Chapter 11

Bella

“Are you ready?” Drew asks, walking out of his bedroom like he’s won the lottery.

“For?” I raise a brow as I sit in my own stench, wallowing in the shame that I’m too afraid to even attempt another shower. “The Christmas movies? Because I’ve been looking through, and I need your opinion.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “No.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re giving me free rein? Because there are a few questionable movies in here that I’d like to give a go.”

“No. Are you ready for your gift?”

“My gift?” My voice squeaks in surprise. Drew hadn’t mentioned a gift until I gave him the gift of a burnt breakfast, so what could Drew possibly get me that he already had in the house? He nods with a wholesome smile splayed across his face.

He lifts a shoulder and stuffs a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants. It takes everything in me not to look at how far down the fabric moved, because I most certainly saw a flash of skin, and memories of those thick veins come fast and quick.

Am I hot for Drew?

I’m certainly too young for hot flashes, but I’m starting to sweat everywhere.

“I mean, it’s not much, but after breakfast and offering to cook me dinner, I can’t exactly leave you with nothing.”

“What is it?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking nervous. What the hell kind of gift was he thinking about giving me? Did his innocent smile lift into a smirk? Is there a mischievous glint in his eyes, or am I overthinking it?

“It might be easier if I carried you there.”

Drew’s eyes are glued to what he can see of my body, and I slump my shoulders because I don’t want him to notice my hard nipples. Out of all the looks I ever expected to receive from Drew, this is not one of them. His eyes are deep and burning. There’s something there. It’s clear we both have been fighting it over the years, but this time together has forced it out of us.

“Is that okay?” He prompts when I don’t answer, and I nod my head, sitting up in invitation.

I don’t know why he needs to carry me, but if that smile and our sexual tension are any hints, then maybe it’s something to help relieve everything.

Maybe we’re finally going to address the need to see each other naked on purpose.

And maybe I’m finally ready to admit it.

I throw my blanket off, all too aware of the musky scent that follows from not showering for the better part of three days. I can only hope Drew doesn’t notice or care. He does spend most of his time in a locker room with a bunch of sweaty guys, after all. Hopefully my sweat is nothing in comparison.

Striding over to me, he takes no encouragement to shunt his hands under my body and pick me up in a bridal carry. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into his chest. His warm, inviting chest. The only other time I felt his hard body against mine was when I was naked and in too much pain to think about it. Now, all I have to think about is his masculine cologne and how my skin goosebumps under the feathery touch of his breath. If there was any question about how easily aroused Drew makes me, it’s obvious now. My nipples are so hard from his citrusy scent that I’m almost certain he can feel them scraping across his chest.

“Thanks,” I mumble because I don’t know what to say to my former arch-nemesis turned roommate, turned apparent object of my mind’s affection.

Hello, Stockholm Syndrome.

Drew tilts his chin down toward the hall. “Your gift is just down here.”

Is it in the gym?

Nope. He walks past the gym, and my body tingles in anticipation because there’s only one other room down this hall, and I’ve been there once before.

He’s taking me to his bedroom…for a gift that he wants to give me.

His delicious scent taunts me, and I clutch his neck a little tighter because my body is now throbbing at all the potential ‘gifts’ he wants to share.

Was he going to show me what I’ve been missing out on while I dated Jimmy Johnson?

Is the giant wall of sexual tension going to finally crumble down? He’s seen me naked, and I’ve seen him shirtless. We’ve been flirting a lot. Surely this is the next logical step.

When he opens the bedroom door, I’m surrounded by him, and I feel myself blushing at the thought of what might happen between us. His room is clean, his bed is made to military precision, and music plays softly in the background.

I smile because it’s perfect. It’s thoughtful and shows just how romantic Drew is, which I never expected him to be. I always imagined him to be a beast in the bedroom. Kind of like he is on the field, not gentle, but a passionate lover.

I guess I’m about to find out.

As he clears his throat, my expectations rise. Gentle or not, I’m here for whatever he’s offering.

“It’s not much,” he emphasizes, and I want to laugh. Not much? I’ve seen the veining to his nether regions and if that’s not much, then I’m going to be one lucky lady tonight no matter how much he wants to give me.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper because I’m finally ready to admit my feelings for him and how they’ve grown over the past few days. I’m finally ready to admit that I want him. “Drew, I-”

My mouth immediately clamps shut because as his leg grazes past the bed, realization hits me. He was never planning on taking me there. My chest burns with embarrassment because he’s focused on something else. Thankfully, not my wayward thoughts.

Holding him tighter, I burrow my face into his neck so he can’t see how mortified I am. That was just my imagination running wild. He doesn’t like me now. He may have had a crush on me in high school, but that’s long gone, probably because I stink to high heaven.

Using his left foot, he kicks the bathroom door open, and the music blares. Steam billows in the air, and I can’t tell if the thumping I hear is from my pounding heart or the soft beat of the music.

It doesn’t matter because all of that disappointment has immediately turned into an extreme dose of excitement. Maybe I was too hasty in believing Drew and I weren’t on the same page. Maybe Drew likes a little foreplay.

“This is your bathroom?” I ask, surprised at how nice it is. Black-and-white ombre tiles adorn the walls, and it looks brand new.

He chuckles, low and hearty. I can feel it vibrating in his chest. “Told you it was better than the guest one you’ve been using.” A charcoal bath sits in the center of the room with bubbles flowing out of it, while dimly lit candles sit on top of the bathroom shelves.

It’s sexy and romantic.

“You didn’t tell me it looked like this.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Drew gently places me on the toilet seat and walks over to the tub. Dipping his hand in the water, he looks over his shoulder and smiles hesitantly at me. “How hot do you like it?”

I shift against the wooden seat because with the grin on his face, I know he’s not referring to the bath.

“Umm,” I pout my lip and sink my teeth into it as I take him in. “I like it really hot.” My face is probably giving the game away; I’m horny and want Drew to help relieve that, but I’m hoping the steam makes me look a little less desperate.

Drew flicks the bubbles back into the bath and stands, making his way back to me. “Okay, well this is pretty hot, but I’ll let you test it before I lower you in there.”

“Oh, that’s nice. What do you think of the temperature?”

He shakes his hand, letting the water spill across the floor. “I prefer ice-cold baths, personally, but maybe I’ll take one after you.”

Hold on a minute.

“After me?” Alone. He’s making me take this bath on my own? Do I stink that badly?

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at me with a boyish smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“This is my gift?” He nods, and I try to hide the disappointment that Drew’s dong isn’t on the menu. Damn. I really worked myself up there.

“I know you haven’t toyed with the idea of bathing since the…incident.” Oh, God. He’s bringing that up again, and has given it a name.

“How do you propose I get in there without you seeing me naked?” My voice rises in question. I’m unsettled on the seat, but Drew doesn’t notice. He reaches over his vanity and hands me a black shirt.

“Already thought about that. Figured you could put this on, and I’ll lower you into the bath. Once you’re in and I’m out of the room, you can take the shirt off. That way, I won’t see a thing.”

I’m so embarrassed I can’t speak or even laugh at how stupid I am for thinking he was ever flirting with me. All that sexual tension that I thought was building between us, my throbbing body…It was all just me. I’d made up this whole scenario in my head, and now I have to pretend that I’m not offended that he’s not interested.

He may have suggested he wanted to ask me out as a freshman in high school, but that was over seven years ago. Feelings change, and a lot has happened between us.

Scrunching up the black fabric in my hand, I mumble out a small and barely audible ‘thank you.’ It’s the first one I’ve managed to say since I’ve been held captive by him.

Drew points a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just going to wait in the bedroom. Call me when you’re ready for my help.” He walks out without giving me a second glance, and I blow out a breath staring at the bathtub for what feels like an hour.

I guess I’ll be taking this bath on my own then. Inhaling the lavender scent, I center myself around the light music, trying to relax and forget about my wayward thoughts. Painfully slowly, I take my clothes off and put the black t-shirt on. Drowning in the fabric, his familiar scent surrounds me, but instead of reminding me of how embarrassed I should be over the fact that I thought he wanted to sleep with me, it offers me a sense of comfort. Something about being wrapped up in him feels familiar.

When I finally get the courage to drop my panties, I hide them in the fabric of my sleep shirt so Drew doesn’t see them and squeeze my knees together. He can’t know that I was already a little wet thinking about him.

“I’m ready,” I call, and he slowly walks in, taking his time to look at me. I feel his eyes dragging down my body, and they linger on my thighs. My skin instantly pebbles under his scrutiny.

“Drew?”

He shakes his head, offering me a smile. “Sorry.” Much like earlier, he scoops me up in his arms, and I wrap mine around his neck. Strangely, it feels natural to be here with him. He’s so gentle, and even though it would be easy, he’s not trying to cop a feel.

He lowers me into the bath, and my butt is the first thing to hit the bubbles. When he sees I don’t flinch at the temperature, he carefully drops me the rest of the way.

The warmth of the water spreads through my body, and I instantly relax. I didn’t know how much I needed this until right now. The fabric of Drew’s shirt floats to the top of the water as I’m lowered fully into the bath.

“Everything okay?” he asks, fiddling with my cast to make sure it’s relaxed against the bath’s rim. His face is close to mine, and with the steam billowing from the water, I feel the tension building between us, but that could very easily be Drew tensing because he’s holding my weight for longer than necessary.

“Yeah. It’s all good.”

His eyes flick across the bubbles, and I lift my chest, hoping that he’ll see my nipples and want to feel them for himself, but the bubbles cover my modesty.

“Great, I’ll be just outside like last time.”

I watch him leave, knowing that my skin prickling has nothing to do with the heat of the water and everything to do with the way Drew looked at me. My body is heated, there’s an ache building between my thighs as I imagine him sitting on his bed on the other side of the door just waiting for me.

I groan, thinking about when his fingers were pressed into my thighs, and my mouth was so close to his neck I could have tasted him if I was brave enough.

Closing my eyes, I sink farther into the water until my head is fully submerged, hoping the lack of oxygen will knock some sense into me. After a few minutes, I come up for a breath. Breaking through the water, I gasp, choking on the air, and look to the door. For some reason, I thought Drew might be standing there shirtless and that he’d be ready to join me. Apparently, holding my breath like that just made me delusional.

Why on earth would I think Drew would want me. Just because he was standing shirtless with his sweatpants hung so low that I could see the same bulge I’d been thinking about over the last twenty-four hours, didn’t mean it was an invitation.

I swallow down the bitter pill of rejection. Thinking about Drew’s chest shouldn’t make my stomach burn the way it does. I want him. I really do, and I don’t think this feeling will go away.

Not unless I try and relieve the tension, but it’s not like Drew’s going to help me with the task, so I’m going to have to help myself.

My hand skims across my thighs, giving me the tiniest bit of relief from the aching tension building between my legs. I sigh because the relief doesn’t last long and only emphasizes how lackluster my fingers feel against my skin. Oh, how I want to know what Drew’s would feel like instead.

Thick and strong, his fingers would grip my thighs the same way he grips a football. Not too hard that he’d leave bruises, but firm enough to make me moan in pleasure. If his fingers were on me, I’d tilt my head back onto the pillows of his bed and close my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his hands trickling up my thighs.

Higher. Higher. Higher still.

Until he reaches the apex of my thighs. My knees would part, and the tips of his fingers would tickle the tip of my slit, making me mewl in pleasure. I’d feel his eyes watching me like I was his prey, focusing on how my breathing was affected by the tiniest of touches. Then he’d skate his fingers toward my center, only to flick them back up where his thumb would press against my clit.

Keeping my eyes closed, I lean my head to the side, letting my fingers take control while I imagine Drew behind me. His thumb would circle my clit until my hips bucked against his hand, then he would push one of his thick fingers inside me.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Everything okay in there?” My eyes bug out; I pull my fingers out of my pussy and sit up a little straighter. Did he hear me moan? Humiliation courses through my veins, and I seriously consider dunking my head back into the water and letting myself drown because I was touching myself, on the brink of an orgasm, while thinking about him. I’d rather die than face Drew after that. But then again, if I died naked in his bathtub, that would raise a lot more questions than I’d like. There’s also the added humiliation of how many people would see me naked and wrinkly. Drew, my parents, the police, and the fire department. Maybe even Drew’s roommates if I’m left to wilt in the bath for too long.

So death isn’t an option.

Another knock. “Bella?”

He’s going to push his way in like last time, and just like last time, I’m exposed. The bubbles have popped now, so he’ll be able to see everything again. Only this time, instead of being smushed against plastic, I’ll be wrinkled and frothy. I refuse to make exposing myself a habit, so I roll onto my side and pretend I wasn’t just fingering myself while thinking about him.

“Umm, yeah. Everything’s fine,” I croak. Everything’s not fine. I’m stuck in a snowstorm in Indiana with a broken leg and a guy I’m supposed to hate. Only, I’m not sure it was ever hate, and I’m tired of being delusional. “I’m ready to get out.” No truer words have ever been said by me. I want out of this house and away from Drew. I need to think away from his dizzying haze.

As the door opens, I clasp the lip of the bath to ensure my boobs are covered while I try to look somewhat comfortable with this situation.

Drew strolls in with a blue bath towel and a large matching robe. Narrowing my eyes, I watch his face, looking for any indication that he’s as embarrassed as me, but when his eyes finally connect with mine, I don’t see a thing.

Just those deep brown eyes with the amber edges, looking at me eagerly.

Holding the towel up, he says, “While you were in there, I was thinking about how we could do this, so you’re comfortable.”

There’s no acknowledgment or blush tinging his cheeks, so that can only mean one of two things: either women often expose themselves in front of him, or he is, in fact, oblivious to my fiddling fingers. Drew’s hot, but I doubt many women would touch themselves while he watches when the real thing is on offer.

“I’ll sit on the tub's edge with the towel draped on my lap and close my eyes.” Here we go. I never thought of Drew as a white knight, or that I’d be the damsel in distress that he’s saving. But here we are. “Take all the time you need, but once you’re sitting on my lap, you can put the robe on. Sound good?”

Ever the gentleman, now that there are hardly any suds covering my body, he’s not looking.

“Sounds great.” Drew wants me to sit on his lap naked. I can tell this is going to end well.

When he sits on the same side as my cast, I take my time, thinking about how I can maneuver myself out of this tub elegantly. “I’ll close my eyes now.”

Drew’s facing forward, so I can’t technically tell if he’s looking, but I trust him. At this point, I have no other option, and he’s seen it all, anyway. “You’ll need to keep them closed for a while,” I warn, pulling the lever up to release the water. As the bubbles drain, my skin dimples, and that bathrobe Drew brought is looking more and more enticing by the minute.

Bracing my hands on the edges of the tub, I lift myself slowly, carefully keeping my casted foot out of the water, and plop myself on Drew’s lap. True to his word, his eyes are still clenched shut, and I notice he flinches a little when I sit. Leaning over, I grab the robe and wrap myself in Drew’s now familiar scent.

“I’m dressed,” I mutter, feeling foolish for sitting on his lap like an overeager two-year-old waiting for Santa’s attention.

When his dark eyes open, they dart down and take in the fluffy, blue fabric covering my body. His glare intensifies, and I shrink under the scrutiny.

As per usual, he lifts me in a bridal carry with ease and takes me into the living room to my broken bag with clothes thrown around the room. It really is a pigsty in here, but with my cast, it’s not like I can easily clean up.

When he drops me on the sofa, I say, “Thank you,” and Drew responds with a small, accepting smile. We’re being civil now. Not angry, not flirty, just friendly, and I guess that’s okay.

“Anytime.” He rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “That was a lot easier than I expected. We should do it again.” He grins, proud that his little plan worked.

I snort, pushing him on the shoulder. “Tell me I smell without telling me I smell.”

His eyes widen in horror with the implication and I burst out laughing. “Relax. I know I stunk. I’m not offended that you don’t want to live with someone who reeks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. Thanks for figuring out a way for me to bathe without risking injury. I’ll probably have to take you up on that offer if we’re stuck here a little longer.”

“Just say when. I’ll be there.” Then there’s silence, and I pop out my lips and look around the room for some fresh panties. Although I packed enough for two weeks, most of them ended up decorating the streets by Hope airport. Even thinking about that expensive neon pink thong blaring against the white snow gets me upset.

Drew points his thumb to the stairs. “We’ve got a washing machine, you know? I can do some laundry for you, if you want?” Before I can think about it, I shake my head vigorously, because after seeing Drew fondle my nightie the first night, there’s no way I want his big paws messing with my underwear again. “Okay, well, if you need me, I’ll be upstairs doing mine. Just yell real loudly if you need something. Merry Christmas, Bella.”

“Merry Christmas, Drew.”

I watch as he climbs the stairs, never once looking back, and I feel something in my body. Light-headiness? Nausea? I can’t figure out the right word, but it feels like my stomach is a tin can, and someone’s using a crinkle-cut scissor to tear it up. I want to call him back. To have him come down here and look at me, but why? I don’t know. There’s definitely a horniness element to it, and my mind can’t help but wonder what it might feel like to have him untie my robe and check that my bruises are healing nicely. Maybe even kiss them better.

Okay, so maybe a lot of it is horniness, but there’s definitely something else.

Just like earlier, I have to shake my head because I feel lost. One second I hate him, and the next, I want to ravish him. It’s got to be something to do with survival. My body hasn’t seen another person in three days, and it’s acting as though Drew is the last man on earth.

The snow still falls, but it’s slower now, and there seems to be an end in sight. With every passing day, I’m closer to the moment that I’ll be able to go back to my dorm. Only, I don’t know if I want that to happen.

My knuckles go white as I grip the stairs, and my cast bangs the wood with every step, but I’m determined to see Drew. It’s been forty minutes since he came up here for his ‘laundry’ expedition, which is way too long to leave me downstairs ruminating in my thoughts. Thoughts that were only going in one direction. My downfall. All I’ve been able to think about since watching his perfect tushy climb the stairs is how much I’d like to squeeze said tushy.

Yup, you heard that correctly. I want to stroke Drew’s ass. So instead of sitting there, letting that sink in, I decided I needed to take action. I put on a pair of Drew’s shorts and one of my white t-shirts, ready to tell him how I was feeling.

Although the snow is thick as mud outside, my mind is as clear as day. We aren’t leaving the house anytime soon, and the only way I will get through these next few days without inadvertently humping my roommate is to put him on watch. He needs to know that my brain is running with reckless abandon, and he’s in the starring role.

“Drew?” I call out as I make it to the landing. I fall to the side, bracing myself against the wall because I was too stubborn to bring the crutches with me. Taking it step by step, I test each door as I walk past, trying to find the laundry room. There’s no denying a slight smell of sweat socks that lingers in the back of my throat up here. It’s nothing like the calming citrus tones of downstairs, but as long as I don’t keep any of the guys doors open too long, I should be fine.

After trying almost every room, I’m far enough down the hall to hear the low humming of a masculine voice. Following it, I open the door to the final room, and sure enough, Drew’s standing with his back to me, folding a pair of his shorts.

“Drew.” It’s barely a whisper, and I know he doesn’t hear me because he digs deeper into the drum to pull out more clothes.

Leaning on the frame, I knock on the door, jolting Drew’s attention to me. Looking over his shoulder, a small smile forms. “Hey, Bella,” he says, pulling out the little white AirPods in his ears. “Sorry I didn’t hear you back there. Did you need something?”

That’s a very good question, and it’s one that I’m not sure of the answer to. Did I need something? He watches me expectantly, and my thighs tingle. That overeager mind of mine has drifted to what it might feel like if he placed me on top of that dryer and ate me out while it was turned on. Okay, I know I came up here to be honest, but maybe that’s a little too honest.

“Bella?”

My father’s voice booms in my head. ‘Get your head in the game, Belly.’

I push aside the awkward feeling of having my father’s voice yelling at me while having extremely inappropriate thoughts about Drew and smile. “Sorry for interrupting,” I sing. “I just wanted to know what kind of butter you liked?”

I chicken out. I can’t tell him anything, and his watches me flail at my lame question.

“Normal butter or honey butter? For the homemade bread I’m making with the lasagna.” I bite my tongue, stopping myself from adding any more food. Bread? I can barely make toast; yet, I promised homemade bread and lasagna for our dinner. “Because I’m a honey butter fan myself, but some people find it a little too sweet, so I wanted to make sure that I didn’t waste my time making it.”

I’m babbling, and the worst part is that we both know it, but we’re powerless to stop it. Drew takes a step toward me and smiles in that friendly Drew way.

“I’ve never had honey butter, so I’ll trust your judgment.”

“Okay.” Somehow, in two minutes, I’ve committed to making bread and honey butter for this dinner, and I have no idea how to do either. “I guess I should start on that then.” Just as I turn, something bristles above me.

What feels like a talon tickles across my head, and I instantly squeal, falling back because my first instinct is that it’s a spider. Clutching onto the frame, I hold myself up just enough that I don’t fall to the floor.

“Relax, it’s mistletoe,” Drew says unfazed by my clumsiness as he tosses his boxers into a pile of folded clothes. I suppose he’s used to it by now. “We had a party the night before my roommates left. Hunter thought it would be a good idea to hang mistletoe above all the doors in the house.”

“But we’re upstairs. Who’s going to see it up here in the laundry room?”

Drew raises a brow, and a smile pulls at one side of his face. “Come on, Bella. I’m sure you can think of a few ways to have fun on a washing machine.” He laughs when I scrunch my face, which I hope looks like disgust, because I totally hope he can’t read my mind. “Ah, sorry, B. I forgot J-”

“Don’t you dare mention Jimmy Johnson again,” I shriek, wagging my finger, but not moving from my spot since I’d have to drag my cast with me. “Just because I dated him does not mean my sex life has been lackluster since.”

He raises his hands. “Hey, who said anything about your sex life? I was merely pointing out that I’d heard from others that Jimmy treated kissing like he was at an all-you-can-eat buffett. Some girls liked it; some didn’t.”

Drew’s trying to rile me up. It’s what our relationship is, but I’m not going to let him get away with it this time. “I hardly remember since it was so long ago.” He flicks another pair of boxers into the basket.

“Or because it was so terrible,” he mumbles, but I hear him loud and clear.

“Kiss me, Drew.”

He whips his head up in shock, and my blood pumps faster than an F1 car as I watch him take me in. Okay, that was my mind talking. A slip of the tongue that I don’t feel like apologizing for. So I don’t. I just look at him with the utmost casual expression, pretending that my suggestion isn’t that big a deal. Who knows, maybe it isn’t. Maybe this will be the perfect way to get Drew off my mind. Once I’ve sampled the goods, I shouldn’t want him anymore. That’s how it works with candy. It’s always been the anticipation of the first taste with me. I just need to taste Drew. That’s it. Then I can go back to hating him.

“What?” His voice is high; his face is shocked, and strangely, I feel empowered.

Pointing at the perfectly pruned foliage above my head, I say, “Well, I’m under the mistletoe. Isn’t it tradition to kiss under it?”

“Yes, but,” he stammers without finishing his sentence. Instead, he stares at his boxer shorts for an unhealthy length of time.

“But nothing. Isn’t it bad luck for a girl not to kiss someone once she’s caught under the mistletoe?”

“I, uh, don’t know.”

“It is, trust me. Or maybe this is your ultimate payback. Are you going to refuse to kiss me, so I have bad luck for years to come?”

“It’s not that. I’m just concerned that Coach will kill me if he finds out.” His eyes finally focus on my face, narrowing in on my lips. When he licks his own, I smile because I know he wants to kiss me too. Maybe it’s the snow making us want to do crazy things like in The Shining . I don’t know. Hopefully, it won’t lead to murder, but instead, one night of hot passion that will make it easier to move on from Drew.

“I knew you were close with my dad, but I didn’t realize that extended to you revealing the girls you swap spit with.”

Thankfully, he scrunches his face in disgust. “That’s not something we talk about.”

“Me either. So since it’s just you and me in this house, how will he ever find out?”

“You have a point.”

I lean my body farther into the room, anticipating him coming in.

“But I can’t do it.”

I shake my head, laughing sarcastically. “Wow, do you really hate me that much that you’d let me have bad luck for the rest of the year?” I’m pushing his buttons on purpose now because I want to get a reaction out of him.

“That’s not it.” He’s clenching his fists and his jaw in almost perfect tandem. I’m getting to him. Riling him up, and I like it.

“Then what’s the problem? Just one little kiss to take away my bad luck.”

“Bella,” he warns. “You know it’s not just one kiss.”

“Then what is it?”

He runs a hand through his hair, and I hold back laughing as I watch this six-foot guy pacing the smallest laundry room known to man. Why is he so angsty about this? A kiss is a kiss.

“Oh, I get it. It’s because I repulse you.”

“No.”

I wave my hand flippantly. “It’s fine. It’s understandable. We aren’t all as beautiful and perfect as Brianna.” I turn away, ready to hobble down the hall. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I’m not going to force the guy to kiss me. “I try my hardest to look as good as I can, but if that’s not what you’re into, it’s not what you’re into.”

“Will you shut up for just one minute of your life.” He growls, and I can hear him making his way to me. Something about his voice makes me still, and like a deer caught in headlights, I wait for the collision.

With each step, my heart beats faster and in any other circumstance, I would think I was having a heart attack, but I’m not. It’s just my desperate anticipation, waiting for the tiniest of pecks from him.

Pathetic.

Face to chest, Drew’s right up against me, and I stare at the little crease in his white t-shirt. My brain acts like one of those naughty pens, and it’s like I’m tipping it upside down eagerly, waiting for his clothes to come off. Only, I have to imagine it, since I already know he’s not going to do it.

Drew breathes roughly and cups my cheeks in his hands, forcing my gaze up. His warm breath fans over me, and just as I think he’s going to ask permission to kiss me, he doesn’t.

He just does it.

His lips are on mine, passionately kissing me before I really have time to process it.

Fire.

That’s all this is. A burning desire to know what he feels like and my body is thumping with every move his lips make because I finally know what Drew tastes like, and it’s better than I’ve ever imagined.

With my eyes closed, I can feel his fingers twitching and his body pulling back, and I whine because this can’t be it. Drew wants this to end before it’s started.

That can’t happen. I need more.

So I take it.

I wrap my hands around his neck, forcing him in place, and kiss him harder. It’s just as I always suspected. Drew is a fantastic kisser. With little teasing nibbles before his tongue licks at my lips, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. My body arches into his, meeting his chest, and it’s like we’re molded together, becoming one in this embrace. When I curl my fingers, digging into the back of his neck, I feel him relax. He moves one of his hands to the small of my back and tilts my cheek to get a better angle. We haven’t French kissed yet, but when I feel his pinkie finger dip a little to the top of my shorts, I take it as an invitation to open my mouth.

My tongue clashes with his, and he quivers at the move. I grab his bottom lip with my teeth, giving it a little bite before kissing it better.

This feels good.

So, so, so good.

“Ouch,” I cry, involuntarily pulling away from him and dropping to my toes. In my haste, I accidently whacked my bad leg against the door frame, making me lose my balance, and Drew’s lips all at once.

The heat of the moment is gone, and although Drew’s breathing heavy, I know that’s the end of it. My damn neon cast cockblocked me.

“Are you okay?” Drew braces me. His lips are puffy and red from our kiss, but there’s no heat behind his eyes. He wasn’t thinking about laundry room sex or eating me out on top of the machine. He was trying to make sure I didn’t have bad luck because I coerced him into being a nice guy like that.

That fact slides down my spine, settling in my stomach, where it marinates for a few seconds until I can process it.

He only kissed me because I kissed him.

That horny sexual tension that I’ve been grappling with is all in my head.

He still sees me as the bitchy, annoying girl that chose his best friend in high school.

I stumble backward, still feeling the tingle of the kiss across my lips. Although, I doubt that feeling will ever go away. It’s like it’s been seared into my subconscious. “I’m good.” My voice is almost as high-pitched as when I caught him in the gym shirtless, and this whole mess of my imagination started.

Wiping my brow, I fall across the hall, just trying to get some space. “You know what? I don’t feel too great. I’m going to head downstairs.” Turning on my cast, I stumble down the hallway, refusing to look back because if I see pity in Drew’s eyes, I’ll die of embarrassment.

Before I can get far, Drew clutches my arm. “Here, let me help you. I don’t want you falling down the stairs.” I cringe.

That kiss was supposed to stop all this magical thinking, but it’s only increased it. Why is his thumb caressing my arm? Why did he talk in those low husky tones? Why am I intent on making myself feel worse?

I shake him off, staring at the mission in front of me, which is getting down these steps without any help. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. Have you tried walking downhill with your boot on?”

I peer over the edge, trying to mentally count the steps because that does look like a big fall, and this is a big boot. I curse myself, because he’s right. I probably do need his help, but I refuse to take it. “You should be more concerned about the fart holes I saw in your boxers than helping me down the stairs.”

There we go. The way I deal with anything that gets a little too raw, vitriol. It hasn’t failed me yet.

Drew’s lips quirk, and I can tell he’s forcing back a smile, so I take that moment as an opportunity to get a head start on the stairs.

“Bell, please,” he huffs out, but I don’t look back. I just drag my big, old boot down the stairs one step at a time like it’s a dead body, and the cops are chasing me.

What the hell was I thinking?!

Even as I clutch the banister, I realize this is a lot harder than it looks. He quickly hops down a few steps as he tries to help me again.

“Don’t worry about me, Drew. I’m fine.” He takes the hint and lets me go, but following so close behind me, he might as well be my shadow.

Will this moment ever end? Or am I destined to have Drew watching me forever?

I take a sharp breath, hoping he didn’t notice the little hitch because I’m holding back tears of embarrassment. The rational part of my brain must have taken a permanent vacation, leaving me with just the horny side that’s been locked up without a key for far too long.

When I’m at the bottom of the steps, Drew finally takes the hint that I need some alone time and leaves me to wallow in my own misery.

I limp to the sofa and sit on the couch and my makeshift bed; I relive the moment, feeling the humiliation wash over me again.

I just kissed Drew McCallister, and it wasn’t a peck like he was expecting. I forced him to make out with me.

The blood was pumping too fast around my body to fully take it in earlier, but now that I’m alone downstairs in the silence, my thoughts have become deafening. My center is throbbing with need because I want Drew. I really, really want Drew, but he doesn’t want me.

And why would he?

I’m not a nice person. I want to be, I just don’t know how.

When I check the time, my anxiety rises. It’s seven o’clock, and I’m supposed to be making lasagna, bread, and honey butter, but the desire to do anything other than wallow in shame is non-existent. If I make him dinner now, there will be no Lady and The Tramp moment (I know it was spaghetti and meatballs, but I’m going with what I got). There will be just awkward silences and avoiding glances as we try to ignore the giant elephant in the room. Just like we did when he saw me naked.

Sitting on the couch, I lie back and close my eyes. Maybe if they’re closed hard enough, I will finally wake up from this nightmare and be lying on a beach in Tampa.

Why didn’t I take the fact that he saw me naked and hadn’t tried to put the moves on me as a sign? He would have flung me over his shoulder and taken me to his bedroom like any other college guy if he wanted me.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear the stairs creaking. Drew’s coming down. Without thinking, I fling my bedsheet over my body and hide under the blanket. If we try to talk this out, there’s no way that this will end well.

“Bella?” he whispers. It’s almost like he believes I’ve managed to fall asleep in the five minutes he was up there alone. “Are you awake?”

Surely he knows there’s no way I can sleep after such a monumental misstep. His hand rests on my thigh, and I do everything in my power to remain deathly still. I consider adding a snore to make it more believable, but then I chicken out. I’m a coward. Sure, I have all the bravado in the world when I think the cards are stacked in my favor, but the minute something goes wrong or I don’t get what I want, I immediately stop myself and hide from confrontation.

Giving my leg the tiniest of squeezes, he sighs and mumbles something under his breath before walking away. When I hear his bedroom door shut, I let out the breath I was holding and sag into the couch. Drew is gone for the night, and all I’m left with is embarrassment and slightly wet panties.