The ringing of a cell phone has us swinging our attention to the coffee table. Not mine. April scoops it up and wanders off toward the kitchen, phone to her ear.
“Hi.” There’s a note of surprise and a softness to her voice that gives me the feeling she’s not talking to any of her girlfriends. Now I’m curious, and even more so because she’s venturing toward the kitchen, taking her conversation out of earshot. I have to strain to hear what she’s saying.
“No, not really,” she says as she shoots a glance at me.
I nudge the chair with my foot in an effort to look like I’m occupied and not trying to eavesdrop.
“Well…” She shoots another glance at me and I can see the unease in her eyes. “Why don’t I meet you at Starbuck’s? The apartment is kind of a mess.”
I figured she was talking to a guy but now I’m positive she is.
“Okay. See you in a few. Bye.” With that she ends the call, her gaze staring down at the screen of her phone.
“Who was that? Johnson?” The guy’s name squeezes past my throat, the resulting sound stiff and curt.
April gives a jerky nod but she has yet to look at me.
I knew it. Fuck. Fuck!
“What does he want?” I know what the fuck he wants. I just want to hear it from her mouth. He wants her back. I’d thought so on Tuesday when I’d picked her up and saw them talking, and this confirms it.
She slants a glance my way. “He wants to talk.” I should be relieved she doesn’t look happy about it but I don’t like that she appears so torn.
I inhale a deep breath and let it out through my nose in an effort to stave off the tension seeping in and causing the muscles in my shoulders to knot.
“I thought you guys were done?”
“W-we are,” she says but she doesn’t sound certain. She sounds like she’s wavering and I hate that. The thought of them getting back together makes me want to hit something. Hard.
“If you’re over, what does he want?” I don’t mean for the question to come out as harsh and accusatory as it does, but when it comes to shit like this, it’s hard to keep my emotions on a leash.
This time she looks me directly in the eye and holds my gaze. “I’m not sure but I think he finally believes that we’re just friends.”
I slowly cross the room, closing the distance between us. “What difference does that make? Unless you’re thinking of getting back together with him.” Because that would really piss me the fuck off.
“I’m not thinking of anything right now,” she says, clearly hedging. “I’m just going to hear him out.”
“What’s there to talk about? You didn’t break up with him because of me. You’re the one who said something about you guys not clicking.”
“Troy, I honestly don’t know what he wants to talk about. All he said was that he’s had time to think about it and he realizes he should have trusted me more. That doesn’t mean he wants us to get back together.”
“Oh c’mon, April, do you honestly believe that?” I ask, exasperation compounding all the other emotions I’m feeling; jealousy and possessiveness ranking at the top.
But her big green eyes have a solemnity that conveys, if nothing else, she’s convinced herself that this “talk” isn’t necessarily going to be about what I know it is.
Mark my fuckin’ words. I may not know girls the way I sometimes wish I did, but I know guys, and this is a classic let’s get back together move.
“Does he know I moved in?” I bet that’ll be a huge fly in the ointment of any kind of reconciliation.
A blush stains her cheeks pink, giving me my answer. Of course not.
“Why would I have told him?” she asks with a defensive thrust of her chin. “Except for Tuesday, we haven’t talked since we broke up. I’m telling people on a need to know basis, and right now he doesn’t need to know because as my ex, it’s none of his business. The same way what goes on between me and him is none of your business.”
“Whoa! What’s with the hostility? I was just asking. Would you jump down Liv’s throat for asking?”
April’s stare narrows dangerously, her mouth pulled tight. “You know what, Troy? There are best friends you’ve had sex with and then there are the kind you haven’t. If I ever have sex with Liv and she starts sticking her nose in my love life, I’ll tell her the same thing, got it?” she snaps.
A voice inside me tells me not to respond. That no good will come of it. Evolved twenty-first century man that I am, I heed the voice’s advice.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised to meet Colin.” With that, she grabs her handbag from the counter, slings it over her slender shoulder and marches to the apartment door. Seconds later, I hear it close with a resounding thud.
As move-in days go, this one started out great, but looks like it’ll be ending on a downward spiral.
At ten o’clock, I let myself into my apartment.
What a night. What a talk with Colin. But I’m glad we had it, and that it’s done and over with. I think he finally gets me and understands where I stand. And why I am the way I am.
We should have had this talk when we were dating.
“You’re home.”
I drop my purse on the dining table and stare at Troy as I shrug out of my cropped jean jacket. He’s sitting in the living room—in his no-match chair—grim annoyance and disapproval etched in his features. Looking at him now, I remember what he did, what he said, and my temper begins to mushroom. Again.
“Are you waiting up for me?” My question—more an accusation—is as sharp as his tone is clipped.
“Are you going to accuse me of sticking my nose in your business if I ask what happened?” he asks, softening his tone.
“We talked,” I snap.
“And?” he prompts.
I attempt to control the turbulence of my emotions before I respond. I fail. “And he told me that you told him that you’d be here—with me—long after he was gone.”
Silence.
I stomp over and stand in front of him. “Did you tell him that, Troy?” Of course he did. The truth is written all over his gorgeous, scheming face.
When Colin told me, at first I’d been surprised. It’s the kind of inflammatory and confrontational statement that’s meant to provoke. Well it did. It infuriated me. I’d been simmering in outrage since.
“It’s the truth,” he replies. And what makes me even madder is the lack of shame or guilt he’s exhibiting.
I explode, my voice rising steadily to raging heights. “You. Are. A. Piece. Of. Work. Do you know that? You’re not my friend. You’re nothing at all. How could you say that to him? You don’t see me trying to fuck up any of your relationships, no matter how I feel about the girls you’re with.”
“April.” He pushes quickly to his feet, his hand extending as if to grasp my arm. I take a step back, out of his reach.
“Don’t touch me.” I’m seething so much, I’m surprised steam isn’t coming out of my ears. Or maybe it is. “I don’t know how you can just sit there looking all innocent after what you’ve done. You purposely made it seem like there was something going on between us when you know that’s the farthest thing from the truth.”
He’s possessive of me. He’ll have sex with me. A couple times he even had me convinced he saw me as more than a friend, but the second I stuck out my hand to grasp the elusive “more” his actions led me to believe he wanted, he snatched it clean away.
Troy’s nothing but a heartless carrot dangler.
“April, calm down.” His voice is soothing as he takes another step toward me.
I shuffle back two steps. When we’re like this, proximity to him is like a curse. He’ll get up and close and say all the right things, and my mind and body go to war with each other.
“God, Troy, I know you don’t like him but I never thought you’d try to sabotage things with us.”
“That’s not what I was doing,” he protests, anger deepening the groves at the corners of his m
outh. “He’s the one who tracked me down. He’s the one who got in my face and started in with the, She’s with me now, bullshit.”
“But I was with him. Which part of the word girlfriend don’t you understand?”
He grits his teeth. “Don’t you care that he wanted me out of your life? I just made it clear to him that that wasn’t going to happen.”
Oh. Clearly Colin had left some stuff out. Important stuff. He’d made it seem like Troy had approached him, not the other way around. My anger dissipates the way it always does with him, with the abruptness of a fall.
“I didn’t break you guys up. You’re not together because you didn’t work. You said so yourself.”
It is his fault. All his fault. But I can’t tell him that without telling him why, and those are reasons he doesn’t need to know.
My shoulders drop and like that, all the fight goes out of me. Shaking my head wearily, I say, “But don’t you understand, Troy, some of the things you do and say can be misinterpreted. It’s not just Colin, you know. Your teammates—a lot of people—think that if we’re not together, then we’ve at least got the friends-with-benefits thing going on.”
His mouth opens and closes several times, before he finally closes it tight. Of course he has nothing to say.
“It’s like sometimes you forget that there are boundary lines that shouldn’t be crossed.” For example, most friends don’t go around kissing each other on the lips. With tongue.
His expression softens and his tone implores. “Ros—”
“I get that two years ago was a one-time thing and that y—we don’t feel that way about each other.” I hope he didn’t catch that slip. “All I’m saying is that sometimes the way you act sends the wrong message. I simply want you to be more aware of that.” I give him a thin no-hard-feelings smile. I don’t want this to end in another argument. Recently, that’s all we seem to do.
“What message am I sending?”
The intensity of his gaze prickles my skin. I swallow noisily. I’m pretty sure I spelled it out clear enough for a third grader to understand. “Well some people might take your overprotectiveness for jealousy.”
“Does it bother you that people think that about us?”
This is the time I wish I had mind reading abilities because his expression isn’t giving anything away.
“Well it’s not exactly what I want the guy I’m interested in to think. I’m sure you feel the same,” I say with a forced laugh.
He shrugs, smiling faintly. “I don’t know. I can imagine worse things than being coupled with you.”
“Right. But I’m sure there are better things like being coupled with someone you actually want to be with.” Don’t ask me why I said that. Fishing maybe? Or reminding myself of the truth? I’m not sure.
“Well right now I’m not dating anyone so…” His shoulder lifts in another negligent shrug.
Yeah, right now he’s not but I’m sure he will be soon. And like all of his relationships he’s had since we started college, she’ll be conveniently short-term, the way he likes them.
Our friendship survived a one-night stand but I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to come back from another one like it. Not with him.
Forcing another smile, I teasingly poke him in his sexy dimple. “Give it a couple days. I’m sure you won’t be dateless for long.” Sandy, our twenty-seven-year-old neighbor four doors down, has made it clear she wants Troy since she moved in last year. When she saw him moving his stuff in, she’d practically licked her lips. So far, he hasn’t shown any interest in her, but that could change.
“What about you? Are you ready to get back out into the dating scene yet?” His question sounds like simple curiosity and nothing more.
I snort a laugh. “Like you said, I’m not mourning so it’s time I got back out there.” I turn and grab my jean jacket off the back of the chair. “Anyway, I’m off to bed. Night.”
Troy follows and reaches out to lightly take my hand. “Rosie.”
My gaze darts from where his hand loosely holds mine to his face, my expression expectant. “Yes?”
He stares at me for several long beats before he gives a small smile and slowly releases my hand. “Thanks for letting me move in.”
“Let’s see if we feel that way in a month,” I reply lightly. And let’s pray this doesn’t end up being one big colossal mistake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Okay, I’ll be honest and admit that after a week, living with Troy is driving me up a wall.
And not because he’s doing anything wrong. That’s the problem; he’s not. He’s been scrupulously considerate, making ham, cheese and tomato omelets for breakfast for me and Em the second day and waffles the day before yesterday. He cleans up after himself and the guy does dishes.
I should be in heaven but instead I’m in my own personal form of hell.
My problem is with his wardrobe choices…or lack thereof. I’d ask him if he owned a shirt if I didn’t already know he does. He has plenty of them. Which is why I’m wondering why he’s constantly walking around the apartment shirtless. I understand it at night when he goes to sleep but during the day, the A/C and the fans are on.
Sculpted chest and beautifully defined abs does not a happy April make. Not when it’s the one my best friend is rocking. You know, the one I kind of have a thing for. This living-together thing is supposed to help cure me of it not have me reaching for my nonexistent vibrator when I go to bed at night.
But it was the bathroom incident that was the turning point for me. It happened three days ago and I’ve yet to get over it.
I think we can agree that when you’re naked and wet you’re at your most vulnerable. That’s the state I’m in when I step out of the shower and reach for my towel.
I’m in the process of patting myself dry when the bathroom door opens without warning. Along with a waft of nipple-hardening and goose-bump-raising cool air, Troy steps in. He comes to an abrupt stop when his gaze meets mine. This is only after he makes visual note of my very naked status and I let out a shriek, while frantically trying to cover myself. My sex-starved body immediately reacts to his presence, and let’s just say, it’s embarrassing. My skin is damp from the shower but another area quickly becomes self-lubricating.
“W-wh-wh—Troy!” His name is half wail, half screech.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were—”
“Get out!” If my hands weren’t otherwise occupied keeping my towel wrapped haphazardly around me, I’d be shaking my finger at the door in justified outrage. Inside, however, I’m one part stupefied and two parts turned on. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and my favorite shirt, the blue-grayish one that molds the contours of his broad chest and brings out the gunmetal gray in his eyes.
He looks good enough to devour whole.
Which helps me not one bit.
“Sorry,” he mutters, keeping his eyes on my face before swiftly leaving and closing the door.
I jump into action, turning the lock with a violent twist of my shaking hand. I look down at myself and groan when I see the side of one of my breasts is still exposed.
A light knock startles my back straight. My next breath stutters in my throat.
“Rosie, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know you were in there.”
I stare resentfully at the closed door. What the hell is he still doing out there? Isn’t it enough that my body is still in a state of flux, my heart pounding in concert with my thundering pulse?
“You need to try knocking first,” I snap, not feeling the least bit forgiving. I’ve been walking the fine line of self-control since he moved in as it is. I don’t need this.
The sound of him clearing his throat reaches me. “Make sure you lock the door next time.”
Thanks to Troy, that night, I’d gone directly to bed and taken care of my own sexual appetite.
From that day on, whenever I used the bathroom, I’d made sure to lock the door. It didn’t matter if I was alone. It hasn’t hap
pened since but it doesn’t stop me from reliving it over and over again, with varying degrees of embarrassment and arousal. What if, instead of shrieking, I’d handed him the towel and asked him to finish the job of wiping me dry.
The thought always gets me aroused, which is why I agreed to go out with Ron tonight. Living with Troy has made it imperative for me to get back on my dating legs. Can’t have them atrophying from lack of use if such a thing can happen in the matter of weeks.
Ron Mallard, a good-looking, caramel-skinned incurable flirt fits the bill perfectly. He doesn’t do serious, and he’s laidback but not to the point of being comatose. There’s also a brain under his dark, close-cropped hair. Scoring168 on his LSAT is nothing to sneeze at. If all goes well, when we graduate next year, he’ll be Harvard bound.
Opening the door to my apartment, I glance at him over my shoulder, still unsure how the night is going to end. Here at the door? Or do I invite him inside for a cup of coffee before I send him on his way?
Decisions, decisions.
“Are you going to invite me in? I need at least another hour of looking at your beautiful face before I can fall asleep tonight.” Ron’s question is accompanied by a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. He’d had the outrageously flirtatious compliments spigot opened wide all night, and I’d accepted it with the lightness and sincerity it had been given.
The light goes on in the kitchen, illuminating the hall entry. The suddenness of it momentarily startles me.
Troy.
Well that answers whether he’s home or not. He’d been conveniently gone when I’d left.
My mouth tightens in determination. “A cup of coffee sound good?” I ask Ron.
He’s in the apartment so fast, it’s as if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind. “A cup of anything sounds good,” he replies.
Troy chooses that moment to step from behind the connecting kitchen wall into our line of vision. He’s dressed to go to bed, pajama bottoms and a wife-beater, the ropey muscles of his arms on full display.
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