Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Carrson
I’m practically bouncing as I walk into my bedroom that night.
In the middle of a fight, I’m calm and focused, but after it’s done, the adrenaline hits and it’s the sweetest high.
It leaves me shaky, elated, like I want to pump my fist at the sky and dance around.
Like I want to high-five strangers and maybe tackle someone just for the hell of it.
I pass a brother, Tyson, leading his Bonded up the stairs to their bedroom.
“Nice job today, Carrson,” the woman, a pretty blonde, calls out.
“Why, thank you.” I mock bow, and she giggles, blushes.
I can’t miss how Tyson tucks her into his side and hurries her up the stairs, far away from me.
Like I’m a threat.
Which I totally am.
Chuckling, I head for my room. Well, our room now.
Laurel’s already there, curled on her side of the bed with a book in hand, looking way too unaffected for my liking. She doesn’t even glance up. I just spent the afternoon bleeding and brawling in front of half the goddamn school, and she’s acting like I went out to water the plants.
“I’m home,” I announce grandly, pausing in the doorway.
“Oh, hey.” She stares at the pages.
I flop onto the bed beside her with zero grace, like a child. I roll onto my stomach, hands folded under my chin, and ask sweetly, “How was your day?”
“Fine.” Flip. Another page.
“See anything interesting?”
Her eyes flick to mine, hold, then drop back to the page. “Not really.”
Infuriating woman. Beautiful and infuriating.
For the hundredth time, I ask myself why I like her. She’s mouthy. Closed off. Stubborn. Challenges me at every turn. Most days I don’t know if she wants to stab me or straddle me.
So why the hell do I keep orbiting like she’s the sun?
Why do I drift close after she’s asleep? Not to touch, just to bask in her warmth.
The answer comes before I can push the thought away.
It’s because of all those things. I like how she has her own thoughts, so different from mine. I like how she doesn’t fall over when I walk into the room. How she never simpers. I like how she makes me work for her attention. She refuses to hand over a single inch of herself unless I earn it.
When I do get a crumb?
It’s fucking intoxicating.
I should’ve learned better by now that seeking approval is a losing game.
My father made damn sure I understood that.
Most of the time, I don’t care what people think.
They can love me, hate me, push me away, pull me closer.
I barely even notice it, which probably makes me a self-centered asshole, but honestly?
I’ve been too busy surviving. Too busy taking care of myself to give a damn.
Except for today when I looked up in the middle of that fight, blood in my mouth, and saw her. Laurel, with her hand clutching her chest, eyes wide, and lips parted like she was worried.
About me.
Suddenly I wanted, needed, to know everything.
What was she thinking? What did she feel?
About the fight. About The Order. About me.
I wanted to climb inside that genius, chaotic brain of hers and take up residence.
Make a home there. Which is unhinged. Creepy.
Dangerous…but hell, I’ve done worse things for less.
“You’re saying you didn’t see the fight?” I ask, like I’m not fishing.
She flips a page. “Which one? You beat people up for fun, remember?”
Okay. Rude.
I get up and limp dramatically to the sitting area, waiting for her to look up and make a fuss over me.
She doesn’t. Instead, she mutters, “You should ice your face before you swell up like a rotten tomato.”
“Aha!” I exclaim and point at her, while I take a seat in a chair close to the bed. I know she’s right. My face feels like it went through a blender. I can barely see out of one eye, that’s how swollen shut it is. “You were watching.”
Shit-eating grin: deployed.
Laurel sighs and rolls her eyes.
Still smiling, I let out a groan that I’m hoping sounds at least a little bit sensual as I bend over to untie my shoes.
I glance up to catch her cheeks pinking, and, fuck, I love that color on her.
That delicate blush that makes me want to lean closer and see how far it trails, down her neck, across her collarbone, over the swell of her breast…
“I was in the library,” she says primly as she lifts her chin and peers over at me. “The windows face the lawn. It’s not like I had a choice.”
“Hmm. If you say so.” I stretch my legs and rest them on the edge of the bed. As if it’s an accident, I let one of my feet brush her calf.
She pulls away fast, but not before I feel that quick, involuntary hitch of breath.
Interesting.
I decide to push my luck a little farther. To push her.
“You gonna kiss my bruises better, little mouse?”
She slams the book shut and glares at me. “You’re disgusting.”
“Disgustingly amazing,” I counter, stretching back in the chair and lacing my fingers behind my head like I’ve got all the time in the world. Like I own this room. Which, let’s be honest, I kind of do.
“Were you worried about me?” I ask, cocking my head just enough to make it teasing. I keep my tone light, but inside I tense. “Looked like you were about to claw through that window when Sampson had me down.”
“I was hoping he’d finish the job,” she says, but her eyes flick to me and her voice is breathier than before. The grip on her book tightens.
“Ouch.” I press a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”
“You look fine to me,” she mutters.
“You do notice how good looking I am.”
That gets her. Her eyes flick over me. They catch on my chest, on my flexed arms, and linger. Her breath stutters, cheeks blooming again with that traitorous, beautiful flush.
I smirk, thinking I’m in charge of this game, but she doesn’t look away, just keeps staring, unblinking. Time elongates, stretches out, until I’m the one holding my breath because damnit, I like it. Her eyes on me.
A lot.
Laurel’s fingers fidget with the edge of the comforter like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
She licks her lips, her fucking gorgeous plump lips, and the gesture causes a slow molten heat to rise in me.
It rolls through my body like the tide. My cock twitches under the waistband of my pants, straining, aching.
For a second, the air in the room feels too thick. Too heavy.
What does she sound like when she comes?
What does she taste like between those pretty thighs?
Fuck, I want to find out.
But I can’t. She’s not here because she wants to be, and I’d rather set myself on fire than take something she didn’t offer, especially after everything she’s been through.
So this is how it’ll stay between us. Close, yet out of reach.
“Stop twisting my words.” She huffs and scoots further away on the bed, but her cheeks stay pink, and that bottom lip? Caught between her teeth.
I can’t have her, so I tease her instead. “You looked worried. When I went down.”
“I wasn’t,” she lies, fast and defensive.
“Really? Sticking with that story, are you?” I tilt my head and put a finger on my chest, right over my heart. I grin and say, “Pretty sure your eyes burned a hole right here.”
Laurel huffs and her lips twitch, trying not to smile.
I walk toward her, each step slow and measured.
She watches me approach with wide, almost apprehensive, eyes.
I sit down on the edge of the bed next to her.
Then I lean in, making my voice low and as serious as possible, like I’m about to share something important.
I pause for effect and say, “Tell me what you thought when I took my shirt off.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Mmm.” I let my gaze drag down her body slowly, intentionally. “Pretty sure I caught you staring, though.”
I smirk. The cocky smile I know annoys her.
She jerks her blanket up to her neck, like it’ll shield her from my grin. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Oh, Kitten.” I let out a low chuckle. “You totally were.”
“God, I hate you.”
She grabs a pillow and smacks me in the face, but she’s laughing now and it’s the most beautiful sight. Shy, radiant, completely unguarded.
If that fight won me her smile?
Totally worth it.