IT WAS SATURDAY, and I’d been to all my classes this week. Maybe it’s not much of an achievement, but every time I stepped outside the Beaumont gates, I still felt eyes on me. That freaking picture was still up on Brodacious, although Lianne had informed me that a set of photos of the new pledges dressed in drag had replaced me at the top of the page.
So that was something. You had to hand it to an organization which attempted to embarrass its own members almost as badly as the women they were finished with. They were equal-opportunity assholes.
At any rate I wasn’t going to flunk out of school. But my social life was over. My hockey friends had twenty hours of practice a week and a full game schedule on the weekends. Not that they’d forgotten about me. The week I’d staged my vanishing act, my phone lit up with texts from Pepe, Graham, Rikker and Trevi. They invited me to Capri’s. They sent me funny videos.
They tried.
But all I sent back were excuses. And when they didn’t give up, I started ignoring them altogether. They were busy, anyway, and I wanted them focused on hockey, like they should be. Last year, the hockey team was my whole world. Lately, my world was confined to entryway B.
And I had a dangerous case of cabin fever.
Grabbing the book that I was supposed to be reading, I stuck my feet in my Chuck T’s and headed down two flights of stairs. I knocked on Rafe’s common room door.
“Yeah!” The sound of his voice sent a happy little shiver up my back.
I opened the door to find him sprawled out on a generous leather sofa. “Hi,” I said, feeling shy all of a sudden.
He sat up. “Hi. You okay?”
“Sure.” I came in and shut the door. “Except there’s a small spider on the ceiling over my bed, and it’s staring at me.”
He smiled, and I felt a little flutter down below. Damn that smile. “You want me to kill it?”
“What?” I asked, swaying under the effects of his sexy mouth.
“The spider? Should I kill it?”
Focus, Bella. “No. But could I, uh, read down here for a little while? I just need a change of scenery.”
Something warm flickered through those big brown eyes. “Sure. Come on over.” He bent his knees to make room for me.
I sat down, noticing that all the furniture was fancy. “Nice place you got here.”
“It’s Lord Bickley’s.”
“Ah.” The seat was so wide that when I stretched my legs out there was still plenty of room for Rafe’s.
He did the same, then picked up his French book again.
I turned my attention to my own reading. But after ten minutes or so, I got in trouble for tickling the arch of Rafe’s foot, which lay within arm’s reach.
“Not fair,” he said, jerking his foot way. “I have enough trouble with irregular French verbs without your help.”
“Sorry.” Even though his ticklish foot was still right there, I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself. Rafe had become my best friend during what was otherwise the worst semester of my life. He was more important to me than I was capable of expressing.
At my end of the sofa, I struggled to read another essay for Women’s Studies. College coursework was all about theories, and after four years I was a little sick of them. On the other hand, my real life this year had been about as pleasant as walking repeatedly into various stone walls. So maybe the theories were the way to go.
Rafe’s suitemate Mat emerged from his room. “There’s a game tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking of giving you the spread plus one…”
“No thanks,” Rafe said quickly.
I poked him in the thigh. “You didn’t even hear what game he’s talking about.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rafe said from behind his book.
Mat snickered. “Fine. Later, guys,” he said, grabbing a knapsack off the floor. “I’m going to lock myself into a study carrel until my physics homework starts to make sense.”
Rafe gave his roommate a salute as he left the room. And the two of us on the sofa went back to our reading. At least Rafe did. My book wasn’t nearly as interesting as the warm weight of Rafe’s leg against mine. Instead of plowing through the next feminist theory, I indulged in a private fantasy. In my dirty little mind, I crawled onto Rafe’s body and tossed his book on the floor. Then I put my hand in the center of those fine abs, rubbing him gently, feeling all that muscle beneath my palm.
When he began to squirm, I’d slide that naughty hand down… down…
This lovely picture was interrupted by Rafe’s roommate Bickley stomping through the room again, looking for his “trainers.” “Ah,” he said, grabbing his shoes out of the corner and sitting on the coffee table to put them on. “I think I need to run some sprints. Care to join me?”
“Negative,” Rafe said. “Too much homework.”
Bickley snorted. “Bella, see what you can do to lighten this one up. He thinks he’s here to be a scholar.”
At the other end of the couch, Rafe made a grumpy noise.
His roommate did not notice, of course. Bickley wasn’t the sort of guy who understood how the words falling from his mouth affected other people. “Looks like you two kids have the place to yourself for a bit. Try not to behave yourselves.” He gave me a salacious wink.
Rafe dropped his book on his chest and looked at me. “Bella, it’s impossible to imagine why you gave up men.”
“Gave up on us?” Bickley grasped his chest in mock horror. “That sounds like a poor plan. Maybe she meant to climb up men.”
Rafe glared at Bickley. “Oh fuck off now.”
“Fine, fine. Ta ta for now.” When he left, the door closed with a bang.
“I’m sorry he’s such an ass,” Rafe said. The smile he flashed me was so beautiful I felt another shimmy in my stomach. The boy could melt granite with that smile.
“He didn’t mean anything by it. Bickley is a nervous talker.”
“What?”
“Some of that verbal diarrhea is because he doesn’t know what to say. Listen to your neighborhood psych major.”
Rafe made an irritated noise. “Is there a cure? Please say yes.”
“Duct tape?” I suggested.
“Great idea.”
We went back to our books for a moment, but I was still distracted by the warmth of his body against mine. Tucked into a sofa with Rafe was a really good place to be. It wasn’t enough for me, though. There were things besides reading that I’d rather do with him on this fine piece of furniture. I took a second to admire the way his Manchester United T-shirt hugged his chest, and the smooth skin on his hands as he turned the page.
“Rafe,” I whispered.
“Hmm?” He did not look up from the page.
“How come we’re not friends with benefits?”
Well, that got his attention. His eyes flew up to meet mine, and I saw a flicker of something hot pass through them before he schooled his features into a thoughtful frown. “What?”
“You know.” I gave his knee a nudge. “Studying is easier after you work off a little tension.”
He watched me for a long moment. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not. But it doesn’t really matter. Friends with benefits is not my style. I don’t do casual.”
Seriously? “Sure you do. I’m a witness. I can place you at the scene of the crime.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “You’re forgetting what happened afterward. You told me yourself that I was a jackass.”
Fuck me, I did. “That was just because the timing was so bad. We could do better.”
He let out a breath. “Nope. I don’t think I can.”
Holy crap. I was losing my touch. I’d just been rejected, which rarely happened. And here’s the real kicker — I actually felt bad about it. Really bad. All the way to awful, even.
“Shit,” I whispered as an unfamiliar heat rose up in my eyes. I felt tears forming. Actual tears. I raised my book in front of my face, creating a rather dubious curtain of shame. If I had any luck at all left in the universe, maybe Rafe wouldn’t notice.
“Bella?” he whispered.
Yep. No luck left. Not even a speck.
“Cristo, Bella. It’s not you.”
I would never again believe those words. From anyone. Thank you, Whittaker. And thank you, medical diagnosis. I threw the book down, pressing my fingers into the corners of my eyes.
Rafe sighed, throwing his book on the floor, too. Which I’d fantasized about not a half hour ago. But in my fantasy he’d done it so we could have sex, and not because I’d become a weepy girl.
“Come here,” he said, reaching forward, closing his big hands around my legs just above the knee. With a good tug, I slid across the leather until I was closer to him. Then he took my hands and pulled. “Over here,” he coaxed.
Bending my knees, I ended up in his lap. He wrapped both arms around me, and I tucked my chin onto his shoulder, so he wouldn’t see me looking teary.
Rafe held me tightly, making it even harder not to cry. Because the feel of those strong arms around me was exquisite. He smelled like clean man and laundry detergent. So I burrowed even further into him, with no plans to ever leave.
Welp. Sorry, Rafe. I’m never coming out of here. I was going to live out my life right here, hiding in Rafe’s neck. He would have to have me surgically removed. Not only was I comforted, but I was enjoying the delicious scrape of his Saturday whiskers against my cheek.
“Didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, running a hand down the back of my head. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”
Ugh. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know it’s icky, all right? I already know.”
His hand came to a stop on my back. “What’s icky?”
“Me,” I gasped. “I get it. It’s gross… that I had…” I couldn’t even say it out loud. To Rafe, who already knew! I was never getting my mojo back. Never ever.
“That’s what you think?” he whispered. “Really?”
I pulled my head back and looked into those chocolate eyes. The intensity I found there made my heart stutter. “Isn’t it?”
“No, baby. You could never be gross.” He frowned. “You really don’t believe me, do you?”
Slowly, I shook my head.
He sighed, his shoulders sagging. Then he muttered, “Dios, forgive me for what I am about to do.”
I didn’t see it coming until Rafe cupped his hand under my jaw. He brushed my cheekbone with his thumb, and I swear to God I developed an extra set of nerve endings right then and there. He leaned in and brushed his mouth over the corner of mine, sweeping up my cheek and over my ear.
“You,” he whispered, pausing to touch his tongue to my earlobe, “will always be the sexiest girl I have ever known.”
It was the classiest, swooniest thing anyone had ever said to me. And my poor, long-ignored body lit up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. While I quivered, Rafe left gentle kisses up the side of my neck. I had to tip my head back to give him better access, and I found myself squeezing my legs together against the electric current suddenly sizzling through my fun zone.
Later I would realize he almost certainly meant to stop there. The hot sigh that Rafe gave off next sounded like a capitulation. “Belleza,” he growled. “Give me that mouth.”
I wasted no time. Leaning in, I pushed my aching breasts against his chest and I dipped my head for the hot kiss that was waiting for me. Rafe groaned at the contact. Two hands slid down, grasping my hips, straightening my body out until I was spread out like a blanket on his beautiful body. Arching his neck, he nibbled my lips, as if reacquainting himself with the shape of my mouth.
Every touch seemed to shoot waves of heat through my entire being. I’d been starving for this. Then he parted his lips. A bossy tongue invaded my mouth. And… holy fuck. I practically burst into flames. Even as our tongues met and tangled, I felt myself get wet for him. That had to be a personal record. Either I got this boy’s clothes off immediately, or we were going to need one of the fire extinguishers hanging out in the stairwell.
It didn’t matter that I was on top of him. Each kiss I received was like a command. There was something fierce about the way Rafe kissed. About the way he did everything. He reminded me of the lion at the Bronx Zoo — often quiet and still. But when he roared, the effect was earthshaking.
And I wanted to be shaken.
I nuzzled his neck, stretching the collar of his T-shirt to reveal more skin, kissing and sucking every inch I uncovered. He made a desperate noise, and planted his hands on my ass, holding me tightly.
Yes! Yesyesyesyes. There was a very hard dick pressing against me, and I shifted against it. The closer we got, the happier I felt. But there were too many clothes in the way. I reared up to kiss him again, and our tongues tangled. “Rafe,” I moaned into his mouth.
“Mmm,” he answered, giving my ass such a dirty, sexy squeeze that I thought I might lose my mind.
I flopped to the side so I could touch him. Sliding a hand down his body, I let my fingers wander over his waistband and onto the hard bulge at his crotch. “I want to play with the nicest cock in the neighborhood.” I flipped the button on his jeans.
That’s when everything stopped.
First, his hand reached down to catch mine, pushing me off his fly. Then, he turned his face away, taking a big breath of air.
Oh no, my heart murmured. I knew immediately that I had wrecked everything. It’s just that my lust-muddled brain was too scrambled to process the reason.
“Bella,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I can’t… we can’t go through with this.”
“What?” I became fixated on the fact that he wasn’t looking me in the eye. Whatever the problem was, it was so bad he couldn’t even face me.
“I want to,” he said quickly. “But it can’t be like this.”
I began to panic. “God, why not?”
He turned his chin to finally look at me, and it was almost worse. Because I saw real regret there. “Like I said. I don’t do casual.”
“What does that even mean?” There wasn’t enough oxygen here on the sofa. Nothing made any sense.
“It means…” He winced. “I don’t do casual, because I don’t want to feel like the most convenient dick in the neighborhood.”
Oh, crap. Me and my dirty mouth. What the hell was wrong with me? The back of my throat began to sting. Again! I was not going to cry, though. This was already embarrassing enough. After extracting myself from Rafe, I slid from the couch and onto the floor where I began fumbling for my book.
“Bella,” he said softly. “Nobody tempts me like you do. We’d be great. Again. I know we would. But then I’ll feel shitty afterwards, just like last time. And I like you too much for that.”
“You like me too much to have sex with me,” I said, chasing my book under the sofa. I was suddenly furious with myself. Or him. One or the other. “That’s so logical.”
He sighed. “Don’t be dense. I care about you. A lot, okay? You are someone I could love.”
“Right. I hear that a lot right after a guy rejects me.” My face was on fire now. My humiliation shone brightly, and I could not wait to get out of his room. Abandoning my book under the stupid couch, I stood and went for the door.
“Bella! Don’t do a runner,” Rafe argued. “That isn’t like you.”
“Thought you were trying to teach me to run,” I muttered. He was right. I was more of a stay-and-fight kind of girl. But I needed a time-out before I dug the hole any deeper. Without a glance at him, I flung open his door and jogged down the stairs.
It felt good to be moving. So I kept doing it. I jogged across the courtyard. But I had to stop at the gate because Bickley was stretching in front of it. “Excuse me,” I prompted.
“Bella!” he yodeled. “When are you going to shag my roommate, already? The tension is killing me.”
Lovely. I knew I was right about Bickley being a nervous talker, but he was also annoying as fuck. “Sorry to dash your hopes. But the shagging only happened that once.”
Bickley swung around, his eyebrows flying up into his unruly hair. “What? You do know what that word means?”
I snorted. “Oh, honey. That word and I are very well acquainted. Now move, would you?”
He didn’t. He stared at me instead. “So you’re the one? From that night in September? You popped Rafe’s cherry?”
It was one of those moments in life that might have been punctuated by the sound of screeching brakes. I inwardly yelped, SAY WHAT?
Bickley and I stared at each other while I tried to decide if he was serious. “I…” Really? “He didn’t say.”
The Brit misinterpreted me. “No, he would never wag his chin to me. Rafe is a vault. But the mystery has been killing me. I’ve been wondering who it was for ages!” He cackled. “Can’t believe I missed that. It’s so obvious now.”
I gave Bickley an impatient nudge, slipping past him, hiding my face. Because I did not trust myself to look calm. “Gotta go,” I mumbled, opening the gate at last.
“Nicely done, by the way,” Bickley called after me.
He was lucky I wasn’t carrying any sharp objects.
On the street outside Beaumont House, I began jogging toward the graveyard. I barely registered this plan, however, since my brain was busy reeling through every encounter I’d ever had with Rafe.
Especially the first one.
That night in September, he had been sitting in the stairwell looking forlorn. He’d caught his girlfriend cheating…
He’d had condoms in his bag.
I jogged faster, growing more horrified by the second. Rafe had been planning to give it up that night to his long-term girlfriend! He’d been saving it for her. But then she cheated, making a fool of him at the same time.
A couple of hours later, I’d stripped him naked and sat on his cock.
Jesus Christ. No wonder he’d been weird afterward. “Casual sex isn’t my thing,” he’d said. And now he’d said it again, only ten minutes ago.
The dude wasn’t lying. He’d done it once.
The condom broke, too.
I let out a groan of pure horror, because I’d been so callous with him. I hadn’t meant to, of course. But he would have processed our night together a lot differently than I had.
What the hell kind of shitty psych major was I? Perspective was everything. And I hadn’t allowed for the possibility that his perspective was different than mine.
Oh. My. God. What had I done?
I kept running. It wasn’t as easy in jeans and Chuck Ts, but I soon found myself in the graveyard in front of Rafe’s favorite headstone. If you needed a little perspective in your life, a cemetery was as good a place as any to find it. I hadn’t done or said anything right since September. But at least I was still breathing.
Breathing hard, actually. I was not an impressive runner. I stood there a while, listening to the thump of my own heartbeat, rereading the headstone of a teenager who’d been flattened by a tree.
Killed by a log he made.
I stood there a long time, wondering which would be the best way to apologize.
Maybe it had been a long, crappy year so far. But the time had come to get over myself.
