Chapter 15 #2
He was sitting on the floor outside my door, hoodie pulled up, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted back against the door, sunglasses on, and I wasn’t sure if he was asleep. He looked like he’d been there for a while.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Dante turned his head and looked right at me, his lips twitching when my hand flew to my mouth at seeing his bruises. His lip was split, the side of his face blooming purple, visible even behind his shades, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
“Hey, Sav,” he greeted me, taking his shades off. His voice was hoarse and low enough to send a ripple of unease down my spine.
My steps faltered. “How—”
He rose slowly, looking pained, and I resisted the urge to help him. When his eyes met mine, the usual cocky sparkle was gone. No grin. No smug retort. Just Dante, bruised and waiting.
I tightened my grip on my shoes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” He pushed his hand through his hair and winced at the movement. “Needed a change of scenery.”
For a moment, maybe two, I didn’t know what to say.
Because this wasn’t the quarterback who ran the field like he was born to do it.
This was Dante, injured, on the floor, having apparently decided that my door was the right door.
I swallowed hard as I walked toward the door and unlocked it. “Should you be here?”
“Yeah,” he said softly, leaning against the wall. “Probably not.” But he didn’t move.
My keys shook as I pulled them out of the lock. Every rational part of me screamed that this was a bad idea, that if my father ever found out Dante had stepped into my dorm room, he’d have an aneurysm right then and there.
But then he shifted against the wall, letting out a low groan as if even breathing hurt, and my heart betrayed me.
The door clicked open. I stepped inside, then looked back over my shoulder. “Well? Are you coming in, or are you planning to pass out on the floor out here?”
For a second, something flickered in his eyes — but it disappeared too quickly, replaced by his usual cocky half smile, which made him wince. “Was hoping you’d say that.”
He followed me in. I shut the door quickly, leaning against it like I could hold the rest of the world at bay if I just pressed hard enough.
The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet, and too full of him. He pulled his hood back, and under the harsh dorm light, the bruises looked worse. His jaw was swelling, and his knuckles were raw.
“Jesus, Dante.” I crossed my arms tightly, as if that could stop me from reaching for him. “You look like you went several rounds with a cement wall.”
“Close enough,” he muttered, sinking onto the edge of my couch as if he belonged there. “But I’m still standing, so that’s a win.”
I hovered, furious at myself for letting him in and already trying to figure out how to get him out before Bev came home. The two of us together in a small space was a bad idea.
And yet, here we were.
I needed to do something. I walked to the kitchen, yanked open the tiny freezer above the fridge, grabbed the ice tray, and filled a zip-top bag with a handful of ice. I wrapped it in a dish towel and tossed it at him.
He caught it with one hand, hissed when the cold hit his bruised knuckles, then pressed it gingerly to the side of his jaw. “You always this hospitable, Sav?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shot back, pacing to avoid staring at the cut along his cheekbone. “If you pass out in here, I’m not the one explaining it to campus security. Trust me, I’ve already got plenty of secrets to keep.”
He sank into the sofa seat, leaned back, winced, then smirked at me. “You’re worried about me.”
I folded my arms tightly. “I’m worried about the gossip, thank you very much. The golden-boy quarterback getting into fights isn’t my problem.”
“Funny,” he murmured, shifting the ice to his split lip. “Feels like I just became your problem when you let me in.”
The air between us grew tense. Too close. Too risky. I should’ve pushed him back into the hallway. I should’ve slammed the door in his smug, bruised face.
Instead, I grabbed another towel, dipped it in cold water, and handed it to him. “Here. You’ve got blood on your knuckles.”
His fingers brushed mine when he took it, the briefest graze, but it sent a pulse straight through me.
He dabbed awkwardly at his knuckles, juggling the ice pack, and before I could stop myself, I reached out and caught his wrist.
“Let me help,” I murmured, pulling the towel from his hand.
My fingers brushed his, a jolt of heat passing between us so sharp I nearly dropped the cloth.
I pressed the cool fabric against his skin, close enough to smell the faint mix of sweat, blood, and the fresh scent of laundry detergent lingering on his hoodie.
Dante didn’t move. He simply watched me, his blue eyes burning in a way that made the tiny dorm room feel airless.
“Sav,” he said, low, like it wasn’t my name but a secret.
I heard a key in the lock.
I jerked back so quickly that the towel slipped from my hand and hit the floor. “Move!” I hissed at him, pulling him to his feet, ignoring his groans, and ushered him to my room.
“Savvy? You home?” Bev’s voice filled the doorway as I shoved the school’s quarterback into my bedroom and quickly closed the door behind me.
Bev’s brows shot up as she looked at me. “Wow. Okay. Did I interrupt something?”
My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear myself say, “No. Absolutely not.”
But the warmth of him still lingered in my fingertips, betraying every lie on my tongue — because the undeniable fact was that I had Dante Spence in my bedroom, with no way to get him out anytime soon, not without someone noticing.
And it would be very, very bad if someone saw him.