Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
I’m tucked up in my overstuffed chair, my Kindle in my hands, my eyes not at all peering over at Caleb.
Not at all.
But he’s peering over at me. Don’t ask me how I know, since I’m not looking. I just do. I can feel it. Those blue eyes are on me. Always watching, always assessing. What the fuck does he want?
“Hey, Whit,” he says, and my heart thumps in my throat. I glance over at him, trying like hell not to notice his biceps and the cut of his jeans today. I will not notice these things. I’m in recovery. “Going out with some people tonight.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Why is he telling me his plans?
“You wanna join?” he asks, and I swallow roughly. I shift slightly in my chair, my fingers gripping the Kindle tighter, almost like a safety net.
“No, thank you.”
I force my gaze back to my book, the words swimming before me.
“I mean, it’s trivia night, my man. You may like it.”
I can imagine a crowded bar, idiots shouting out answers that make no sense. It sounds like a terrible evening. “Doubtful,” I murmur.
He says nothing, and I don’t look to see what he’s doing. But I hear it. The click of his throat as he swallows, the moan he makes when he finishes it.
Heat wells up inside of me, my jaw clenching tightly. He really needs to stop drinking his beer like he’s sucking cock.
A small crash has me jumping slightly, and then I can’t help but peer over. He’s standing up and tossing the beer bottle into the trash can when I specifically have one for recycling.
“Recycling, please,” I say, and then immediately regret it. Because he turns his gaze toward me, the sheen of beer lingering on his lips.
I force my mouth to stay silent and watch as he turns around, bends over, and grabs the bottle from the trash can.
I blink at the way his jeans stretch across his ass. A very nice ass.
My cheeks heat as he tosses the bottle into the recycling.
“Better?” he asks, clearly annoyed with me. But I don’t have time to care about his feelings. This is self-preservation right now.
I stare at my Kindle once more, only peering over once to find him watching me intently, his head cocked, his hands on his narrow hips. His nipples are hard under his shirt. I can see them.
Fuck. Me. I wish we could both pretend the other doesn’t exist.
“Well, I’m heading out then. For a fun night of trivia.” He draws out the last word, and I clench my jaw, my breathing growing shallow.
“Good,” I reply, forcing myself not to look at him.
I wish he’d just leave.
But then I see movement in the corner of my eye, and I can’t help but look over. He’s pulling his fucking shirt off. Again. Those hard nipples, the piercing through one of them. My cheeks turn red. I know they do.
He sees it too because he flexes, his abs popping out.
How a man can have eight of them is unreal. I despise it. I fucking hate it.
Caleb smirks a little and walks by slowly, my gaze trailing over him. I’ve lost control of my eyeballs. They’ve gone rogue.
He disappears into the bedroom, and I feel my pulse in my throat. My hand quickly sneaks down to my cock, and I adjust it. It jerks at the touch, and I realize it’s been a while.
This must be the reason I’m looking at my very straight roommate this way.
There’s no other explanation.
I fish my earbuds from my pocket and shove them in my ears. Maybe if I close my eyes and drown him out with some music, he won’t talk to me, and I can pretend he’s not there.
It’s only minutes later when I blink my eyelids open and realize he’s gone.
I let out a long breath of relief. My head falls back against the chair, and I set my Kindle down. My gaze moves to the closed door as I pull the earbuds from my ears.
I listen intently, not moving, barely even breathing.
I need to make sure he’s not coming back.
When it’s been ten minutes, I stand up and lock the door, moving to the bathroom and closing the door. I stare at the lock and tell myself not to. But my wrist flicks it anyway.
I stare at myself in the mirror, my pink cheeks obvious when contrasted with my pale skin.
My hands land on the cool countertop, and they curl slightly, trying to tell myself not to do this.
Don’t fucking do it.
But I can’t help myself.
I undo the button of my pants and debate opening that drawer, pulling out some lube, and stroking. It would be easy. I can close my eyes and imagine things.
Blue eyes.
Muscles.
That backward hat.
My body shivers, my fingers digging into the counter.
I can’t do that. A few days after Caleb moved in, I had a weak moment and touched myself to thoughts of him. It was a grave error. One I cannot afford to repeat.
I breathe deeply through my nose, out through my mouth, trying to center myself.
It barely works—a fickle attempt at control.
When I finally open my eyes, I see my face in the mirror, looking back at me disapprovingly. That I even thought of doing that, that I was so close to losing control again. I let out a small huff and pull my hands from the counter, doing the button of my pants back up.
Then I stand by the bathroom door, my hand on the knob. With a long exhale, I open it slowly.
He’s not here. I can tell the minute I step out. He left and didn’t come back. Thank god for that, I think as I walk to the kitchen and grab myself a bottle of water. My phone pings on the coffee table, and I stare at it.
I don’t even want to look at it in case it’s him.
Or her.
I need to answer it, to take care of it. But fuck me, I can’t do it.
Not right now.
I run a hand through my hair and glance at the kitchen. Caleb doesn’t leave it terribly messy, but it could be cleaner.
So I pull out the supplies and get to work.
Nothing makes me feel better than scrubbing every inch of my place until it shines.
I hear a grunt and a curse, the sounds waking me from my dream. I lurch up, my body in a slight panic until I realize that I’m not in my childhood home. That it’s not my father coming home after a bad day at work. No, I’m in my apartment, and the noise I hear is from Caleb. My roommate.
The one who wanted me to go to trivia night.
And I turned him down.
My eyes flick to the time and realize how late it is. He was out for a while, probably flirting and kissing girls.
The thought makes my lungs feel too tight.
Another curse emanates through the wall, and I realize something isn’t entirely right. My feet hit the ground as I push myself upright, and another crash has me moving faster.
What the fuck did he get himself into? And why am I rushing toward him like a mother hen? I don’t need to be pampering him, taking care of him.
I can barely take care of myself.
And I really need to keep my distance.
But still, I leave the bedroom in a rush and step into the small living room. That’s when I see him sitting on the floor, half-naked, his shirt off, his pants hanging off his right ankle.
“Hey there,” he slurs, and my fists tighten, something like disappointment moving through me. He’s been drinking. Of course he has. I can smell it on him.
The scent of it makes me recoil slightly, something ugly roiling in my stomach.
He sighs when I don’t answer and stares sullenly at the pants stuck on his ankle. Like he’s disappointed they’re still there, like he can’t believe they won’t just leave him alone. My gaze flicks up to his, and he sighs loudly again.
Does he want me to help him? What the fuck does he want from me?
“What are you doing?” I finally manage to ask.
He snorts a small laugh, his blue gaze meeting mine. “Trying to go to bed. Tripped, though. And fell.”
His hand flails about, and he hits it on the wall beside him.
A pout pushes his bottom lip out, and something curls inside of me. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
I rub at my forehead, gathering my wits before squatting down next to him. He’s even closer now, and the bitter smell of beer is overpowered by the scent of him.
Caleb’s gaze roams over me, a dangerous lick to my skin.
“Mm. You’re so goth, emo boy,” he hums, eyeing my dark pajamas, and I roll my lips between my teeth. I know I wear black and gray a lot, but I like it. It matches my insides. Doesn’t make me emo, though. Just makes me honest.
“You’re so drunk,” I quip back.
“Hmph. Sherlock,” Caleb laughs and then reaches out to touch me, his hand grazing my cheek. That unknown thing curling inside of me unfurls, and I feel my entire body heat.
“So fucking smart,” he murmurs.
I blink at him, his finger continuing to graze my cheek. I should pull back. I need to pull back.
Pull the fuck back.
So I do, slowly, reaching to my side and tugging his pants from his ankle. They smell of smoke and liquor. I’ll need to wash them, I think as I fold them neatly. And while I do this, Caleb watches me, his eyes hooded.
The way he’s looking at me…
I push that thought aside and lean over, setting his pants on the end table near the hallway, where I can grab them later and throw them in the wash. As I move, I hear Caleb inhale deeply, and I wonder, for an insane moment, if he’s smelling me.
But that can’t be right.
“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” I say when I settle back, still on my haunches, not sure if I should touch him or not. If I do, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know what that will do to me.
I can’t have any of that. I really can’t.
“Nah, I can get up myself,” he slurs, and then I watch as his thighs bunch and flex as he uses the wall to push himself up. I can’t look away, my throat tightening. I never knew legs could be mapped with so many ridges.
I had no fucking idea.
What the hell have I been missing?
Caleb grunts and groans, and when he’s finally fully standing, he stares down at me. I can do nothing but let my gaze move up over his groin and chest, my heart thumping wildly.
“Why you always blushing around me?” he blurts, and I know that I’ve been caught.
My pink cheeks darken, and I scowl, pushing myself up and biting out, “I don’t blush.”