Claire (Hart University Book 2)

by Abigail Strom

  I wanted to slide my hands into that hair. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to haul her into my arms and carry her up to my bedroom.

  “Here.”

  She was holding out my jersey. I took the shirt from her, but before I could say anything she was talking again.

  “I’m sorry about before. I mean…” She trailed off, frowning down at the floor.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, Claire.”

  She looked up again. “How about we forget it ever happened?”

  “Done.”

  After that we just stood there for a moment, and I was thinking that this was my second chance. I could say good night and head upstairs and—

  “The only reason I didn’t wear your jersey is that I didn’t want everyone to think…” She trailed off again.

  “No, I get it. It’s fine.”

  I was wishing she had worn it, though. Because then I’d have something that smelled like her.

  Say good night and go upstairs.

  “So,” she said. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  Okay, I couldn’t say good night and go upstairs just yet.

  “Of course.”

  “Would you mind if I crash here tonight?”

  Three words echoed in my head like stones dropping into water.

  Crash.

  Here.

  Tonight.

  “Um…”

  I was wishing like hell I wasn’t so buzzed. How was I supposed to navigate this?

  “The band is going out to celebrate but I’m not really up for that. I’d go back to the dorm but Ted is staying in my room and I’m not sure when he’s leaving. I’d rather not—” Her face twisted in sudden pain, and in that moment I would have walked through fire to make her feel better.

  “Of course. No problem.” My mind struggled to function. “You can stay in my room and I’ll stay—” Where the hell was I going to stay? “—somewhere.”

  Would this relegate me to the friendzone forever? No, I decided. Not if I got her settled in my room and left quick.

  No talking late into the night, no commiserating over ice cream, no braiding each others’ hair. Just good night and sweet dreams and close the door.

  Claire looked relieved. “Thank you, Will. I mean it. Thank you.”

  I’d never seen eyes as blue as hers. Sometimes blue eyes can look kind of washed out, but not Claire’s. They were as deep and wide and rich as the sky.

  “Would you mind if I go up now?” she asked. “Then you can keep on partying or whatever.”

  I’d never felt less like partying, but that would be one excuse to get me out of the room once Claire was in it.

  “Sure. Come on.”

  It was slow going through the crowd, but it wasn’t until we were halfway up the stairs that we faced a real obstacle.

  “Where are you two headed?”

  It was Andre, coming down as we were going up. He planted himself in the middle of the stairway and folded his arms, making it clear that the path to the second floor went through his large and intimidating person.

  Claire blinked up at him, her blue eyes a little unfocused, and I realized for the first time that she’d been drinking, too.

  “Wow, you’re big. I mean, I always knew you were big, but—” She glanced down. “Oh. You’re standing on the step above us. That probably makes you even bigger, right?”

  I did my best to appear less drunk than Claire. “Claire’s staying here tonight,” I said in what I hoped was a responsible-sounding voice. “The band is heading out to party and she’s not in the mood. And since her ex might be in her room, she doesn’t feel like going back to Bracton. So I offered to let her stay in my room, while I—” Inspiration struck. “While I stay in your room. On the floor. In my sleeping bag.”

  Andre frowned. “I guess that makes sense.”

  There, see? I was making sense. “I’m going to get Claire settled and then come back downstairs.”

  Andre finally stepped aside. “Okay. I’ll see you down there.”

  Claire moved past him and I followed her, climbing the last few stairs to the second floor.

  The upstairs hall was crowded with people, all waiting for the bathroom. Claire paused at the end of the line. “I need to—”

  I steered her away. “I have my own bathroom.”

  “You do? But won’t people be waiting for that one, too?”

  I shook my head. “I locked my room before things got started.”

  “Wow. So you have a private bathroom? Fancy.”

  I grinned as we stopped in front of my door. “Yeah, real fancy.” I fished my key out of my pocket and let us in, ushering Claire inside and closing the door behind us.

  It was suddenly a lot quieter. This was an old house, and the doors and walls were pretty solid. You could still hear people out in the hallway, but the conversations were a soft blur.

  Claire was looking around. Standing behind her, I looked around, too—through her eyes.

  When we first moved in here, I was all gung-ho. This was my first time living somewhere that wasn’t my parents’ house or a dorm, and I’d been full of plans to paint my room and put up some framed pictures. But preseason practice had started the next day, and once I got caught up in football I never got around to painting… or much of anything else.

  The walls weren’t terrible, but they hadn’t been painted for a while and the off-white color had darkened over the years. There were also paler patches where a previous owner had hung pictures. I’d put up a few posters over some of those spots, but since I’d used Scotch tape instead of frames and picture-hanging hardware, I hadn’t exactly classed up the joint.

  The posters weren’t too bad—meaning, they weren’t porn stills like the ones Delford had in his room. Not that I can’t ogle naked women with the best of them, but I wouldn’t put that shit on my walls. I stuck mostly to sports, music, and Deadpool.

  There were water stains on the ceiling and on the floor around the radiator. The wood floors themselves weren’t bad—a little uneven, maybe—but they were covered with more dirty laundry than I remembered being there.

  “It’s a little, uh, messy,” I said, moving past Claire and kicking some of the clothes out of the way.

  “That’s okay,” Claire said, looking over to her right—where the bed was.

  I’d had a decent amount of alcohol that night but nothing epic, and the last drink I’d had was more than an hour ago. Sobriety shivered through me like an electric charge, followed by a different kind of inebriation.

  Claire was in my room.

  God knew I’d imagined her here a hundred times. But in all those fantasies, she was here for sex. The fantasies usually started with me tearing off her clothes or her tearing off mine, depending on my mood, and ended with the two of us in my bed, our naked bodies tangled together in blissful post-sex slumber.

  But tonight wasn’t going to end that way. Because Andre was right—if something happened between me and Claire right now, I’d only be her rebound.

  We spoke at the same time.

  “Okay, so—”

  “Ted is really—”

  We both stopped. Then I asked: “Ted is really what?”

  Claire put her arms around her waist and started to walk, slowly, around my room.

  “Neat. Like, OCD neat. It drives me crazy.”

  This was the other thing Andre had warned me about. Claire obviously wanted to talk about Ted. But if I let myself get sucked into that, wouldn’t it be a deep dive into the friendzone?

  I backed up and put my hand on the doorknob. “I should go back downstairs,” I said. “I’m supposed to be cohosting this thing, right? And you should try to get some sleep.”

  Claire sat down on the edge of my bed. The mattress barely gave at all, even though it squeaked and groaned every time I sat on it.

  “Okay.”

  That was all she said. But her blue eyes turned bright, and then she blinked hard and looked down at her feet.

  It fe
lt like someone reached into my chest and yanked out my heart.

  It was one of those deals where time seems to slow, giving you a chance to make an important decision.

  For some reason I thought of my mom and stepdad. And once I did that, it was over.

  Sometimes it sucks to have the two most decent, unselfish people in the world as your parents.

  “Unless you need to talk or something.”

  She looked up again, and this time the tears leaked out. She used the back of her hand to wipe them away. “That would be great. I mean, if you don’t mind. I just…” She hugged herself again, and her voice got so soft I could barely hear her. “I just feel so lonely.”

  My heart squeezed in my chest again. “I don’t mind.”

  She kicked off her sandals and moved up to the head of the bed, leaning back against my pillows and wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked pensive, and I knew I was about to hear a lot more about Ted than I’d ever wanted to.

  I went over to my desk, spun the chair around, and sat with my arms folded along the back.

  Then I took a deep breath and prepared to be noble.

  “So, what happened with you guys tonight?”

  Chapter Four

  I woke up slowly and in stages.

  The first thing I was aware of was my head. It was a little foggy but not too bad—not my worst hangover by any stretch.

  The next thing I was aware of was my body.

  But it wasn’t just my body. It was my body and Will’s.

  I was lying on my left side. The big, solid bulk of him was behind me, his arm draped over my waist.

  I did a quick check of my memory. No, Will and I hadn’t had sex. We hadn’t fooled around.

  We hadn’t even kissed.

  He’d been the perfect gentleman and friend. He’d let me ramble on about my stupid failed relationship without once telling me to just shut the hell up, which alone should qualify him for a medal.

  So how had we ended up like this? The plan had been for me to crash in his room while he stayed somewhere else.

  As the night had gone on I’d gotten sleepier and fuzzier and my rambling more disjointed until finally Will said, “You’re wiped out. I’m going to go and let you get some sleep, okay?”

  That had been enough to wake me up. If Will left, I knew exactly what I’d do.

  I’d call Ted.

  “Don’t go.”

  I was ashamed of the words the moment they came out of my mouth. They were pathetic. They were needy. They were—

  “I have to go.”

  I stared at him. His voice was different, suddenly. Rougher.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling even worse. “I’ve kept you away from your own party. You’re right. You should go. I’ll be fine.”

  He’d been sitting on his desk chair this whole time, listening to me talk. Now he got to his feet and started to pace, his hands stuck in his pockets.

  “I’m not worried about the party. I don’t give a shit about the party. I just…”

  I watched him prowl around his own room like an animal in a cage. I was still a little buzzed, not to mention exhausted and sort of hollowed out, but I tried to figure out what Will was thinking.

  Suddenly I remembered something I’d forgotten about.

  “Oh my God.”

  Will stopped pacing and stared at me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Your girlfriend. You guys broke up, too. Oh my God, I’m so selfish. All my babbling is reminding you of that, isn’t it? I’m making you think about it. I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to get back to the party?” I answered my own question. “Of course you want to get back to the party. I’m sorry. You should go.”

  Will stared at me for another moment. Then his shoulders sort of sagged and he combed a hand through his hair. “Okay.”

  He sounded almost hopeless, and I felt terrible. “Unless you want to talk. You listened to me talk forever. Please, Will, stay and talk to me. I’ve been a shitty friend. I didn’t even ask you about her. But I’m asking you now. Talk to me.” I realized something. “God, I don’t even remember her name. I’m the worst friend in the world. What’s her name?”

  He looked even more hopeless. “Lissa.”

  I started to ask something else. But the alcohol I’d drunk and my emotions about Ted and the post-gig exhaustion sort of tangled up inside me, and before I could stop myself, I was crying.

  Then Will was there with his arm around my shoulders. He held me as I cried, murmuring something soothing and comforting, while I said Don’t go over and over.

  And that, somehow, had led to us spending the night together. Well, not together, but side by side.

  Last night it had felt innocent. We were just two friends comforting each other after our breakups.

  But this morning, it felt completely different.

  A rush of something went through me. No, not a rush. A rush is fast, and this was slow and sweet, like honey.

  Even though my head was foggy, my body felt wonderful. Warm and safe and…

  Alive.

  I wanted to stay like this forever. Will’s presence seemed to drive away all the miserable emotions of yesterday—the fear and anger and sadness and guilt, and the horrible overwhelming sense of failure and loneliness.

  How could I be lonely if Will was with me?

  But then, slowly, I thought about what that meant.

  I’d broken up with Ted last night. Last night.

  I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t being rational. I was—

  And then Will made this sound—a sort of half snore, half snort. Was he waking up?

  His arm around me tightened, and every cell in my body responded.

  Then I had to stifle a gasp. Behind me, Will pressed himself closer. And there, nestled right against my butt, was either a piece of lead pipe or Will’s hard-on.

  He was hard. Wanting me.

  But in his sleep. Right? That didn’t count. Guys woke up with erections all the time. It was biology. Nonspecific biology.

  He would have reacted that way no matter who was in bed with him—and probably if he was alone, too. It didn’t have anything to do with me.

  But maybe I could make it have to do with me.

  I could turn around in his arms and wake him up. I could kiss him, say his name, make him say mine.

  Claire.

  And oh, did I want to. I wanted to hear him say my name with hunger, with longing, with—

  Love.

  A rush of shame followed the rush of lust. Love? I had loved Ted. We were together for four years. What was wrong with me?

  Slowly, I eased myself out from under Will’s arm. Slowly, I moved to the edge of the bed. Slowly, I—

  “Claire?”

  I whipped my head around and saw that Will’s eyes were open. His expression was confused and sleepy, but he was definitely awake.

  “Good morning,” I said, trying to sound cheerful and normal and like everything between us was still exactly the same, even though a moment ago I’d thought about using him to forget about Ted. My voice was a little raspy, but I’d sung my guts out last night.

  “You okay?” he asked, and a shiver went through me. His voice was raspy too, but in a different way. Rough and gravelly and so…

  I got a grip on myself.

  “Oh, sure. Of course. I mean, it was a rough night, but I’m fine. Thanks for letting me stay here. Really. I mean it.”

  “No problem.”

  He was a little more awake now, and he was close enough to touch. I could sink back into bed and crawl into his arms and we could—

  What? Have sex? Decide to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Get married and have kids?

  I got up and found my sandals. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll head back to Bracton now.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You sound kind of… I don’t know. Weird.”

  I had my back to him while I slipped on my sandals. N
ow I turned to face him, figuring it would be safe to look at him now that I was out of bed with my shoes on.

  I was wrong.

  He was sitting up, which gave me a view of his upper body.

  Man, he was perfect. How had I not noticed before? I mean really, really noticed?

  Maybe there was something to be said for the whole sports thing. Because every inch of Will was ripped, from the heavy bands of muscle on his arms and shoulders to the powerful chest and flat abs. And I felt weak, almost helpless, in the face of that overwhelming masculinity.

  I’m strong, that masculinity seemed to say. I can take care of you.

  I cringed internally. Was that what I wanted? Some guy to take care of me?

  It wasn’t just his physical strength that was so appealing. There was also his kindness, the decency that seemed to radiate from him. His green eyes were sweet and full of concern, his face handsome and a little scruffy, his auburn hair tousled and touchable.

  He was basically a six-foot-two package of smoking hot male protectiveness, designed to push every emotional—and physical—button in my female self.

  Everything in me was screaming stay.

  “I have to go,” I said abruptly.

  I kept enough presence of mind to turn once I had my hand on the doorknob.

  “Thanks again for last night, Will. Really. You’re a good friend.”

  And then I fled.

  * * *

  When I got back to Bracton, Ted was gone.

  I leaned against the doorjamb, looking around my room and feeling like crap. The only thing I really wanted to do was crawl into my bed and sleep for a hundred years.

  Down the hall, I heard another door open. I turned my head and Tamsin was there.

  She hadn’t bothered to dye her roots for a while, so her hair was a mix of girl-next-door brown and Goth black. The rest of her picked up on the theme. Her sky blue T-shirt and jeans were girl-next-door, but the black eyeliner running down her cheeks was Goth.

  It was something else, too.

  “Tamsin? What’s wrong?”

  I forgot my own stupid troubles for a second to focus on my friend, who’d obviously been crying her eyes out.

  “Oscar and I broke up last night.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry.” I rushed over and gave her a hug. “Ted and I broke up last night, too. There must be something really sucky in the air.”