A one-bedroom apartment? Alone at Christmas? Now I feel like crap ever complaining about my dad’s sometime absences to win football championships.

I don’t know what to say, and it seems neither does he. He knows he said too much, and now neither one of us can concentrate on the movie. Without talking, Drew gets a couple of pillows and lifts my cast. “What are you doing?” I ask as he stuffs them under my leg.

“Trying to make my guest feel comfortable.” Swallowing, I watch his hand subtly caress my cast. Thank goodness I can’t feel his fingers because I’d probably wither into nothingness at the caress of those thick digits across my skin. The last five minutes have turned Drew from an arrogant jock to a guy with a soul, and I don’t know if I like it.

“If this doesn’t feel good…” He presses his fingers against my cast. “You can use my lap as a base instead.” I can’t feel his fingers. The cast is too thick, but the meds must be playing with me, because I feel soft tingles making their way up my thigh to my core.

“I think I’ll stick with the couch, thanks.” I purse my lips because being rude feels wrong since he’s helping me out, but it’s the only way I know how to be with him.

Drew shifts positions on the sofa and shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

We sit in this oddly comfortable silence for the next thirty minutes watching Home Alone. I’ve never been so relaxed in Drew’s company, but that could be the painkillers talking. Speaking of, I’m probably due another round. My eyes drift to my bag, which is too far away to get to without having to crawl, and asking Drew for help is out of the question. I’m already in his house, about to eat his roommate’s burritos. I don’t want him waiting on me hand and foot because then I’ll owe him. And owing Drew would put me in dangerous territory.

When the oven buzzes, Drew heads to the modern black kitchen. “Stay there.” He holds his hands out, smiling. “I got this. I don’t need your help.”

“Very funny.”

“I’ll bring the burritos over in a sec. You okay with another orange soda?”

I nod because I still can’t bring myself to speak or be pleasant. I’m all too aware that I haven’t bothered to say thank you for anything, but that’s because my pride is stopping me. Something about appreciating Drew just feels wrong. Even when he strolls back into the room with piping hot burritos and a smile that could light up New York City, I can’t do it.

Apparently, I’m a vindictive bitch.

He drops the food in front of me, and I use my cast and a pillow on my other leg as my base for eating. We sit in silence with Home Alone on as I eat the most delicious burritos I’ve ever tasted. Not that I would tell him that. His roommate made them, but it would feel too much like conceding that I’m almost enjoying myself to say it.

“You done?” he asks as his fingers graze my empty plate. I nod, and he takes my plate, placing it next to the kitchen sink.

With the end credits playing, Drew slows as he walks back into the room, looking at me with a quiet stare. When I meet his gaze, he scratches the back of his head and says, “So, we haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements yet.” I pause, waiting to see where he’s going with this. “Since my room is the only one on the ground floor, I thought you could take it, and I’ll use one of the others upstairs.”

“Your room?” He nods, and all these thoughts about what Drew’s room might look like start filling my head. Dark fantasies of rose petals and black satin make my eyes itch, and I don’t like it. “No thanks. I’m assuming that bed of yours has had more women in it than I can count.” There we go. That remark has me feeling much more in control, so I shimmy into the cushions. “I’ll take the couch.”

He chuckles. “I can almost guarantee you that couch has seen more action than my bedroom. Did you forget that I live in a house with three other college football players?”

My jaw tenses and my back nearly breaks as I try to bend it to avoid the cushions. I almost backtrack, but that’s what Drew wants. For me to show weakness, and I’m anything but weak.

Drew tilts his head and narrows his eyes in contemplation. “Yeah, you know what? This couch has definitely had over four women on it.”

“Four women? That’s your body count?” I blow out a long, doubtful breath. “Like I believe that. Probably more like four women since you last washed your sheets.”

He raises a brow. “Always so eager to judge. We’ve known each other for so long, and you still see me as a one-dimensional jock. Football and fucking. Is that all I am to you?”

“Yup. If you think I’m falling for this whole innocent charade, then you’ve got another thing coming. You don’t need to lie to trick me into your bed. I’m not going there, anyway.”

“It’s not a lie. I may not be a saint, but I don’t use women. Frankly, I don’t have the inclination or the time. Besides, most of the women I’m counting were from the beginning of my sophomore year when things were rough.”

“Why? Weren’t you riding high on a championship win with my dad? When I came in as a freshman, you were all anyone would talk about.”

Drew says nothing and looks at me as though that should be enough of an answer.

Does he think I’m a mind reader? Because if I had that ability, I wouldn’t be wasting it on hearing his hateful thoughts.

“Some surprising shit went down with a girl that I thought was better off gone. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

“Aww, Drew. Did a girl break your heart?” I push my bottom lip out, mocking him. What he doesn’t see is that my whole body is prickling with interest, because this is new. Who was Drew in love with, and what did she do? Was he still in love with her? “I’m sure Brianna can make it all better.”

“Brianna and I are just friends,” he grinds out. Interesting. This conversation is pushing his buttons. Mhmm. Who could it be? And why am I so intent on finding out?

“Keep telling yourself that. One day you might believe it.”

He cracks his knuckles, shaking his head in regret. “I knew I shouldn’t have tried to have an actual conversation with you.”

Raising my hands, I huff out, “Woah, woah, woah. I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you were so torn up about Sabrina still.” Taking a stab in the dark, I mention his ex from high school because I can’t think of any other girl that he was with long enough to warrant these emotions. “Didn’t think you were that bothered since you brought her and Betty to prom.”

“I’m not.”

“Mhmm. Well, who’s got you tied up in knots if it wasn’t her?” I feel like I’m pushing the invisible line between us. We aren’t friends. We’re barely even cordial, but I can’t help myself. I’m bored and intrigued: a lethal combination.

“You really don’t know?”

The arrogance of this man is infuriating. “Do you really think I sit around waiting on bated breath to hear the latest gossip about you?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

“Whatever,” I bristle, ignoring his question, pushing myself further into the sofa pillows. “At least you’re over the mystery girl now.”

He scratches his chin, his mouth pulling into a sarcastic smile. “How do you know I’m over her?”

“You wouldn’t be all over Brianna if you were into another girl. Or, at least, that’s what your goody two-shoes persona would have me believe.”

He chuckles; regret filling his laugh in a way that surprises me. I don’t know who this girl is, but she definitely did a number on him. “Nah. I already told you, Bri and I aren’t together. She knows about that girl.” He shakes his head again. “Should have left it in the past, but she keeps lingering around, making it tough to get over.”

He cracks his knuckles, and I pop out my lips, trying to think of something to say. “Sorry to hear that.” It was all I could muster, because a sarcastic jibe didn’t feel right.

“Me too,” he gripes out. There’s an awkward silence between us because this conversation just sucked all the easiness out of the room. Dare I say that I was almost having a good time with Drew before he brought up another girl.

I shake my head because I can’t believe I just thought that. I made a promise to myself to make his life hell, so I need to nip this camaraderie in the bud.

Yawning, I stretch my legs out, kicking Drew against his thighs. “You tired?” he asks, and I nod. “Same. Looking after you all day has been unsurprisingly exhausting.” He gets up and heads down a hallway that I can only assume is where his room is because he hasn’t bothered to give me a tour outside of pointing in the general direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be right back,” he calls over his shoulder, and when he returns, he’s carrying a set of black pillows and a plaid blanket.

Lifting the bedding, he says, “Sorry, the only pillows I know are clean are the ones from my bed. I’ll find another set for you tomorrow.” He places the pillows on the coffee table in front of me and drapes the thick blanket over my body. “Lift up.” I raise my head, and he gently tucks the pillows behind my hair. His face is mere inches from mine, and his deep eyes watch me. If it wasn’t Drew staring, I’d think there was some affection behind those eyes.

Dropping my head onto the fabric, I’m immediately surrounded by Drew’s woodsy cologne. God, why does he always have to smell so good? Wearing the same stuff since high school, it’s always a guilty pleasure of mine, because who doesn’t like the smell of freshly washed man?

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath as I let the scent take over my senses. Warmth fills my bones, and I can finally relax. This will probably be the closest I’ll get to a man for a long time, but I feel safe. Protected, even.

“Something wrong, Belly?”

Busted.

With my eyes shut and a pleasant smile on my face, I don’t dare open them. I can feel his hot breath fanning my face, which can only mean one thing: he’s close enough to notice my reddened cheeks and sweaty brow.

Slowly, I pry one eye open and then the other. I was right. He’s right there, watching me like a hawk. “Uh, yeah, all good. Just making sure these pillows don’t smell of Brianna’s cheap perfume.” I slap the pillow hard and shift, so my shoulder pushes Drew out of the way.

Drew moves back, looking at me with surprise. I probably should have said thank you instead of insulting him again, but it’s easier to berate him than have him looking at me smugly satisfied over helping me.

“Not sure how many times I have to tell you I’m not sleeping with Brianna, but I’ll try again to see if it gets through that thick, blonde hair of yours. Brianna and I are just friends.” He backs away with a frown, and I know I’ve pissed him off, but I have no idea why he’s so hung up on my opinion of this.

“Goodnight, Bella.” It’s short and blunt, and before I can say anything else, Drew has walked out of the room and turned the light off.

Lying alone in the dark, I can’t even stare at the ceiling and overthink our conversation to know where I went wrong, because I can’t see.

So that’s it?

No more jibes or sarcastic comments? I haven’t gone to the bathroom since I got here. Onion spice still marinates in my mouth, and I can’t see where my crutches are, but now I’m expected to go to sleep?

Fan-fucking-tastic.