“Harris, seriously, it’s fine. You have a life outside of whatever it is we’re doing here. You don’t have to explain yourself. Now, if I found out you’ve slept with anyone since we made our bet, then we can talk.”
“I haven’t.” He’s quick to answer.
“Good. Because that would mean you lost,” I remind him.
“What about you?” He sinks back into the couch, angling his body toward me.
“What about me?”
“Have you slept with anyone since our bet?”
“Not that it’s any of your business considering neither bet had anything to do with my sex life, but no, I haven’t. I’m not you. I don’t just sleep with anyone.”
I see the sting of my blow on his face and I instantly feel like an asshole. Then again, I’ve always been an asshole to him. It’s kind of our thing.
“Don’t.” It’s one word and yet it feels heavy for some reason.
“Don’t what?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything else.
“Don’t sleep with anyone else.”
“Um...” I start, but he cuts me off.
“If I’m trying to make you fall in love with me, I can’t have other guys distracting you.”
“So that’s what you’re worried about? That I’ll become distracted?” I eye him curiously.
“Well, that and I don’t like the thought of you with another guy.”
“Is that so?” I tease, feeling the tension between us start to ease. “So what? You thought you could sweet talk your way back into my good graces by asking me not to sleep with anyone else?”
“I sent you flowers, too,” he reminds me, the playful spark back in his eyes.
“I guess you did.” I giggle, shaking my head. “You better be careful, Mr. Avery. I might start to think that you’re getting sweet on me.”
“Good, because I am.” His admission sends a wave of giddiness through me that I’m sure I’ve never felt before. I try to play it off, but I swear there’s no way he can’t see what he’s doing to me.
“So, I’ve got two bottles of wine and an entire pizza that I’ll never be able to finish by myself.” I let the statement hang for a long moment. “Would you maybe want to stay a while? I’m getting ready to watch a movie.”
“That depends, what movie?”
“I was thinking the new Avengers movie, but I’m open to watching something else if superheroes aren’t your jam.”
“Aren’t superheroes everyone’s jam?” He looks at me like I should know better.
“So, you’ll stay?”
“Ms. Daniels, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Chapter Twelve
Blue
I wake with a start, groaning when the too loud TV accosts my ears. As I lift my head to look for the remote, I realize my hand is resting on something hard. I look down to see I’m lying on a pair of denim covered legs.
What the hell?
I glance up to find Harris fast asleep. His head is propped on the back of the couch, one arm around my waist while the other lays limply at his side.
The last thing I remember was drinking wine and killing an entire pizza while we watched Avengers, debating who the best Avenger is. I say Captain America. He thinks it’s Thor. We must have dozed off sometime while the movie was still on.
I shift slowly, trying not to wake him, but the second my weight is off his legs, his eyes pop open. At first he looks confused, trying to place where he is. But then his eyes come to me and a smile tugs at his full lips.
“Hey,” His voice is sleep filled and so very sexy.
“Hey.” I sit the rest of the way up, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands.
“What time is it?” He reaches for his phone on the coffee table.
“After two,” I tell him, reading the time off of the cable box under the television.
“Shit. I don’t even remember closing my eyes.”
“Me either,” I admit.
“I guess I should probably head home.” He starts to stand.
“Stay.” The word slides out of my mouth unexpectantly. I don’t even think it through before I say it. “I mean, it’s late. You can sleep here if you want.”
“You want me to stay the night?” A devilish look crosses his face, but I cut him off before he gets the wrong idea.
“I want you to be safe and not driving half asleep.”
“Are you sure that’s all you want?” he teases, stretching his arms over his head before dropping them back down at his sides.
“I’m serious, Harris. Stay, but just to sleep. Nothing else.”
“I am pretty wiped, so I’ll stay. But you’re crazy if you think I’m sleeping on this lumpy couch.”
“You are not sleeping in my bed.” I stand up.
“I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior.” He traces an X across his heart with his pointer finger.
As bad of an idea as I think it is, I’m honestly too tired to argue with him. My bed is a king so we won’t have to get cozy.
“Fine. But if you snore I can’t promise to not suffocate you with a pillow.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckles, standing to follow me into my bedroom.
I flip on the bedside light and pull back the covers. Harris kicks off his shoes and starts to undo his pants when he catches me looking at him.
“What?” He grins.
“What are you doing?” I point to where his hands have already undone his belt.
“You don’t expect me to sleep in jeans, do you?”
“Um, yes.”
“Relax, Blue. I have boxers on. It’s not like I was planning to sleep naked.”
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I say more to myself than to him.
“Come on.” He steps out of his pants but leaves his t-shirt on as he climbs into bed. He pulls the covers up to his waist, then pats the mattress beside him.
“No funny business,” I reiterate.
He once again makes a silent X over his heart.
Blowing out a puff of air, I switch off the light and climb into bed. After positioning myself as far to the edge as I can, I roll to the side so my back is facing Harris.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t like this because seconds later his arm snakes around my waist. He pulls me backward until I’m lying in the center of the bed with him spooning me.
“Uh, Harris.” I clear my throat.
“Relax, I’m not doing anything.”
“Actually, you’re kind of all up on me.”
“And?” I hear the smile in his voice.
“And, well...”
“Go to sleep, Blue.”
“How am I supposed to sleep like this?”
“Easy, you close your eyes.”
I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the silence of the room almost deafening.
“I never took you for a spooner,” I say into the darkness after several long moments have passed.
“Add it to the list of things you assumed about me. Sooner or later you’re going to realize something.”
“What’s that?”
“That you had me pegged all wrong.”
“I think I’m starting to see that,” I admit, my voice soft.
His lips press against the back of my neck as he snuggles closer, pulling my body flush with his so I can feel nearly every dip and divot of his torso. It feels better than it should and I close my eyes, relishing in the heat from his body.
“Goodnight, Blue,” he whispers into my hair but I’m already too far gone to respond.
Chapter Thirteen
Blue
The sound of cabinets closing and the clang of pots and pans pulls me from sleep. I blink, trying to bring my vision into focus.
When I hear what sounds like something hitting the floor, I shoot upright and look around the room before my eyes dart to the bed next to me.
Harris.
Throwing back the covers, I quickly climb out of bed, my legs a little wobbly beneath
me. Glancing at the bedside clock, I see it’s right after nine.
Even though I’m eager to go inspect and find out what’s happening in my apartment, my need to use the facilities is greater. Stepping into my small ensuite bathroom, I cringe when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
I look like a hot mess. My hair is matted on one side and I have mascara smeared under my eyes. After using the restroom, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and do my best to tame my wild hair. It doesn’t cooperate, per usual, so I end up tying it into a messy bun on top of my head.
Being as quiet as I can, I push open the bedroom door and tip toe into the living room, spotting Harris immediately. He’s in the kitchen and he appears to be... cooking?
I lift my hand to my mouth to hide my smile.
Last night was unexpected. And while sleeping is not what I pictured I would do if I ever took Harris to bed, sleeping is all that happened. And it was really nice, surprisingly. I haven’t slept in a bed with someone since James. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it.
Harris turns, his eyes locking on me. A slow smile pulls up his handsome face.
“About time you woke up.” He waves a spatula at me before turning back to the stove.
“What are you doing?” I head into the kitchen, sliding up next to him to peer into the pan.
“Making pancakes.” He knocks his hip against mine. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving, actually.” I look around the mess he’s made. “You, uh, really did a number in here.” I gesture to the countertop that’s covered in flour, eggs shells, and a half empty carton of milk.
“I’ll clean it up,” he promises, but I’ve already turned away from him, using a dry towel to sweep the flour off the counter into my hand.
“That’s okay. I got it. You are cooking me breakfast, after all. The least I can do is help clean up.”
“I found some chocolate chips in the pantry. I hope you don’t mind but I threw some in the batter.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I figured you can’t go wrong with chocolate.”
“You figured right,” I tell him, brushing my hands off over the trash can. “Though I gotta say, I’m a little surprised you’re still here.”
“Why’s that?” He flips the two pancakes in the pan before giving me a sideways glance.
“I don’t know. You don’t think this is a little weird?” I gesture between us.
“Why would it be weird?”
“Well, considering a few days ago I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you. Now here you are, in my apartment, cooking me breakfast...after you slept in my bed.”
And it was the best night of sleep I’ve had in a very long time, but I don’t say that.
“Things change.” He shrugs. “I told you that once you got to know me you’d realize how wrong you had been about me.”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, tossing the eggshells into the trash.
“What don’t you know?” he asks, turning toward me.
“Nothing.” Dampening a paper towel, I clean up the last remaining traces of flour from the countertop.
“No, you aren’t getting off that easy. Tell me what I don’t know means.”
I hesitate, finally deciding to be honest with him.
“It’s just, well, sometimes I can’t help but think that this is all an act. Some sick and twisted game of cat and mouse.”
“You think I’m acting?” He seems a little put off, but not angry.
“Well, I mean, kind of.”
“Does this feel fake to you?” He gestures between the two of us with the spatula that’s in his hand.
“No,” I admit.
“Blue, I’ve been nothing but genuine with you. This isn’t an act or a game or some fucked up way of me pulling you in so I can screw you over to win. I actually really like you. And yes, while my goal is to win our bet, I plan to do it honestly. Because when you fall in love with me,” —he quirks a smile— “you’re going to know it’s the real thing.”
I struggle to find words. How do I respond to that?
“Your pancakes are burning.” And, that’s how I respond.
“Shit.” He jumps, having seemed to have forgotten all about them. Turning, he quickly scoops them out of the pan and lays them on a plate. He grabs the bowl of batter and pours a fresh batch of pancakes into the pan.
“I really like you, too,” I admit, the words seeming to come out of nowhere.
“What?” He shifts to face me.
“I said, I really like you, too,” I repeat, a little louder this time.
And I do. He’s surprised me in ways I never thought possible.
I’ve always viewed him as this arrogant player, but when you strip away the persona he gives off, he’s actually a really great guy. He’s funny, caring, and attentive, among many other things. He’s also incredibly sexy and that sure doesn’t hurt his case.
I don’t know what we’re doing here or how it all will end. But for the time being, I’m really enjoying getting to know him.
He hits me with an ear to ear smile. The kind of smile that damn near knocks the wind right out of you.
“See, and it’s only been a little over a week. Just imagine how you’ll feel in three weeks.”
“I said I like you. Don’t let it go to your head. Just because you know how to sweet talk women does not mean you’re going to change my mind. Love...”
“I know, I know,” he cuts me off. “I also know you’re wrong. And deep down I think you do, too.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in love. I know it’s real. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. I love my friends. But the kind of love you’re referring to, I don’t think it exists. And anyone who claims it does is lying to themselves.”
“Such a cynic.” He shakes his head. “Good thing I’m really good at making people see things my way.” He smirks.
“Is that what you think you’re doing?” I shimmy my way over to him, each movement slow and purposeful. I lean in close, pressing up on my tiptoes until our lips are inches apart. “Harris,” I whisper, meeting his gaze.
“Yeah.” His entire body tightens.
“You’re shit at making pancakes.” Snagging the spatula out of his hand, I rush from the kitchen.
“Oh no you don’t.” He makes a grab for me but I duck under his arm. Both of our laughter fills the room.
“So predictable.” I tisk at him.
“You don’t play fair.” He huffs.
“I never said I did.” I tap his chest with the utensil, getting pancake batter on his white t-shirt.
“Now look what you’ve done.” He gestures to the smear on his shirt. “Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” In one quick sweep, he pulls his shirt off.
I’ve seen him without a shirt before, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from bulging at the sight of him. His body is ridiculous. It’s like he was sculpted from stone or something.
Before I can react, he steps toward me, backing me into the counter so that I’m trapped.
“Now who’s not playing fair?” I look up at him, trying to anticipate his next move.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He leans in close. So close that I can feel his breath as it dances across my lips.
“Your pancakes are going to burn,” I remind him for a second time.
“Then.” His lips brush mine and electricity shoots through every limb of my body. “Don’t.” He kisses me, soft and teasing. “Take.” Another kiss. “My.” His hand slides along mine. “Spatula.” He rips the utensil away and immediately steps back.
I feel the loss of his heat everywhere.
“You’re evil,” I tell him, not able to contain the smile that spreads across my mouth.
“Don’t be a sore loser,” he taunts, turning back to the stove. He quickly flips the pancakes, whistling to himself as he does.
I’ve half a mind to give him a taste of his
own medicine, but as my fingertips graze the hem of my tank top I chicken out. I don’t know why. I want him and I’m pretty sure he wants me. Besides, I do have a bet to win...
Before the thought can really take hold, Harris slides the pan off the burner and drops the two final pancakes onto the already large stack he’s made.
He looks extremely pleased with himself as he turns, plate in hand, and presents me with the pancakes.
“Breakfast is ready.” He gives me a toothy grin.
——
“So, I was thinking.” Harris sets his empty plate on the coffee table. “There’s a food truck rally going on today downtown. If you’re not busy maybe we could head over and check it out.”
“How can you even think about food right now?” I groan, sliding my hands across my too full belly.
“Well it’s not until like four. I’m sure you’ll be hungry again by then. I’ve seen how you eat.”
“Hey.” I pick up a throw pillow and toss it at him. “Are you calling me fat?”
“You are not even close to fat.” He gives me a knowing look. “I’m honestly not sure where you put all of it.” He gestures to my body. “What do you say?” He tacks on when I make no attempt to respond. “You, me, and all the food trucks your heart desires.”
“I don’t know.” I hesitate, the cautious side of me, the side that’s still not sure that I can trust him or that I even want to, rears her ugly head.
“Oh come on. It’ll be fun. There will be alcohol and live music.” He pouts out his lower lip. “Please.”
“Is that supposed to somehow convince me?” I point to his mouth.
“I think so?” His tone is questioning. “Truthfully I’m new to this whole begging thing.”
“You could use some practice.”
“And something tells me that you’ll be more than happy to give it to me.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“I could help you out I guess.” I bite down on my bottom lip to try to contain my smile.
“Fine. How’s this.” He slides off the couch and shuffles toward me on his knees. Settling between my legs, he takes my hands in his and pulls me forward so that I’m sitting completely upright. “Blue Daniels, will you please, please, go to the food truck rally with me today?” He bats his lashes like a teenage girl and I all but crumble into a fit of giggles.
Violets are not Blue Page 8