Chapter 8 Stella
Stella
Seeing Colt and Summer embracing in my TV room was not on my Bingo card for tonight. My eyes go wide as I take in the scene before me, and I’m backing out the door.
His hair mussed, lips slightly too pink. Every word Summer said about him comes rushing back like a punch to the gut. I shouldn’t feel betrayed. I turned Colt down. And yet, the realization that he’s no different from the rest hurts much more viscerally than it should.
My heart is hammering in my throat as I race down the hall, back to the stairwell.
“Stella, wait!” I hear Colt call from behind me, his quick footfalls cuing me that I’ll never outrun him.
I make it to the next landing down before he catches up and grabs me by the wrist. “Stella, stop, please. I can explain.”
Pulling my hand from his, I reply, “You don’t have anything to apologize for. We aren’t together.” His brows scrunch together, obviously confused that my words and my actions are sending very different signals.
“I came over to see you, and she happened to catch me instead. It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It looks like I interrupted a moment. So, go back, I’ll make myself scarce for a couple of hours.” I’m being petty, and I know it, but the hurt running through my veins can’t be reasoned with.
“Stell,” he says softly, taking my arm again, but this time he glides his hand down my wrist until his long fingers are intertwined with mine. “I came here for you, not her. You have to know that.”
“All I know is that you’ve got her lip gloss on your mouth.” His free hand flies to his lips, as if he’s remembering, and then he uses the neck of his t-shirt to scrub away the pink residue.
For some reason, the action makes me angrier, and I try to tug out of his hold again, but this time he doesn’t let go as easily. “Will you at least let me explain before you storm off?” He asks, increasingly frustrated with my attitude.
When I stop trying to pull away, he explains that he came to my dorm because he was worried about me after our talk, and I didn’t respond to any of his messages.
He explained how Summer ambushed him with a kiss, and then he got roped into having a conversation about the night they hooked up, and he accidentally made her cry.
Hearing his recap of the events causes guilt to swarm like wasps in my stomach. My heart is telling me I shouldn’t have judged him, but my brain is stuck in this vicious cycle of cynicism.
I realize after a moment that he’s waiting for me to say something.
“After you dropped me off the other day, she told me that you two had been together all last week. I know I turned down a date with you, but she made it sound like you had been with her the whole time. She even knew that I’d slept over at your place.
I—” I stumble over my words, knowing I’m making a complete ass of myself.
“I couldn’t believe you would keep seeing her after what you told me, but she was so convincing. ”
His eyes are cold, but I know the anger isn’t directed toward me. “She’s full of shit, Stella. Today was the first time I’d seen her in weeks, and I was actually hoping to avoid her at all costs. She’s lying through her teeth.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, knowing I’ve been played. “She’s a sociopath,” I state, and Colt nods his agreement.
“Are we good?” He asks, stepping closer to me, and when I nod in confirmation, his shoulders visibly relax as if I’ve just removed the weight of the world from him.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, “for letting her get in my head. And for ignoring you.” I look up into his amber gaze, catching flecks of gold sparkling in his irises as he cups my cheek.
A door below us slams open, popping the bubble of solitude we were in and reminding me that I’m in the stairwell with Colton Crosby, and I almost just let him kiss me again.
Stepping away from his warm body, I clear my throat. “I should go. I just got off work and need to shower.”
Colt nods, putting his hands in his pockets. He’s perceptive enough to know that I’m too emotionally drained to continue having this conversation right now.
I walk back up to the landing of my floor, hand on the knob, when he finally speaks again. “I know you’re scared, Stella, and I’m not going to argue with your boundaries. But I just…I need you to know that you can trust me.”
I risk a glance over my shoulder, and my eyes are met with a look of earnest pleading, begging me to have faith in him as a person. Not trusting myself to reply, I give a swift nod before walking away.
Blessedly, Summer is gone when I get back to the dorm. I shower, do my nightly routine, and cozy up in bed with a book, intent on having a relaxing evening in. Of course, my brain has other plans.
Colton Crosby has wormed his way so deep into my psyche that the book character I’m reading about starts to look like him in my imagination. Growing frustrated, I toss the novel on my nightstand and try to think through my feelings like a big girl.
Obviously, I’m attracted to him. But so is every other girl on campus. I’m not special. Except, he makes me feel special.
I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to subject myself to the hurt of a break-up. A break-up that I know is unavoidable, seeing as he’s undoubtedly going to be drafted to the NHL, and I’ll be heading back to Georgia.
Do I trust Colt? My instincts are screaming to say yes, but my issues are too deeply rooted to give in so easily.
But I also can’t ignore the magnetic allure of him.
He makes me feel things that I haven’t felt in a long time.
I’m not scared or apprehensive when I’m with him.
I want to run my fingers through his feather-soft hair and feel his lips on my skin.
The truth is, I don’t know how much longer I can spend time with him—work on this project with him—and keep my hands to myself. Couple that with his persistence in trying to get to know me, and I would estimate my ability to resist this attraction as nonexistent.
The longer I let my mind wander, there seems to be one obvious solution I can’t get away from: get him out of my system.
Surely it’s the novelty of this thing with Colt that I’m so infatuated with. He’s the first person to kiss me since I was attacked, and the first guy I’ve let my guard down with. Scratching this itch without any long-term expectations is as good a solution as any, as far as I’m concerned.