Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
bennet
I woke slowly, consciousness creeping in through layers of warmth and unfamiliar comfort.
Wrong bed. Wrong sheets. Wrong smell.
I blinked at the ceiling, trying to orient myself. The room came into being around me in pieces. Posters. A guitar. A rainbow flag covering part of the window.
Jason’s room.
My body registered everything at once. The sheets were soft against my bare skin. Bare skin. I wasn’t dressed. The pillow beside me still held the indent of another head, the fabric warm when I reached over to touch it.
The smell surrounded me. Pine and detergent and something underneath that was distinctly Jason. I’d memorized it, because of course I had.
But the pillow was empty.
Panic spiked through my chest sharply. I sat up too fast, sheets pooling at my waist. Where was he? Had he left? Had he woken up and regretted everything and couldn’t even face me?
Then I heard the water running in the bathroom. The shower.
Relief hit me so hard I had to lie back down.
He was just in the bathroom. He hadn’t left me alone in his own room. He hadn’t disappeared.
But the relief lasted only seconds before a different kind of panic set in.
What happened now? What were the rules for this? Did I get dressed and pretend to be casual when he came out? Did I stay in bed? Did I leave before he finished showering so we didn’t have to do the awkward morning-after thing?
I stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe normally.
This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up in Jason’s bed. But last time, I’d been fully clothed, having passed out during a study session, mortified when I’d realized what happened.
This was different.
This was better. So much better.
And also terrifying.
I looked down. The sheets covered me to the waist, but underneath, I was completely naked. My clothes were scattered across the floor. My shirt draped over the desk chair. My slacks in a heap near the door. One sock. I couldn’t see the other one.
And if that weren’t proof enough, there was a tingling sensation humming deep inside me, spilling through me.
It had happened.
My face burned just thinking about it. About his hands. His mouth. The sounds he’d made. The way he’d looked at me as his dick entered my body and forever changed the nature of our tutoring.
The shower shut off, and my pulse kicked into overdrive.
The bathroom door opened, and Jason stepped out.
Naked.
Completely naked.
Water still beaded on his shoulders, hair dark and dripping. He moved without hesitation, like his body was just a fact of life.
He saw me awake and smiled. He looked a little shy, somehow, despite the nakedness. “Hey,” he said. “You sleep okay?”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, close enough that I could smell the soap on his skin. His hand found mine through the sheet, fingers threading together.
“I have practice in twenty minutes,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
We were holding hands. When had that become something we did? When had his hand learned the shape of mine?
“I should go anyway,” I managed. My voice came out rough. “Rowan will…” Notice I’m gone. Wonder where I spent the night. Ask questions I didn’t know how to answer yet.
Jason leaned in and kissed me.
It was brief and gentle. His mouth tasted like toothpaste.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine. “Tonight? Same time?”
I nodded. Speech was still beyond me.
His grin broke through, bright and unguarded. “It’s a date.”
“Yes,” I said. “Date. Good.”
He laughed at my eloquence and kissed me again, longer this time. Then he stood and crossed to his dresser, pulling out practice clothes.
I watched him dress. I couldn’t help it. The way he moved with all the unconscious confidence. He caught me looking and winked.
Heat flooded my face.
He grabbed his bag and paused at the door. “You don’t need to hurry. The guys won’t mind.”
I nodded. “I’ll just get dressed and go. Got classes.”
“See you tonight, Bennet.” His gaze lingered on me a moment longer, hesitation holding him there in the spot. I could see him debating with himself, deciding if risking his football career further was unwise.
“Go,” I said, smiling at him.
Then he was gone. The door clicked shut.
I lay there for another minute, staring at the ceiling, his scent still all around me.
Finally, I forced myself to move. Getting dressed felt strange. My clothes smelled like last night, like his room, like us. The suspenders were tangled. I couldn’t find my other sock. I gave up and shoved the single one in my pocket.
My reflection caught me as I passed his mirror. Same face. Same hair sticking up in the back. Same glasses.
Different person.
I looked like someone who’d spent the night with Jason. Like someone who had plans to do it again tonight. Like someone who knew what Jason’s hands felt like, what sounds he made when he came, how his breath caught.
I looked like someone who finally knew what it meant when they said that something just felt right.
I looked happy.
The realization startled me enough that I had to look away.
I gathered my things, made sure the bed was somewhat presentable, and let myself out. The hallway was empty. Downstairs, voices drifted from someone’s bedroom. I moved quickly, quietly, and slipped out the front door.
The front door of the Thinkers’ House opened without resistance. I stepped inside, still carrying my backpack, still missing one sock.
Rowan stood at the kitchen island, spreading butter on toast with the same focused precision he applied to coding. He looked up as I entered.
His eyes narrowed immediately. He set down the knife.
“That’s a walk of shame if I ever saw one,” he said.
I bit my lip and glanced around. The living room was empty. No one else seemed to be up yet. “I’m not exactly ashamed of it,” I said.
Rowan slapped his hands together and laughed, loud and delighted. “I knew it. Was it Dud? You’re kinky, my friend.”
Horror flooded through me, followed by laughter I couldn’t stop. “Oh my God. No. Absolutely not. I did not sleep with a Cave Troll.”
“But you slept with someone,” Rowan pressed, grinning.
I crossed to the kitchen and set my backpack down. My face burned. “Maybe.”
“Maybe.” Rowan snorted. “You’re wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Your hair looks like you wrestled a bear. And you have that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I got laid, and it was good’ look,” he said bluntly.
I grabbed the butter knife from him and focused very hard on preparing my own toast. “You’re insufferable.”
“So it was Jason,” Rowan said, satisfied. “The football guy.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Rowan leaned against the counter, arms folded, looking far too pleased with himself. “He came to our game. He walked you home. You’ve been tutoring him for weeks. And now you’re doing the walk of shame in suspenders.”
I looked down. I’d twisted one suspender by accident. I fixed it without comment.
“I’m happy for you,” Rowan said, softer now. “You deserve something good.”
The sincerity in his voice made me fall silent. I focused on buttering the toast in even strokes. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Bennet…”
“I mean it.” I set the knife down and finally looked at him. “Can you keep it quiet? I don’t want this turning into a thing. It wasn’t serious. It was just…fun.”
Rowan studied me for a long moment. His expression shifted, something uncertain crossing his face. “Fun.”
“Yeah. Fun.” I picked up the toast and took a bite, forcing myself to chew normally. “We’re not…it’s not like we’re dating or anything. It just happened.”
“Uh-huh. And will Dud join our future games?”
“I’m serious, Rowan. Don’t make this weird.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. Your secret’s safe with me. But for the record, you look happier than I’ve seen you in months.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t even know I had the ability to look happy. I had the resting mildly bored face. So I took another bite of toast and let the moment pass.
Rowan grabbed his plate and headed toward the stairs. “Just don’t hurt yourself, okay?”
“I won’t,” I said.
He paused at the base of the stairs and looked back. “I meant emotionally. But physically works, too, I guess.”
I threw a dish towel at him. He caught it, laughing, and disappeared upstairs.
I stood alone in the kitchen, toast in hand, trying to convince myself I believed what I’d just said. I wouldn’t get hurt. To get hurt, I’d have to feel something, and it’s been so long since I’d felt it. And feeling it always brought disappointment. So, I was good, right?
It was just fun.
Nothing serious.
Nothing that would hurt when it ended.
It was better if we didn’t rush it. If we didn’t do something silly, like get all romantic.
The toast tasted like cardboard in my mouth.