Something clicked inside my very core. He wasn’t interested in me in the same way other men
were--at least I didn’t think he was—and he wasn’t going to take advantage of me. I actually felt safe,
even though I wasn’t in control. At least not in control for the moment.
“Wait.” I looked back at the bed. “Which side do you normally sleep on?”
He pointed to the side nearest the door.
I walked over to the far end of the bed and began unbuttoning my jeans. He gazed at me a second
more before shutting the door. I slid out of my jeans and hoodie and slipped inside his sheets. They
smelled like him. Coconut, spice, and all boy.
I heard Bennett outside the door sliding boxes around, opening and closing what was maybe the
linen closet, and then getting situated. Twenty minutes later I was still awake and feeling restless. I
decided on a cold glass of water.
I slid open the bedroom door, tiptoed into the darkened room, and nearly tripped over Bennett. I
had assumed he was going to be on the couch, but instead he was on the cold, hard floor. Guilt twisted in
my gut.
“So sorry,” I muttered. “Just getting a glass of water.”
His eyes were open, and his gaze caressed my body. I was back to wearing my white tank top and
sleep bottoms, and I could have sworn I saw longing flicker in his eyes.
“The glasses are in the cupboard, left side of the sink.”
At least he had unpacked his dishes. I poured a glass and took big gulps of the water, deciding what
to do. He was obviously awake and uncomfortable on the floor. He hadn’t even attempted to move the
boxes off his couch.
I padded back to him and held out my hand much the same way he’d done to me earlier. “C’mon.” “Huh?” He sat up. He didn’t have a shirt on, and I tried not to stare at his taut chest and stomach. I
didn’t quite succeed. I also caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his abdomen, and I made a mental note to ask
about it later.
“No questions,” I said. He grabbed hold of my hand and I yanked him up and into his room. He
was wearing blue boxer briefs, and I averted my eyes from the front of his shorts. “I promise not to bite,
and I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”
He apparently found that amusing, because he shook his head, a grin indenting the side of his
cheek. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He slid into the sheets and sighed, like he was glad to be back in his own bed. I lay down and
turned my back to him, my senses heighted and my body on high alert. The tension between us was
palpable. But it was different somehow. I didn’t want him to paw me or screw me senseless.
Instead, I wanted his arms around me, his chin nuzzling my neck, and his lips kissing me slow and
soft. I was pretty sure I could get lost in those lips.
Damn, I wanted him. In a totally different way. A way I hadn’t felt since Gavin, my first boyfriend,
when I was sixteen years old. Before Tim ruined us. Ruined me.
Maybe I could have him. Just to lose myself in. To make me forget.
“You gonna be able to sleep?” Bennett asked in a raspy, sexy voice that reverberated through my
bones. “Are you still thinking about what happened?”
I wasn’t, but I said so anyway. “Yeah.”
He inched his body toward mine and I immediately felt his heat. His fingers reached out tentatively
and I almost arched my back to accept them.
Then he rubbed my shoulder in delicate circles. “Shhh . . . you’re safe with me. You can fall
asleep.”
My entire body tingled, head to toe. But somehow, after a few minutes, his fingers lulled me into a blissful sleep.
Chapter Four
I opened my eyes as sunlight flooded Bennett’s room, creating slanted lines across his bed. Bennett was
no longer next to me, but I heard him tinkering on the other side of the door.
Did I really just sleep in this guy’s bed—because I was afraid to sleep alone?
Climbing out of the warm sheets, I eased back into my jeans and hoodie. I padded to the bathroom
and saw what a wreck I was. My hair was in tangles and my mascara had traveled beneath my eyes. I
splashed cold water on my face to wake me up and then used one of Bennett’s blue hand towels that
hung neatly near the sink. Peeking at some of the toiletries on his counter, I discovered his expensive
coconut shampoo. I snapped the top open and took a quick sniff before placing it back where it
belonged.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Bennett stood in the living room hold a steaming mug of
coffee for me. “This is about all I can offer you this morning. Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine, and you offered me plenty last night.”
“Not a problem,” he said, sitting down on the one section of the couch not littered with stuff. He
motioned to the chair across the room, one he had cleared for me, and sipped from his mug. He was
already showered and dressed. His hair was less unruly when it was wet, and today he wore gray jeans, a
black T-shirt, and black motorcycle boots. More like a tattoo artist.
“You work today?” I asked.
“Yeah, Oliver’s got me scheduled for a full day of tats.” Hearing his boss’s name roll off his tongue made me squirm. Oliver ended up wanting more from me than just one evening. Wanted to take me to
dinner the next night, and I’d refused. “You know those frat boys—always want those tats in prominent
places to show off their school spirit.”
“I better let you get to it, then; don’t want to keep them waiting,” I said. “I’ve got to get ready for
work, too.”
“Please, stay and finish your coffee, at least.”
I hesitated. “Sure, for another minute, so I don’t have to return your cup.”
He was watching me, so I looked around like I was taking in the place. Except nothing was
unpacked, so I stared at the contents of open boxes. His entire life had been dumped right here in bins in
the living room, and somehow it felt too personal, too intimate to be standing in the middle of it all. “So,
no roommate, huh?”
“I actually do have someone moving in next month.”
“A girlfriend?” I didn’t even know why I asked. It was none of my damn business.
“No, no girlfriend. Not yet. I’ve seen someone a couple of times this past month, but we’ll see
where that leads.” He watched my eyes as if to gauge my reaction. He didn’t have to offer me any of
that information, but I got the feeling he wanted to. Maybe to give a hint that he wasn’t interested. Or
that he wasn’t attached yet. I wasn’t sure which.
“Anyway, my friend will be moving in here next month.” He tilted his head. “You know—the one
you met at the party?”
I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. “Oh yeah . . . Nate, right?”
Bennett nodded, and then his voice took on a serious tone. “Can I ask you a question, Avery?”
“Sure.” I finally sat down across from him on the upholstered chair he’d cleared for me.
“How come . . .” He looked down, breaking eye contact with me. “How come you didn’t go for my
friend? I mean, besides the fact that he was so blatant. But girls usually fall for that.”
Was he asking because he was curious, or because he was interested? Should I go for unabashed honesty here? All at once I stood up and started pacing.
“I don’t know.” So as to not look so obviously rattled, I strode over to the wind
ow to stare at his
lackluster view of the parking lot. “Normally, I’d be all for that. I’m a no-strings-attached kind of girl.”
As I turned back to look at him, his face showed a flicker of disappointment before he recovered.
Now I was the one trying to gauge his reaction.
I decidedto continue with my honesty. “But I wasn’t interested in him that night.”
His voice was low and soft. “You weren’t?”
“Nope.” I looked down, figuring he had gotten my message loud and clear. “Can I ask you a
question now?”
He propped his foot on the edge of his coffee table. “Go for it.”
“How come you told him to back off? I mean, I didn’t see you talking to any girls, and it’s not like
you were talking to me.” I cleared my throat, which had suddenly gone dry. “Would Nate really have
gotten out of hand? Because I’m pretty sure I could have handled him all by myself.”
“Number one, Nate talked to you first,” he said, taking a quick sip of coffee from his mug. “I mean,
it makes sense—who would spot a beautiful girl across the room and not want to talk to her?”
I’d heard that same kind of line dozens of times from guys, but somehow coming from him it felt
more real. More direct. More sincere.
I felt a slow burn smoldering in my stomach, so I decided to deflect how affected I was by his
words. “Is there a number two?”
“Huh?” He moved his gaze away from my lips and back up to my eyes.
Something stirred inside my chest—most likely his chromosomal superiority revving me up. “You
said that was number one.”
“Oh . . . yeah,” he said, tucking a smirk in the side of his cheek. “And number two, I figured you
were the kind of girl who ate guys up and spit them out for sport. But even still, I thought it was best to
say something. Nate can be a dick sometimes.” Was that his way of admitting that he was intimidated by me?
In an ideal world, I wouldn’t be such a player, because I wanted him. All to myself. Right this very
moment.
I leaned against the window ledge. “What gave you that impression of me?”
“The way you carry yourself.” He shrugged. “Confident. Self-assured.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No way.” His fingers fumbled through his hair. “It’s sexy as hell.”
Right now our pheromones were breathing the same air. Nuzzling up against each other. Swapping
saliva.
“I figured, I . . . I mean, Nate, would be no match for you, anyway,” he practically mumbled. “You
know, some guys like to take things a bit slower.”
Was this guy for real? Suddenly I felt like a bona fide man-eater. A Slutasaurus rex.
“Huh, guess I didn’t take Nate as the relationship type of guy,” I said. A deep shade of plum tinged
his cheeks. We were speaking in code here, but we both knew the real deal. “And just by association, as
Nate’s friend, I figured you must be the same way.”
“Not true. I’m a commitment kind of guy.” His voice was low and smooth. Like he was very sure
of himself on that one point. “If the right girl comes along.”
Suddenly the walls of his apartment closed in on me. I’d never be that kind of woman for him, so I
needed to move the hell along right now. Mr. Tattoo Artist was proving to be a very intriguing and
mysterious guy. There was a story under there somewhere. Maybe he’d been badly burned and no longer
wanted to sleep around. Or maybe dedication to one person was part of his religion or something.
No matter—I couldn’t stick around long enough to find out.
Bennett was holding my gaze solid as steel, but I finally managed to break away.
“Well,” I said.
“Well.” That one word said nothing and everything all at once.
I placed his coffee mug in the sink and headed toward the door. “Thanks again, for everything.
Your bed is really comfortable.”
“Anytime.”
I snorted. “Is that an open invitation, Mr. Reynolds?”
The trace of a corrupt smile stretched across his lips, telling me that maybe he’d actually consider it
despite everything he’d just told me. That maybe I’d be the Kryptonite to his very values and ideals.
And that’s when I knew I needed to make my exit. Fast.
Yet, he’d decided to keep on talking. “Sometimes it’s nice sleeping next to someone. I forget what
that’s like.”
I stopped and spun around. “Has it been a while? For someone who looks like you?”
He looked down, his eyelashes combing his cheeks. “Yeah.”
“Been hurt that bad by someone?”
His head snapped up, and he arched an accusing eyebrow. “Have you?”
“Touché, Mr. Reynolds.” I could tell neither one of us was going to budge. “Have a good one.”
***
Bennett’s words stuck with me throughout the day.
I kept spacing out, and Mrs. Jackson called me on it. “You must be thinking about that man again,”
she said, her hand hovering over the remote control. She loved watching her soap operas during the day.
All smut and disappointment and make-up sex.
I grinned. “You are insufferable, woman.”
Her husband had just left for the day, and I filled her vase with fresh water for the white daisies
he’d brought. Sometimes he stayed to watch TV with her, gently holding her hand. You could feel the
affection rolling off of them when they were together, and I imagined their sex life had been blazing hot when they were young and agile.
“You know I’m right. C’mon, talk to me about it.” Mrs. Jackson tapped the side of her bed.
Sometimes we’d have heart-to-hearts while I was feeding her. She’d tell me about her life and I’d tell
her about mine. Most of it, anyway. She grew sad whenever I mentioned my mother. Told me my
mother’s priorities were misplaced. And I could tell she was concerned about my brother. Said he should
live with me after graduation.
“I’m not going anywhere; I’ve got all day,” she said.
“And I have rounds to do.” I adjusted the Velcro on the blood pressure cuff. “Besides, your son and
grandchildren should be here soon.”
“Excuses, excuses. You better take a chance on that boy,” she said, patting my hand. “He must be
something special. You never come in here looking like that.”
“Looking like what?” That was the hazard of seeing someone every single day. They got to know
your moods almost too well.
“Like there’s fire in your eyes,” she said, wistfully.
I shook my head, not wanting to admit to anything out loud.
“Let me guess,” she said. “He’s a confusing young man. He makes you feel things. Giddy and
frustrated and wound up all at the same time. Am I right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I wanted to tell her that I had no intention of having anything more to do
with Bennett. That he was looking for something else. Someone else. That the most we’d be was friends.
That I couldn’t even think of him as a one-night stand anymore. That somehow he’d gotten under my
skin and I needed to let him go, clear my mind of him, and move on.
But I knew saying any of that would disappoint her. She was a true romantic and had a husband
who proved true love existed. At least for them.
”Honey child, that’s roots taking shape.”
“Roots?” I slanted my head sideways. Mrs. Jackson was always quoting something. “‘Two se
eds destined to grow in concert, planted together in the field of love.’” She took in a
lungful of air and continued. “‘The sky cast wet buckets of dreams and desires, the roots took shape, and
the leaves tangled as one.’”
“‘Roots took shape . . .’” I repeated to myself. “Wow. That rocked. What was that?”
“It’s from a poem called ‘The Roots of Love.’”
“Your photographic memory amazes me.”
“When you find love, you’ll start quoting poetry, too.” I turned away so she couldn’t see me roll my eyes.
Chapter Five
“So what’s up, girlie?” Ella asked, sitting across from me at the campus coffee shop. “Still freaked about
the break-in?”
“A little,” I admitted. “My gorgeous new neighbor helped me out, though.”
“I bet he did.” She grinned, leaning back in her chair, like she was settling in for a good story.
“No, nothing like that,” I said, watching the students out the window strolling by on their way to
class. “Unfortunately.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh come on, you didn’t jump his bones?”
“I swear,” I said. It did sound unbelievable rolling off of my tongue. “We just slept in the same bed.
He rubbed my back and I feel asleep. It was sweet.”
“No way, dickhead,” she said, sipping her cappuccino.
“Way, dill weed,” I retorted.
“And how do you feel about that?” She leaned forward. Her blue eyes, which were two shades
bolder than mine, sparkled in the sunlight. My eyes were more gray blue, like murky ocean water.
“I don’t feel anything,” I lied. “He was being a friend.”
She twisted her lip. It was the thing she did instead of calling bullshit—when she didn’t believe a
word I was saying. We sat in silence while I got lost in my own thoughts.
Ella swirled the liquid concoction in front of her with her spoon. “Is he someone you could be
friends with?”
“Probably.” I said it like I meant it. Yet, I still wasn’t certain. I mean, sure, I could be around him. But without wanting something more from him?
“That’s actually a good thing,” Ella said.
“Why?” I took a bite of my strawberry cheese Danish.
“So you can finally see that not all men will do what that prick did to you,” she said, twirling her
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