Chapter 9

Bella

I swallow because even though it’s four in the morning, there’s no way I can sleep. You’d think it had to do with Drew’s admissions yesterday and my mind constantly thinking about him, but to be honest, I ran out of steam on that topic earlier in the night. In fact, I think it fried my brain so much that I had to fall asleep.

I’m exhausted. My eyes are burning, my body is lax, and I can feel myself just mere seconds away from collapsing into a coma.

There’s just one thing stopping me.

Every time I close my eyes and I’m about to relax, loud, incessant guttural moans come from down the infamous hallway.

Nothing good ever came from down that hallway, and this morning is no different.

With every bang of the weight, my eyes grow a few millimeters wider, and my mouth parts just a little. Sweat prickles my forehead, and I can feel my ears turning pink because those noises are making something brew in my body, and it’s far from wholesome.

Grunt. Bang. Grunt. Bang. Grunt. Bang.

Drew’s working out, and it’s almost like he doesn’t want me to think about anything except him this morning. I’ve slept on this couch for three days now. I’m used to Drew working out at this time, but today, it feels a little different because he’s been in there grunting and banging for over an hour. I can’t help but think he’s trying to forget everything by lifting heavy objects and dropping them with so much force that he might end up splitting the floorboards.

Another grunt, and this time, he adds a low, somewhat sexy growl.

I wonder if he’s just standing in there, flexing in the mirror and admiring his muscles. Either way, he’s loud. So, so loud.

So loud that the first grunt made me fall off the couch because I thought I was sleeping on the remote and accidently turned some porn on or something.

When I look up at the screen in my hazy state and see that it’s blank, my stomach immediately drops because my mind goes straight to the idea that Drew brought some chick like Brianna over to get his rocks off.

After five minutes of stewing and coming to my senses, I realize I am losing my sanity in this house. Drew couldn’t have invited anyone over because no one else could get here, and as I pay more attention to the grunts, I start to hear the slamming of weights straight after.

He’s in the gym, and even though I know this, my mind can’t stop thinking about the thumps of aggression filling the room.

Drew’s in there…working out, and all I can think about is what Drew might be wearing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen guys working out in the gym before. Hell, I’ve even seen Drew a couple of times, but yesterday, when I saw him in that tight white shirt, and those gray sweatpants, it all hit differently.

I shove a pillow over my face, hoping the lack of oxygen might mean my brain has to prioritize something other than the subtle hints of Drew’s abs under his thin white shirt, or that bulge in his pants that I most definitely saw too much of last night.

After nearly suffocating, I throw the pillow off my face, knocking over my glass on the table. It doesn’t break, but the noise is loud enough to stop Drew’s grunting.

I freeze, clamping my hand across my mouth because I’m worried I’ll make enough noise that he’ll come out here and check on me.

When the familiar rhythm of grunts and bangs returns, I relax my shoulders and lie back on the sofa, thankful that I haven’t been caught yet.

Get it together, Bella. You hate Drew. You’ve always hated him. Just because he says a few nice things about liking you in high school, doesn’t change the fact that you’re sworn enemies. Always have been. Always will be.

I bite down on my bottom lip because his lips against my skin come to mind, and well, all that hate slips away like it’s nothing.

Scrunching my eyes closed, I try to remember the list of reasons why Drew and I can never be friends.

He hit me in the face with a football when we were thirteen. – but thatwas an accident.

He took my dad away – but that was because he didn’t have his own.

He mocked me at the end of senior prom with the rest of our class – although that didn’t happen according to him, so I’ll need to remove that.

He continues to mock me about Jimmy Johnson – but is that because he was angry at him for asking me out? Is that why they stopped talking?

He flaunts how perfect he is by dating the most beautiful girl at St. Michael’s.

I frown because that long list of reasons has been dwindling with every passing day, and the staple reasons on it are pretty lackluster. Drew isn’t that bad, and I’m starting to think that my teenage hormones exaggerated his effect on my relationship with my dad. I guess, in some ways, it’s easier to blame Drew than take accountability for my own feelings of worthlessness.

I open my eyes because no amount of scrunching will get Drew out of my mind. He’s built himself a comfy little house in there with enough food and water that I’m starting to fear that I’ll never get him out.

After another loud, aggressive thump, I decide that is the last straw. I’m all for exercise, but a four-a.m. workout routine isn’t going to cut it on Christmas morning. I need some sleep.

Grabbing my crutches, I grumble under my breath with every hobbled step. After five minutes, I lay my hand against the wall and take a breath. I know I’m a little out of shape, but walking around with crutches shouldn’t be this hard.

As Drew’s grunts get louder, my thoughts get naughtier. My breathing is labored, and I start to think about the things we might be doing to make our breathing so erratic.

Oh, what a dirty girl I am, thinking about a man I’m supposed to hate, all sweaty and hot, pushing in and out while he lies on top of me, but I can’t help myself. Those grunts are primal, and Drew’s giving me all the audible porn I’ll ever need.

I knock on the door, waiting for an invite. When there’s no answer, I knock louder and yell, “Drew?”

Still nothing.

After another round of knocking, I decide my only course of action is to go in the room instead of standing outside it.

I open the door with my hip, walk in with my crutches, and yell, “Drew! It’s not even five in the morn-”

Words cling to the tip of my tongue because all I can see is Drew sitting on a leg press machine with his big-ass headphones on.

Oh, and no shirt.

Did I forget to mention the lack of shirt?

His abs, bathed in sweat, ripple when he flexes and lifts his legs. My gaze trickles down to the tiny black shorts he’s wearing and his thighs.

Oh, his thighs.

Drew’s thighs are a work of art. He’s not just toned but a stacked machine of deliciousness, and I want to get on top of him just to check that all his parts are in working order.

Now I finally understand why there’s a dress code at the gym because how could anyone concentrate when Drew’s veins are popping out like that? I mean seriously…Thick, corded veins travel from the middle of his stomach to the bottom of his waist, feeding what I can only imagine is a giant monster cock.

I bite my bottom lip when he raises his leg again, watching closely in the mirror as the muscles underneath those veins move and disappear into his shorts.

Swallowing, I lick my lips, trying to get any moisture in my mouth because finishing my sentence is still proving difficult. That, and I need my brain to start functioning again.

“Everything okay, B?” His voice shocks my head up, and I catch his eyes in the mirror.

Oh, shit.

“I, I, I.” The stuttering is embarrassing but gets worse when I see myself in the mirror. Not only is Drew sitting there looking like a sweaty god this morning, but I look recklessly homeless with a rumpled shirt and barely-there booty shorts. The worst part about this whole thing is that it’s obvious that I’m clearly staring at him. So painfully obvious that Drew doesn’t even look bothered by it.

Drew pulls his headphones off and starts to move off the machine.

Are my nipples hard? Because it feels like they are. My whole body feels like a stretched elastic band, ready to snap at any moment.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, good. Just wanted to know what all the noise was,” I squeak out, trying to elegantly back out of the room. Elegantly being the operative word since it’s pretty hard to do with crutches and a giant cast.

The cast drags across the floor, getting caught on the door's threshold, and I scream as I feel myself falling backward.

Not again.

Trying to grip onto anything, I grab the doorknob and somehow slam the door shut before falling on my ass in the hallway.

That’s one way of getting out of admitting that I want to take Drew for a ride.

The boney flesh of my butt throbs in pain, but I’m not about to stay sitting there rubbing my ass, waiting for Drew to come to my rescue. No, because then I’d have to explain why I was gawking at his crotch. Oh, and I also didn’t want him to get too close, considering I absolutely stink from my lack of showers since arriving here.

Rolling onto my front, I groan, propping myself on all fours, and crawl to the living room since that’s quicker than hobbling on my crutches.

I freeze on the spot when I hear the door creak open, but I’m far enough away that I can’t see Drew in the darkness.

“Bella?” he calls out, and I don’t answer. I keep crawling until I can climb onto the couch and cover myself with the blanket.

I crush my eyes closed and burrow into the couch when I hear his footsteps come into the room.

“Bella?” he asks quietly. I don’t respond. I just cower under the covers, praying to all things holy that he doesn’t come over here.

There’s a few steps, but then he stops, and finally, they start to retreat down the hallway.

My body sags in relief when I know he’s gone. For now, that is. I know he’ll be back, and somehow, I’ll have to explain why I acted like such a goon while I stared at him, but there’s a small part of me that hopes he’ll completely ignore the whole situation. You know, like he did after he saw every single part of my cooch a few days ago. The minute he walked through the door from that near impending snowy death, there was no more mention of it. It was like it never happened. Yeah, that was how we could deal with it. By not dealing with it.

That’s how we seem to deal with a lot of things these days, and it works for us.

Sitting up, I gulp down the air I’d been depriving myself, worried that he might know I’m awake because of it. Then I blow out a long, drawn out breath, trying to center myself.

I jolt when the gym door opens again and Drew saunters into the hall with no shirt on. I should have known he wouldn’t leave it. Why, oh, why did I have to disturb him while he was working out? Now I have to look at that! His shorts ride dangerously low on his hips at that point where those thick veins reside. Somehow, he still looks like a Greek god after his workout. Meanwhile, I still look as deranged as I did when I waltzed into his gym session like a homeless man searching for a drink, and the only water I could find was dripping off Drew’s chest.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“You okay, Bella?” he asks again; only this time, it’s much gentler because he probably realizes that treating me with kid gloves is the only way I’ll talk.

My face is heating, and I squirm in my seat because I feel like he’s about to interrogate me, and I’m somehow going to have to explain why I was ogling him.

My eyes dart from one side of the room to the other like a drug addict looking for their next fix because I can’t look at him. If I lock eyes with him, his brown eyes will melt me into submission, and I can’t have that.

This is Drew I’m talking about.

The same Drew that has driven me crazy all through high school, and now, all of a sudden, I can’t look at him without wanting to lick every well-earned ridge on his stomach. I bet the skin there is just as smooth and delicious as the skin on his chest.

Do I want Drew?

It sounds incredulous. However, the idea has been floating around my head for the past few days – okay, years - but before this little cabin fever, I’d been able to push those thoughts away. Ignore the gooey feelings that festered in my stomach and concentrate on the hate.

“Yeah. Sorry,” I wisp out as I run a hand through my hair. Big mistake. My hand is stuck in the knots, and I know I’ll look less than graceful if I try to pull it out, so I rest my elbow against the armrest, leaving my hand caught. My head follows the movement, but I keep my grin fixed as I take my time to subtly finagle my fingers out of the nest.

“Did you want breakfast?” I ask, my voice so high that I don’t recognize it.

“Breakfast?”

“Mhmm,” I pop out. “Just wanted to know if you wanted breakfast before I started fooling around in the kitchen.” What was I thinking? I wasn’t, but it’s the only excuse I can think of that sounds remotely plausible for taking my time to walk down that hall.

“I thought you hated cooking?”

He’s right about that. I can’t cook worth a damn. “I don’t. Since it’s Christmas, I thought I’d make this and dinner your gift.” The words are coming out, but I don’t seem to have any control over them.

Drew smiles goofily, and it makes my stomach flip. “Really? You’re going to make me dinner, too?”

Why did I open my mouth? Things just keep pouring out. Things that are going to go completely against me by the end of the day.

“Yeah,” I squeak out, already wondering what the hell I’m going to do for dinner now. Macaroni and cheese? I bet they don’t have the boxed stuff, so that’s out of the question.

Slapping his chest, Drew runs his hands down his pecs, and I watch the movement with interest. So hot. Drew is so, so hot.

“I’d love breakfast, but is it okay if I take a shower first? I’m a little too sweaty to be comfortable around you.”

“He, he, he,” I heckle. It’s awkward and embarrassing but no worse than me having to cook for him in a minute. “No problem.”

With that, he stands, going down that stupid hallway like I’ve watched him do so many times. Only this time, I can see the muscles in his back contort, and I want to feel them under my hand. Oh, do I want to do things to him that I know damn well I shouldn’t?

When he’s out of sight, I throw my head back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling. Great. Now I’m going to have to cook something for a guy that I’d like to mount like a stallion, knowing that will never happen.