Chapter Six #2
Darkness settles around me again as I lie flat on my back, my legs going still as I force myself to stop moving.
I’ve been tossing and turning since I turned out the light over an hour ago.
My thoughts are stuck on the woman down the hall—if she’s comfortable, if she needs anything.
I turn my head, staring through the darkness in the direction of my closed door.
I hate sleeping with a closed door. It makes me feel … claustrophobic.
I got drafted straight out of college and moved to Boston.
With my signing bonus, I bought my own apartment, and I lived alone.
For the first time in my life, when I came home every day, there was silence.
Not the echo of my parents fighting, not the echo of Scott’s moody grumbling under his breath as he studied in our dorm. Just me and the silence.
It was nice. I liked the quiet. Still do, whenever I’m in the safety of my own home.
But it was almost too quiet at night. With the door shut, boxing me into my bedroom even though the apartment beyond it was completely empty, I felt too closed in. So one night, I opened the door and I haven’t looked back.
I wonder if that’s weird. Do other people sleep with their bedroom doors open?
I groan, turning over in bed again and burying my face deep into the pillow. I squeeze my eyes shut and slow down my breathing. I count the seconds for every inhale and exhale, trying to force my heart rate to settle.
It doesn’t work.
Sighing, I shove the covers off my legs and swing them over the side of the bed. I don’t bother with my sweats, simply readjusting the black briefs I wear to bed and tugging my door open.
Fuck it.
Katie or no Katie, I cannot sleep with my damn door shut.
I glance toward the end of the corridor at the other bedroom door on this floor. It’s firmly shut, and there is no light coming from underneath it.
She’s asleep.
I run a hand over my face, my body wired for some unknown reason. Well, sort of unknown. I am almost certain it is due to the woman living under my roof who knows exactly how to get under my skin. Taking the stairs, I decide a glass of water will be best to cool down.
There’s a faint light coming from the entryway, from a lamp that I also have on.
It’s a vintage find, gold brass with fabric covers.
It even has one of the dangling strings that you pull to switch it off and on.
My mom is always eyeing it off and telling me how gorgeous it is whenever my parents come to stay.
I wonder if Katie likes it?
Maybe, if she doesn’t, I should just give it to Mom then?
I halt, staring at the lamp and shaking my head furiously to myself. What the actual fuck. I wonder if Katie likes it?
I shouldn’t care if she does.
I should not give one fuck what she thinks of my décor or my house, or the way I’ve styled the four guest bedrooms.
Still shaking my head, I head down the corridor. I expect to find the space empty, but I’m greeted by the outline of a woman sitting on my countertop, silhouetted by the light pouring out from the open fridge.
Her hair is messy now, the normally tame and perfectly curled waves all over the place as they fall down her back.
It’s long too, almost at her waist. A flash of those same blonde strands wrapped tightly around my fist, me kneeling behind her, and her eyes flashing at me as she looks over her shoulder, flashes in my mind, and it makes my cock jolt awake.
I ignore the feeling and clear my throat, making my presence known as I cross the open room toward her.
“Fucking hell.” Katie jumps, cursing as her head whips around to stare at me, her eyes wide.
“Sorry,” I say as I round the corner. I don’t stop to look over at her, going straight to one of the cupboards for a glass.
“You scared me,” she mutters, and I can feel her eyes boring into my back.
“Again, sorry.”
A beat of silence, and then, “It’s your house. You don’t have to be sorry.”
Something in her voice makes me glance over at her.
The faucet keeps running, and as I take her in, I feel the water spill over onto my hand.
Now that I’ve looked, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her, so I shut it off, place the over-filled glass down in the sink, and feel around for the teatowel hanging over the cupboard door.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wiping my hands dry.
She holds up the items in her hands. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re sitting on my benchtop with the fridge door wide open and eating directly from an ice cream container.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
She simply shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Is the bed uncomfortable?”
“No. No way. That bed is like a cloud and, to be honest, I think I want it in the breakup.”
I try not to cringe at the word breakup. I also try not to think about why that bothers me so much, or why my first gut reaction is to tell her that there will never be a breakup. I force myself to smirk. “You can have it if you call me your friend.”
“Fine,” she says, eyes lifting to mine as she scoops another bit of ice cream out of the container with her spoon. It hovers in front of her lips as she says, “I’ll buy my own cloud-like mattress.”
Then, she places her lips around the spoon before slowly drawing the ice cream into her mouth.
If my cock wasn’t awake before, it fucking is now.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I look down at my abandoned, over-filled glass and take a deep breath in. I tip some of the water out and lift it to my lips, returning my gaze to Katie, only to find her licking the last remnants of her scoop off her spoon. I gulp down the water.
“Do you always walk around the house in nothing but your underwear?” Her eyes track down my body, and I don’t miss the way they catch on my abs. I fight the urge to run my fingers over the hard ridges, to emphasize the defined lines and solid muscle.
Instead, I keep my mask firmly in place. She wants to play games, then I can play, too. “Yes. Do you always sit on the kitchen bench at home wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt?”
She looks down at her outfit—a faded blue T-shirt that drowns her. The hem is worn and creeps up her thighs with every single movement. Her smooth legs fall over the edge of the countertop, the bare skin taunting me. She smiles knowingly and crosses her legs before carving out another scoop.
I drain the rest of my glass and place it back into the sink.
Then, I move to stand next to the fridge, opposite her.
From here, the light illuminates her completely, and I can see every single one of her emotions.
All of the ones she gathers up during the day and locks away, thinking no one would care to hear about them.
But here, in my kitchen, she’s laying them all out.
I wonder silently if she knows that she bears them all to me, or if she’s completely unaware of how far she’s let her guard down.
It could be the wine. Or, it could be the fact that she’s never had to hide from me. Not before, when I was simply her football crush that she accidentally flirted with across a bar, not in Italy with the stars above us and secrets between us, and certainly not that night.
Not when I thought we were starting something I’d almost given up on finding completely.
“Earth to Flynn.” Katie waves the spoon in front of my face, drawing my attention back to her.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?” She drags the spoon over her lower lip.
“Wear that to bed?” I gesture to her outfit once again. Up close, I can tell it’s a man’s shirt.
Irrational jealousy surges through me.
Is that her fucking ex’s shirt?
“This is my favorite shirt. My comfort shirt, if you will,” she explains, like that’s supposed to mean anything to me.
“You mean comfortable?”
“No, I mean comfort.” She stabs the spoon into the remaining ice cream, ensuring it holds itself up in the container, and places it down on the bench. Then, she smooths her hands over the fabric of the shirt, causing it to mold to her body.
My eyes go straight to her hard, pointed nipples, prominent through the fabric. Holy fuck, do I miss seeing those. Her boobs are … well, they’re perfection. No other word for it.
“I’ve had it for years.” Please don’t be her ex-boyfriend’s. Please, please. Anyone other than him. “It was my dad’s. I stole it after college when I moved into our—I mean, my own place.”
Thank fuck.
I take a step, and then another. My stomach is mere inches from her knee.
My fingers flex by my sides, itching to touch her, before they finally settle beside her instead.
I press my palms into the countertop to stop myself from losing all control and sliding them up her thighs and under that fucking shirt.
I lean in. “Let’s be friends, Katie.”
She stares at me, mouth parted slightly and breathing shallow. “No.
“That word coming from your mouth is starting to turn me on.” My thumb slides further from my palm, reaching out to brush her thigh. “Come on. You’re living here. We’re going to be playing pretend lovers. The least we can do is be friends.” I glance down at her lips. “Please.”
There is a moment, in the quiet of the kitchen, the dim light illuminating the two of us, where I swear to fucking god, Katie leans in.
She shifts in her spot, her eyes tracing over the features of my face and down toward my mouth.
I stare, wrapped in her expression as she studies me. Then she does it again, she leans in.
She brings the spoon back to her mouth. The scoop of ice cream on top passes between her pink lips, disappearing as she closes her mouth around the spoon. In slow motion, she draws it from her mouth, clean of the ice cream. Her tongue licks her lower lip, and she smiles.
It’s the same, satisfied smile she gave me after I made her come.
“I love it when you beg,” she whispers. Then, she hops off the counter, her chest brushing against mine as she replaces the lid on the container, then the ice cream into the freezer.
She doesn’t say another word, simply shuts the fridge door and disappears down the corridor toward the stairs.
She leaves me there, standing frozen in the wake of her words and the image of her lips wrapped around the spoon, my cock as hard as a rock.