Chapter Twenty-Six EVERLEIGH

Chapter Twenty-Six

EVERLEIGH

What Nico is suggesting is dangerous. I know it is. I should say no and leave—though technically I can’t because I’m not about to walk out of this room knowing Portia is lingering on the other side of the door.

She might, I don’t know, attack me or something.

My gaze goes to Nico, who’s waiting for me, an expectant smile on his face. His fingers are wrapped tightly around the bottle of mezcal, which is sitting in his lap. Practically nestled against his junk.

I think about that. His junk. What he might look like naked. I’ve not seen a lot of naked men in real life. In fact, I’ve only seen one, and that was my ex, because Brad is the only guy I’ve had sex with. While it was decent at first and I believed we were madly in love, eventually the excitement seemed to fade, and by the end of our relationship, we were just going through the motions. He never seemed to care if I had an orgasm or not. He rarely went down on me, so I decided to be a petty bitch and never give him a blow job.

Yeah. We were in such a healthy relationship, huh?

My gaze roams over Nico, taking every bit of him in. The faded gray T-shirt he’s wearing says Property of Santa Mira Dolphins on the front, the school mascot in the dead center. It’s a little tight on him, accentuating the sheer size of his chest and shoulders and upper arms, and I think of Brad. How slender he was. We probably weighed the same, or maybe he was just a little more. I don’t know. Not like we were weighing each other and sharing our numbers.

I wonder what it’s like, being with a man who’s so .?.?.

Large.

The smile on Nico’s face slowly fades, and he sits up straighter, setting the bottle on his nightstand before his gaze returns to mine. “If you want to leave, I get it.”

Does he, though? He’s not in my head, so he has no idea what I’m thinking, but I’d guess he’s making assumptions.

“I want a drink of that if you’re willing to share it.” I incline my head toward the bottle sitting on his nightstand.

“You know I’m down. I already made the offer.” His smile is back, dazzling in its brightness, and I wonder how anyone can resist it. No wonder Portia is pounding on his door. She probably misses this: his easygoing yet somehow effortlessly sexy demeanor.

The man is magnetic and he knows it. I made a fool of myself already by kissing him in front of the entire party. I mean, he definitely kissed me back, but was that only because I attached my lips to his? Or because he was merely playing along since he already told Portia that we were together? Was he trying to make the kiss appear convincing?

Well, he definitely did that. At least to me.

Realizing that he’s waiting for me, I approach the bed, unsure how to go about this. The closer I get to him, the more I can smell him, and his scent is heavenly. Like spicy, sexy, clean man skin.

Okay, I need to get a grip. I am losing it over here while he’s just being a nice guy. Though it is his fault we have to suffer through this moment together, being locked up in his room. He’d probably rather be anywhere else but here.

I can hear the party raging on both in our house and out in the backyard. There’s lots of laughter, and loud music is playing, the bass a throbbing beat that rattles the walls. I can only imagine all the incredibly drunk people stumbling around, having the time of their lives. Couples are hooking up. Some are probably leaving to go hook up.

Hmm. There will be no hooking up between us tonight. We’re just roommates stuck together. I need to remember that. Treat him like a friend, like we promised each other only a few nights ago. This is no big deal.

Not a big deal at all.

Taking a deep breath, I sit on the edge of the bed, leaning against the stack of pillows and stretching my legs out. His hoodie covers me almost to my knees, but when I sit, the hem rides up, exposing my legs. His gaze flickers there for a moment, lingering on my thighs before he looks away to grab the bottle of alcohol.

I tug the covers up into my lap, watching as he uncaps the bottle and takes a swig from it. His lips are still wet once he swallows before offering the bottle to me, and I take it from him with a murmured “thank you,” our fingers grazing.

That little finger graze sends a cascade of tingles all over my body.

I lift the bottle to my lips and take a tentative drink, wincing once I swallow the alcohol down. “Oh my God.”

He chuckles. “You can’t drink it like that. You just have to chug it.”

“I don’t know—”

“Watch me.” He swipes the bottle from my hand and takes another big swig. “Do it like that.”

I take the bottle from him and try again, reminding myself I need to just go for it. Tipping my head back, I take a couple of long swallows, choking it down before I thrust the bottle back at him, gasping.

“That a girl,” he praises, sounding pleased.

I sit up a little straighter at his words, watching as he takes another, even longer pull from the bottle. I stare in fascination at the way the strong column of his throat moves when he swallows. How he licks his lips when he’s finished, like he wants to catch every last drop. I’m so caught up in watching him, I don’t even realize he’s offering the bottle to me until he’s saying my name.

“Everleigh. It’s your turn.”

I take the bottle from him without comment and drink. It’s becoming easier now, and I savor the warm sensation of the alcohol flowing through my veins. “It’s kind of awful.”

“Yet you keep drinking it.” He sounds amused.

“My goal tonight was to get trashed,” I admit.

Chuckling, he drinks from the bottle, his gaze stuck on mine. “Same.” He hesitates. “You trying to forget something?”

I blink at him, caught off guard by his question. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “People drink sometimes to forget what’s going on in their lives. Or they’re trying to forget—someone.”

“I’m not trying to forget anyone,” I say, my voice soft.

Nico offers me the bottle, and I take it yet again, drinking from it like he just did. We’re starting to run out, so I guess we should pace ourselves. “Lucky you.”

His comment leaves me confused. “What do you mean by that?”

His expression actually turns bashful, and he slowly shakes his head, averting his gaze. “Never mind.”

“Never mind?” I turn and set the bottle on the nightstand on my side—I’m impressed that he has one on either side of the bed—and face him once again. “You can’t just say never mind after you drop a bomb like that.”

He chuckles. “It wasn’t a bomb.”

“Sort of felt like one.”

“It definitely wasn’t one.” He waves a hand. “It was nothing at all. Hand me the booze.”

“Not until you tell me what you were referring to. Or more like who you were referring to.”

“It was no one.”

I study him for a moment. The way he won’t make eye contact is so telling, though I shouldn’t keep pushing him. I probably don’t want to know who he’s referring to, and besides, it’s none of my business. By pushing him, I’m probably just asking to get my feelings hurt. He’s probably crushing on some new gorgeous girl after I rejected him, and I’m just the annoying roommate he’s stuck with and now getting drunk with.

Because that is definitely happening, at least for me. The getting-drunk part. Yep. YEP. Yeppers.

Wow, that didn’t take long.

“Nico .?.?.” I draw his name out, emphasis on the o.

“Ever .?.?.” He clamps his lips shut. “Do you like being called Ever or do you prefer Everleigh?”

“Ever is fine.” I shrug. I noticed that he shortened it earlier, and I liked it. He’s the only one of my roommates who insists on calling me by my full name most of the time. Even Coop calls me Ever sometimes. “Everleigh is a lot.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

My insides light up at the compliment, and I tell myself to knock it off. “It’s definitely different. That was my mother’s goal.”

“You get along with your mom?”

I wince. “It’s kind of a touchy subject.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Sorry.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, though.” When he frowns, I explain myself. “You never confessed who you’re trying to forget.”

Why do I keep pushing again? Because deep down, I hope he’s talking about .?.?.

Me.

“My economics professor.” He says it with such a straight face, I almost believe him.

Almost.

“You’re a liar.” I grab the pillow from behind me and try to toss it at his head, but it’s heavy, and he blocks me with his hand, snatching it from my grasp. “You’re also really fast.”

“I do this out on the football field every single day. Don’t test me.” He’s grinning. “I will win every time.”

“So cocky.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” His voice is a sexy drawl, and from the way my body goes on high alert, I’m here for it.

I grab the other pillow behind me and sit up, clutching it close to my chest. He watches me with a wary gaze, completely onto me. “You never know. I might catch you when you’re not paying attention.”

“Just try it,” he taunts like the arrogant football player he is. “Like I said, I will beat you every time.”

“You’re drunk. Your reflexes might be slower.”

“Not that slow. And I’m not that drunk.”

I smile at him, realizing that I am indeed that drunk. “I might be.”

The side of his mouth kicks up in a faint smile. “I can tell.”

I’m frowning. “How can you tell?”

“Your body is doing this .?.?. swaying thing.” He chuckles, and he must see the flash of panic on my face. “Don’t get freaked out. I think it’s cute.”

He thinks it’s cute? Oh, come on.

“You don’t see me like that.” I tilt my chin up with a sniff, steeling myself for his agreement. “I’m just your roommate, remember? We made a deal.”

“Oh, I remember.” Nico’s gaze never wavers from mine as he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a long swallow, nearly finishing it off. “You think I don’t notice you?”

“Of course you don’t,” I retort, waggling my fingers at him. “Gimme the bottle.”

Without hesitation he hands it over, and I’m the one who polishes off the mezcal, setting the empty bottle back on the nightstand while smacking my lips and making a satisfied ahhh sound.

“There goes our party,” he murmurs, which for whatever reason makes me laugh.

“I think our party ended when Portia started screaming at us,” I tell him.

“True.” His expression turns somber. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know she’d lose it like she did.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug. “And it’s not your fault.”

“It kind of is.” He studies me for a moment, his lips parting and then closing. Like he was about to say something but changed his mind.

I wish I knew what he was going to say.

“You’re pretty cool, Ever,” he eventually murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Going along with my bullshit story for Portia.”

“Not sure if she believes it.” I roll my eyes, trying to lighten the moment, but the air suddenly feels heavy around us. Humming with invisible energy, as if something major is about to happen.

“Don’t forget that you kissed me. And I think it was pretty convincing.” His gaze is still on my lips.

Mine is on his.

“You kissed me back,” I whisper, swallowing hard. I can feel my body swaying, just like he pointed out to me, and I try to rein myself in so I don’t fall into his lap. “That probably helped.”

He chuckles. “It definitely helped.”

We’re quiet for a moment, and I close my eyes, breathing deep. When I open them again, I find he’s still watching me, his brows drawn together and a concerned look on his face. “You okay?”

“Head spinning a little.” Not really, but what can I tell him? That he overwhelms me in the best way, and I’m trying to remind myself that this is nothing? Just two roommates getting a little drunk on a Saturday night. Nothing more.

Nothing less.

“Too much alcohol?”

“Not really.” Oops, that was a too-honest answer.

His gaze turns knowing. Does he realize he’s the one who’s making my head spin? His delicious scent, his stupidly handsome face, me engulfed in his hoodie, sitting on his bed, alone in his room, a little buzzed from sharing a bottle with him?

“I have a suggestion.”

“What is it?” I ask warily.

“I think we should make out.”