49. Deacon
Chapter forty-nine
Deacon
For the second time this school year, I was the unofficial roommate. It had been a month of sharing Lyla’s bed and fighting the urge to touch her in all ways I didn’t the first and only time I ever would. She told me it was a one-time thing, and since I respected her too much to tempt that boundary, I continued to play the night we slept together on repeat like any other best guy friend who couldn’t get his fake girlfriend out of his head.
Yes. Totally normal shit.
We were inching closer and closer to spring break with Lyla’s dad, and even with hefty class schedules and study sessions, we still managed to go out every weekend since the semester started. I expected Lyla to have another prospect by now, and I even encouraged her to look for a potential Mr. February at the bar. It killed me to do it, and I hated how guys stared at her like she wasn’t with me.
I knew it was fake with me, but it all felt the same. Weekends passed, and Lyla always insisted on heading back to her place. The part of me that craved her wasn’t entirely convinced that Christmas never crossed her mind.
It was Valentine’s Day, and I knew I was taking a risk with a small bouquet of red roses and a Christmas gift I should have given her two months ago. In my defense, I had to do something since I was under the watchful eyes of Michelle, Cassie’s newly found study buddy. I planned for Lyla to see it as a cute gesture, and then she’d thank me with one of her adorable hug squeezes. If it tanked, well, I hadn’t thought of that outcome.
There was a set of keys at work on the other side of the front door, and I knew it was Lyla. She walked in and didn’t notice me at first. Her hair was still curly from yesterday, and she had it in one of those buns on the top of her head. She chose my biggest hoodie to wear to class today, and she looked fucking adorable.
I smiled at the sight of her in my clothes. I pushed the small red bag across the counter, grabbing her attention.
She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and rolled her eyes. “Deacon Scott, we are not doing Valentine’s Day!”
I pointed to her gift. “ This is a late Christmas present.”
“And the flowers? Are those late, too?”
“Technically, yes, they are. I usually buy you flowers on Mondays.”
She continued her playful prompting. “And did you delay them so you could buy me flowers on Valentine’s Day?”
“It’s okay to buy a girl flowers on Valentine’s Day,” I argued. “Even if that girl is just a friend.”
She pulled the gift bag in front of her, lifting a piece of tissue paper. “Is this really a late Christmas gift?”
“It’s honestly just a little something.” I stifled the urge to smile adoringly at her ability to make opening a gift bag take five years. “I couldn’t give it to you Christmas morning after everything happened. You would’ve had some smart-ass comment.”
“Would’ve felt very Pretty Woman ,” she agreed, pulling out the final piece of tissue. She stared at the metal object for a moment, and I knew with some investigating, she’d figure out what it was.
A soft gasp fell from her lips. She examined it closely, turning it over repeatedly in her hand.
“It’s a book embosser,” I said, admiring the scene in front of me.
Lyla giggled, looking in the drawer beside her for a piece of paper. She stamped the paper between the press, and it read, “From the Library of Lyla Brooks.” Underneath the script was an open book with a rose in the middle.
She smiled down at the design and then up at me. “ I know what it is, but how did you know this existed?”
I shrugged as if I hadn’t spent days browsing pages of gift ideas for new bookstore owners. “Google. Lots of ‘ book girlies ’ have them.”
My air quotes made her laugh. “You’re pretty fantastic, you know that?”
“Don’t you mean downright delightful?”
“Well, that too,” she said, running her hand over the print. “Thank you, Deacon.”
“You’re welcome. And I expect you to use it when I come to Chicago and buy a book from you.”
“You realize I’ll be marking it as my property instead of yours, right?”
I followed her back to her bedroom and leaned against her door frame. I didn’t want to talk about her gift anymore. I wanted to bring up my plan for us this afternoon. “Are you doing anything today? Any prospects in the running for Mr. February?”
“No.” She removed her moccasins, tossing them in the closet. “I’m starting to lose hope in my system. Either that, or I’m maturing out of the calendar method. I’m not sure. ”
I tried to hide my excitement. “Let’s do something then.”
She eyed me in the doorway, and her teeth grazed her bottom lip. I’d seen that look once before, and it was right before she came on my cock.
“Lyla?” I smiled, pulling her out of whatever daze she was in. I was totally fucked. “Did you want to do some boyfriend-girlfriend shit outside of this apartment?”
“You mean there isn’t a riveting game of Monopoly or chess planned?” she teased.
“Tempting, but no. I can kick your ass some other time.”
I could do a lot to Lyla right now. This was new territory for me. When I was with Lyla, I tried to suppress how much I wanted her—keep a clear boundary drawn between our fake relationship and my feelings for her. No matter what I was doing, I always thought about her in the background.
If I pushed an idea onto Lyla, she’d shove it right back. She was too stubborn. She would completely retreat if I told her I had feelings for her. I knew she cared about me, and more importantly, she trusted me. She trusted me to see our agreement through, and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.
If we stayed in tonight, her roommates would eventually interrupt us. I loved a good game night, but I didn’t feel like sharing. I had three months until graduation, and I planned to squeeze as much boyfriend-girlfriend shit into that timeframe as possible.