Chapter 7
Everly
Ihear Julian's vehicle pull into the driveway. You can hear everything out here. It’s so quiet.
I keep waiting for the doorbell to chime or the door to open—if he’s house-sitting, he’s got a key.
After about five minutes, I peek through the window on the upstairs landing.
He’s just sitting in his Jeep. Of course he drives a Jeep.
I noticed it in the Fit parking lot the first day I got here and deduced it was his.
I’ve just never seen him in it because he always beats me to work. Always.
Why is he just sitting there? When Allie first said he’d be staying here with me while she’s gone, I wanted to be insulted, but the blood rush of spending three weeks alone with him quickly drowned out the insult.
I have no business catching feelings for any guy if the last three months taught me anything.
My brain knows it, but my body didn’t get the memo.
Where would he sleep? The extra room connected to mine by a bathroom seems the logical choice.
Staying in Allie’s room would be weird. We’d most likely be sharing a bathroom.
My heart drops at the image of Julian in a towel and what I know hides under it.
God, stop already. No guys! Go read a book.
Book boyfriends only. I turn toward my room as the front door opens.
Like a little kid I hurry the rest of the way into my room and silently close the door and lean against it to catch my breath.
Instead of losing myself in a book, I sit down on the edge of the bed and take out the new journal I bought for my new life.
I haven’t written in it yet, nor have I written anything in three months.
Like I’ve been hiding from myself, but I don’t have to anymore.
No one here knows what I supposedly did or hates me for it.
If nothing else, journaling again could distract me from the footsteps on the stairs.
And the door opening right down the hall.
The rustling movements of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in real life just on the other side of the Jack and Jill bathroom separating us and our beds, where we’ll both be sleeping for the next three weeks.
STOP, Everly! Just write . . . something.
As I begin to write, I hear Julian move into the bathroom.
My brain is tired though from little sleep the night before.
Nervous energy about my new roommate? Perhaps.
My lids droop, but I put the pencil to paper, willing myself to write, to distract me from my thoughts.
I don’t even get one sentence on the page before my eyelids drop.
His touch is softer than I expect. His hands and arms, muscled, promise rough but lie.
It’s smooth, gentle. His fingertips feather light as they trail down my cheek, tuck my hair behind my ear.
He leans in so I feel his breath on my skin where his fingers used to be.
As his lips reach my ear he sighs my name.
“Ever.” Only he calls me that. I can’t help the shiver it gives me or the goose bumps that rise on my skin.
I like the way he says it. I want him to say it again.
He does. “Ever?” A question this time. What does he want?
I’m right here. I’m already his. I lift my eyes to meet his. To understand what he wants.
“Oh, shit. My bad, I didn’t know you were still sleeping.”
I blink to focus my eyes. Julian fills the doorway of the adjoining bathroom, our bathroom.
He turns to go. I rush to sit up—to stop him.
I rub my face with both hands to shake off the grogginess and say, “No, no, I wasn’t.
I mean, I didn’t sleep well last night so I guess .
. . I guess . . . I dozed off for a second. Sorry.”
That half smile I like so much. “You’re sorry for sleeping?”
I feel my face heat up and know I’m blushing.
I hate that my face gives me away, because I’ve honed my acting skills—like pretending I’m fine and I don’t need anyone’s help.
If my flushing cheeks would stop giving me away.
I respond in a way I hope sounds unflustered.
Something tells me Julian isn’t that easily fooled.