BENNETT
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Can you stop staring at me?” Merritt mutters, not looking up from the notebook she’s writing in. She’s sprawled out on her stomach on my bed, the dark waves of her hair falling like a curtain around her, partially hiding what she’s scribbling.
The answer to that is: No.
I can’t stop staring at her.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
I’ve spent the last forty-something minutes trying to focus on this project for Creative Writing that we’re supposed to be working on, but Merritt’s on my bed, and all I can think about is kissing her.
About how warm and soft she was when she cuddled into my side and fell asleep half a second later on Halloween night. About how much I wanted to kiss her. And not because of a superstition or for social media or because people were watching, but because I wanted to more than fucking breathing.
And I couldn’t.
If I’m being honest, I don’t give a single fuck about creative writing, this project or the class, but even less now that I’ve got the girl I can’t stop fucking thinking about in my bed for the first time. I have to keep reminding myself of why I can’t cross that line.
“Did you know you snore?” I say, bypassing her question altogether.
“What?” she mutters, finally looking up at me from her notebook. “What are you talking about?” My lip curls into a grin when her nose crinkles and her brow pinches in confusion.
I lean back in my computer chair and grab the faded tennis ball off the top of my desk before turning back to her. “You snore when you sleep. The other night on Halloween, you snored when you fell asleep on me.”
Merritt’s mouth falls open. “I do not snore.”
“Yeah… you do.”
“Bullshit, Legros,” she retorts with an eye roll, and I only grin harder when her cheeks stain pink.
“Don’t be embarrassed. It was cute.”
I bounce the ball against the wall and catch it, repeating the motion over and over again.
Instead of another snarky response, Merritt ignores me, glancing back down at her notebook, spinning the ring on her index finger.
Since I’ve spent the last hour watching her, I’ve noticed that she’s started to lose focus, and when that happens, she starts to get restless—fidgeting with her ring, flipping from her stomach to her back, over and over, tapping at the edge of her computer.
The next time the ball bounces off the wall, she whips her head back up, pinning me with a narrowed stare. “Why are you throwing a tennis ball at the wall?”
“Gotta work on my reflexes. I’m a goalie, remember?”
“Okay, Goalie… but do you have to work on them right now?” Her dark brow arches. “Because you know, we’re supposed to be working on this project, remember? The whole reason I’m here.”
True.
But then again, maybe if she didn’t look so damn good spread out on my bed, I could focus on literally anything else besides how badly I want to join her.
I thought opting for my desk would be the safe bet, the distance enough to keep my dick from perking up at the first whiff of her cherry-scented lotion. But alas, apparently, the only safe distance is from a few state lines away.
“I’m cookin’, woman.” I reach up, tapping my temple. “Stay out my kitchen and let me work.”
“You know what? This is hopeless,” she groans, slamming her notebook shut, and rolling onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.
I toss the ball onto my desk, then stand and walk over to the edge of the bed, sitting down beside her.
“Not hopeless. It’s just late, and neither of us are really focusing much tonight anyway. Kinda seems counterproductive to stare at a piece of paper and not put anything on it, yeah?”
After another stuttering sigh, she tears her gaze from the ceiling and turns to look at me. “Yeah. I guess you’re probably right. I can tell that I’m starting to squirrel.”
A bemused laugh seeps out of me.
“Squirrel?”
“An ADHD gremlin one, yeah.” Merritt laughs too, and I desperately try to ignore the way my heart flutters. For fuck’s sake. “My meds have worn off, and my brain is bouncing in a hundred different directions.”
She picks up her phone and taps the screen, checking the time. “It’s getting late anyway. I should probably head home.”
It’s almost eleven, and I’m not tired at all, but I know she’s probably been up since six and running on a scary amount of caffeine. A normal day for her.
And it’s not like we’re getting any work done anyway.
She sits up and gathers her books, shoving them back into her backpack. “Do you want to try again tomorrow night? We’ll have to do it at my house, though, because my dad works.”
I shake my head. “Can’t. I’m having dinner with my parents. They’re coming into town for the night because my sister is visiting from San Diego. Wednesday?”
Merritt stops shoving things into her backpack and stares at me. “They’re coming in for one night only? Don’t you have a game Friday?”
My stomach tightens at her observation, something heavy pooling in the base of my throat.
I swallow roughly and lift my shoulder nonchalantly.
“Yeah, my dad’s the head oncologist at a children’s hospital in New Hampshire, and he has a really insane work schedule, so they can only come in for a night. Not a big deal.”
The lie tastes bitter as it spills past my lips.
I don’t know why, but for some reason, I want to tell her the truth, about how shitty it actually makes me feel that my parents do this, about how I fucking hate that they don’t ever prioritize or seem interested in the most important thing in my life or that I wish for one second they cared about what I wanted instead of what they think is best for me.
I don’t even talk to Zach and Tyler about my parents, but with Merritt… it feels like she wouldn’t judge me. That she’d just listen.
Sometimes that’s all I want.
Just for someone to listen. Not give advice or to try and figure out a solution, but just to be there while I unload the shit off my shoulders.
That’s it.
“So…” I say, pasting on a smirk. “Wednesday?”
For a beat, she’s silent, but after a few seconds that seem to drag by, she blows out a sigh and shakes her head, her perceptive stare penetrating the expanse of my chest, like she can see directly through the front I put on.
It’s Oscar-worthy after years of practice, but it suddenly feels flimsy beneath the weight of her gaze.
“Can’t. I’m teaching an evening class at the pottery studio right after my shift at the bookstore.”
Shit. “I can’t do Thursday because I have a thing with Tyler and Zach.”
“We can just work on our own writing, and then I guess over the weekend, we can try and meet up to review?” She pulls the zipper closed on her backpack.
“Yeah, works for me, but…” I say, giving her a playful grin. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
She looks down at my bed in question. “What?”
“Since we’re not going to see each other before the game Friday, I’m gonna need my kiss right now.”
We’re playing Lake Charles this weekend, and it’s a three-hour-drive away game, so obviously, I won’t be seeing her beforehand.
My gaze tracks the column of her throat as she slowly swallows, those dark eyes turning molten right in front of me. Merritt gives me an eye roll, feigning her annoyance like always, but the thing is, I call bullshit.
I know she’s attracted to me, and she likes kissing me despite the front of her own that she puts on because her body betrays her.
I see the way her pupils widen and her lips part when I’m sliding my hands along her jaw.
I feel the little whimpers that spill out of her against my lips like they’re her best-kept secret.
How she’s dazed and breathless when I pull away, her taste still lingering on my lips.
She can pretend all she wants because I know the real truth. The one she’s not ready to admit to herself, and I still have no clue why.
Why is she fighting so hard against herself when it comes to me?
Is it me, or just men in general, after dealing with Gauthreaux’s dumbass? The question tugs constantly in the back of my mind, and I want to ask her, but I’m scared it’ll make her pull away or that I’m not actually going to like the answer.
And I feel like she’s finally starting to give me crumbs, little delicious morsels of who she really is, so I’m not willing to chance it.
She rolls her eyes again and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Will it even work that early?”
I shrug. “I dunno, but we’ll have to test the theory.”
When she stays glued to where she’s standing, giving me that sassy, slightly pouty look, I arch a brow, my voice lowering to a deep rasp. “Come here, Merritt.”
Her eyes widen at the low, commanding tone of my words, and she hesitates, her feet staying rooted in place as she draws her pillowy bottom lip between her teeth, her steely, heated gaze holding mine like she’s trying to decide whether or not she’s actually going to listen.
Ultimately, she does, taking two small steps forward, but still not close enough, toying with me. “I’m not sure what gave you the impression that you’re the one controlling the shots here, Goalie.”
“Deal’s a deal.” I shrug. “That is… unless you can’t hold up your end of it?”
She scoffs. “You wish.”
“I happen to remember a legally binding contract or something of that nature?” I’m teasing her now, the same way that she’s doing to me by being juuuust out of reach.
I’ve never wanted to touch anyone or anything as badly as I want to touch her.
The result of sitting feet away from her for the last hour and unable to pull my eyes off her.
Seeing her squirm on my bed, imagining how she’d feel if she were writhing beneath me, watching her torturously drag her tongue along her lips as she was concentrating. The soft exhales that slipped past her lips when she got stuck on whatever she had been writing.
My thoughts have been racing with a hundred different ways that I want her, unable to focus on anything that isn’t Merritt St. Pierre.
I’m on my knees for this girl. A complete fucking goner, and all we’ve done is kiss. She’s spent the majority of the time busting my balls, and still, here we are.