"Deep fried butter? Donut burger? Why?"
"Why?" Giles asks, giving me an incredulous look. "Because America, that's why. Are you hungry?"
"Um…like, for a deep-fried Twinkie?"
I'm kidding, but his eyes light up at the mention.
"Where? Where'd you see it?"
I point to the booth. "Right next to the bacon wrapped pickles."
He leaves my side for the first time since we entered the fair. The sight of the Ferris wheel distracts me, way off at the end. Multicolored lights in that area suggest that's where all the fair games are. Excitement creeps over me and when I turn to find Giles, he's holding two plates.
"Here," he says, passing me what could only be the deep-fried Twinkie. A long, oblong shape coated in a fried batter. "Don't think, just take a bite."
I take in a breath and bite into it. At first, all I taste is batter, something akin to the coating on breaded chicken, but past the crunchy exterior, I reach the soft cake. There's definitely a Twinkie in there, the creamy filling dominating the aftertaste. "Tastes like a Twinkie chicken nugget, without the chicken."
"Isn't it fucking glorious?" He stuffs the rest of it into his mouth. Smiling at me as he chews his giant mouthful.
I laugh at his enthusiasm. He pushes the second plate under my nose, the sugary scent of the pale tan puff on the plate overwhelming.
"What the hell is that?"
"Bacon cotton candy." When I grimace, he pushes the plate closer to me and adds, "Come on, little leopard. Live a little."
I take some and put it in my mouth, where it melts almost immediately, leaving behind the faintest taste of bacon. "Tastes like…bacon cotton candy," I say, surprised it wasn't completely awful.
We make our way through the food booths. Every once in a while, Giles insists I try something. Until, having had enough bits of random bacon wrapped and deep-fried items, I convince him to split a stack of ribs with me.
"You're really stuffing your face," he says, handing me a napkin.
"Yeah, well, I'm not trying to impress you."
"I'm thoroughly unimpressed."
I look down at my food, reflecting on how good it feels to be out here with him. I enjoy his company in a different way than I would any of my female friends. Looking at him is satisfying, because he's so easy on the eyes. And being able to have a platonic outing with him makes me strangely proud. Makes me feel like we're making the impossible happen. There's no awkwardness of where his hands are, or what I should say. Early on, I let go of any apprehension to his proximity. Because it's clear that he doesn't have any ulterior motives and that he's satisfied enjoying our time together without expectations.
We play the carnival games at the back end of the fairgrounds, and he doesn't try to be cute and let me win. In fact, he crushes me at every single game we play and mocks my lack of coordination. Watching how competitive he is has me laughing harder than I have in a long time. He wins four consecutive stuffed animals and makes a point to not let me hold even one. The guy running the horseshoe game shakes his head at Giles, as if to say he's being a horrible date. But that's the point. This isn't a date and that simple fact is so incredibly liberating.
After a little while, when we take a break to get drinks, the thoughts of what brought us here in the first place creep back in between the sounds and sights of the fair, and I get really quiet. I don't realize until I catch Giles watching me with concern.
"I'm here for you," he says. "If you need anything. If you need me to make the drive north and beat that guy's face into a wall until he apologizes, I will. In a heartbeat."
I almost shudder. The anger that frosts over his features tells me he's dead serious.
"Beating him wouldn't matter," I assure him. "It's done. Now all I can do is be grateful more people—" I clear my throat before continuing "—more people can't see it." Warmth rises to my face and a chill coats my stomach. The contrast leaves me woozy.
Giles makes it his mission to keep my mind off of it for the rest of the night. Dragging me from game to game, giving away his stuffed toys to random kids in order to free his arms to win more prizes. He's ridiculously good at these games and sometimes people gather to watch him win where others have failed. It gets to the point where I beg him to tell me his secret, so that I can win, just once. I'm overcome with laughter at the mischievous way he refuses to reveal his tactics, all the while reveling loudly at his own prowess.
"Hang on a second," he says. "I want to remember this."
He pulls out his phone and snaps pictures to document his epic, winning streak. I ask him to let me look at the stupid pictures, but he refuses, telling me losers don't get to make demands. His teasing is lighthearted and only makes me jab him hard with my elbow.
He's hard to take seriously, even when he's being an ass.
When we tire of the games, he nudges me in the direction of the rides, all of which look nauseating, spinning or plunging in one way or another. I'm pretty sure I'll throw up what I've eaten if I risk one of those. So, instead, I convince Giles to get on the Ferris wheel. I'm excited. I love Ferris wheels, but he jokes the entire way up about how incredibly boring of a ride it is.
It isn't boring, though. Not with the view of the fair down below, and the increasingly cooler night drawing us inward. And not when, in a seemingly random move, he pulls something small, orange, and black from his pocket and hands it to me.
A tiny stuffed leopard.
"Why do you keep calling me little leopard?"
His eyes narrow and he asks his own question in turn. "What do you know about leopards?"
I shrug. "They're a feline."
"Not just any feline. The leopard is one of the deadliest creatures in the world. Most animals would flee if they got hurt. But a leopard? A leopard is more ferocious and dangerous when wounded. They'll fight right to the end. That's how I see you…you're insanely feisty like that."
He flashes me a coy smile but I cast my eyes down at the asymmetrical black spots of the stuffed animal, running my fingers over the fur. Hearing him profess the strength he sees in me, on a day when I feel so weak and defeated for crying, lifts me up just a little higher than this Ferris wheel.
This is what friends do, isn't it?
This night marks the end of one of the worst weekends I've had in a long time, twisting my grim mood into something resembling hope that the worst is behind me.
Except, the night isn't over yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Julia
WE GET HOME AND make a beeline for our respective rooms. I lie awake for a while, thinking about how much I enjoyed spending time with Giles. It feels nice to have someone to lean on. To literally lean on. And there's something that much more satisfying when it's someone you find attractive. Like there are layers added to the comfort that wouldn't otherwise be there.
I guess it wouldn't feel as good to press my face against his chest. Or to feel his arms resting over me. It wouldn't feel so good to have his face inches from mine, if he wasn't as beautiful as he is…
My next conscious thought is of my eyes flying open to darkness in my bedroom. The sound of a door shutting is almost a distant memory, though I'm sure that's what woke me. I stare at the ceiling through the dim blue glow of my alarm clock. There's shuffling outside of my door, followed by the unmistakable sound of Ava saying, "Shhh…" to someone else.
Another door closes, this one closer. The door to Ava's bedroom. More muffled noises. The baritone of a man speaking, his words undecipherable but the smoothness of his suggestion piques my attention. Ava giggles, a mattress creaks.
Oh my god.
She must've brought home that guy she was all over at the pool party. I forget his name, but I've never seen him around before. It seems like their plans don't include sleep. I cover my face with my hands to stifle a nervous laugh. An awkward energy washes over me. Am I supposed to lie here and listen to this? Should I leave? Images of the nighttime streets outside the house flash throu
gh my mind, deserted roads, and storefronts with blinds pulled down and signs turned to 'closed.'
Moaning and more of the smooth baritone drums over me, and I'm embarrassed by how the sounds flood me with warmth.
This is sick.
I grab my pillow and pull it over my head, but that does nothing to drown out the noises next door. The unmistakable clashing of bodies dripping with lust. Moans growing steadily out of control, muffled words that I can only imagine are of encouragement. And my mind's eye flickers to images of Ava's thin frame handled by that handsome stranger, cast in shadow as he spins her around to her stomach and…
My phone pings and I shoot up, fumbling around for it quickly, afraid that the sound will alert Ava to my listening. But the rhythmic clapping noises next door remain unaffected.
On my phone, there's a text message.
[You're not getting any sleep tonight.]
It's from Giles. I turn off the sound on my phone and before I can respond, another message comes in.
[Those two fuck for hours. Come over here. You can't hear it as much.]
[Come over, where? To your room?]
[Yeah.]
I almost laugh.
[Nice try.]
[What? It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before.]
This time I do laugh. Then my sights dart to the wall in front of me, the one separating my room from Ava's and I hear the desperate groaning and moaning, the frantic squeaking of furniture. My stomach ties in uncomfortable knots all over again. It's just awkward, having to listen to this. What are my choices, really? Where can I go at two in the morning? Everything on campus is closed.
Still, I'm not going to Giles's room. No way. Last night when I was sick was one thing. But getting in bed with him now? The thought of going in to see him brings more knots to my stomach. We're friends now, I remind myself. Yet, the thought of it still seems like walking into a lion's den.
[No thanks. I'll find something to shove into my ears.]
I lock my phone and set it on the bedside table, facedown.
Irritation surges through me that I'm put in this position in the first place. Though, that's ridiculous. Ava has every right to screw in her room. And the fact that I'm uncomfortable with it is my problem, not hers. I shouldn't be listening. But she really could make an effort to be stealthy. I mean, those noises are not of two people worried about making a scene.
I lie back down, tossing and turning. Pull a pillow over my head, then another. Feeling completely ridiculous over the warm, tingling sensations flooding me, the pooling between my legs as the sounds of pleasure from next-door show no signs of quelling.
Ugh. This is beyond awkward.
After a few long minutes of trying to tune out the noises, I get out of bed with the intention to grab a glass of water. I think there may be headphones in one of the kitchen drawers. It's worth a look. Hesitant, I step out of my room, closing my bedroom door carefully behind me. There's no way I can miss the fact that, down the hall, the door to Giles's room is slightly open, as though in anticipation of my arrival.
Yeah, nice try, indeed.
I try not to draw too much attention to myself, as I look around the kitchen drawers for the headphones or, even better, earplugs. What I find is a pack of gum. Is that what I remember seeing before? Well, this is useless. I chug down the water then head back toward my room, glancing back down the hall as my hand closes over the doorknob. The sounds of screwing are louder out here in the hall and I rush to open my door. Except the doorknob doesn't turn.
"Fuck," I say under my breath.
My door is locked. I can't believe I locked myself out.
Caught in a desperate urgency to not be found out in this hallway listening to these sounds, I get the urge to kick the door open by force.
"Yeah, yeah," Ava's breathless voice croons from the other side of her bedroom door. "Oh, yeah…" Then a man's voice mumbles something I'm glad I can't decipher.
I rub my temples in exasperation, and then turn on my heels and head quickly down the hall. I hesitate as I reach his door and I turn to look back at my own on the opposite end of the hall. Two thoughts occur to me—the noises are almost completely muffled at this end of the hall, and maybe I could take a running start at my door and bust it open like in the movies.
Obviously a ridiculous thought.
A hand wrapping around the edge of the door, I push it open slowly, the room coming into view from the slit between door and frame. The mirrored doors of his closet come into view first, his nightstand, and then his bed. He's sitting up against the headboard, phone in hand. Tiny, cartoonish spurts of noises coming from it like he's playing a game. His eyes connect with mine and his mouth twists into a devilish grin.
He's shirtless, the bastard. And I wonder if he's naked under the covers draped over his lap. As though reading my thoughts, he pulls his bedcovers back to reveal his dark blue pajama pants. He pats the mattress beside him, eyebrows tilted up in a way that almost casts innocence to his features. Almost.
I glare at him, just out of habit, as I hold onto the doorframe behind me. Giles sets his phone down on his lap, lifts his hands, and shows me both sides the way a criminal would do when surrounded by the authorities.
"Come on. I've more than proven I can keep these to myself."
"You better. And don't think you're getting lucky."
"I'm already lucky," he says. "You're here, little leopard."
His words elicit a nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach. But I pretend they don't. Desensitization. If we are going to make this friends thing work, I need to not get so nervous about things like this. His effect on me will wear off. It will wear off the more I expose myself to it. Soon, I'll be immune for real.
I walk over and sit up in bed, beside him. Making sure there's at least a foot of empty mattress separating us, I pull the covers over my lap and smooth out the sheets with my palms, trying not to think about how strangely normal and comfortable it feels to be in his bed. Though I know, I shouldn't feel too comfortable. Then I catch the way his eyes sweep past my face, over my lips, down my collarbone to my tank top.
Crap. Not again.
I can tell by the way he eyes me, greedily, that the material of my tank top clings to every detail of my bare breasts underneath.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to point?" he asks.
"Shut up," I say, pulling the covers up over my chest.
He looks like someone struggling not to burst into laughter. Like he's already won and finds it amusing I'm putting up a front.
I nod to his phone. "What stupid game are you playing, anyway?"
He holds it up to show me.
"You're playing Tetris in the middle of the night?"
"It's hard for me to sleep, sometimes."
Looking out to the door, I'm reminded of what's going on just down the hall. Two people are humping like rabbits. And now I'm sitting in Giles's bed. The strain of raw sex seems to be creeping in from under his door, because I'm suddenly warm and…
"Give me that." I snatch the phone from his hand. He laughs and I'm glad he's not annoyed that I'm being rude. Rude is a nice barrier between us right now. It's the only thing keeping me from revealing the heat brewing in the pit of my belly. Eyes trained on the screen, I say, "Look at this. Five rows of blocks? How can you suck this bad?" My fingers maneuver over the keyboard as I begin to quickly lay pieces to break down the lines of blocks.
"You're good."
I tense up at these words because they are right by my ear. His breath tickles my shoulder and, though I keep my eyes on the phone screen, I'm aware of his face right next to my own. I shouldn't look up. I know I shouldn't. But I do.
He's leaning in, mouth so close to mine I can almost taste it. The impulse to close the gap leaves me weak. I look down at the screen, where I'm suddenly not performing so well on the game, and remind myself why I shouldn't kiss him.
Even if I could get past the reservation of getting involv
ed with my roommate, he's still a conceited, womanizing manwhore who thinks he can get any girl into bed.
Well, he did get you into bed, didn't he? A voice croons these words from the back of my mind. The voice already sounds small, already resigned to the inevitable.
This is followed by the urge to jump out of bed and face whatever is out there in the hall, sleep on the couch if I have to. But taking off like that will only show Giles the effect he has on me. The thought of displaying any weakness to him makes fire burn through my veins, the stubbornness that's my blessing and my curse. He will not turn me into another brainless girl quivering over his proximity. I am immune.
And even if I'm not, I can sure as hell pretend I am.
"I shouldn't have complimented your skills," he teases from beside me. "As soon as I did, you started sucking big time."
I throw the phone onto his lap and say, "Whatever."
"Ouch." He cringes and I realize the phone landed right in the center of his lap. Probably right on his dick.
I laugh then straighten my face again. "I'm going to sleep. Stay on your side or I'm gone, got it?"
"Yeah, you too," he says, mockingly indignant. "Don't you go trying to touch me. I won't have any of that."
We both settle into lying positions. On our sides, facing each other, only a couple feet of mattress between us. It should feel strange, but it doesn't.
"Go to sleep," he says, gaze traveling over my face.
"You first."
Smiling, he pulls the sheet over both our heads, until we are immersed in a cocoon of gray cotton and his face is the in forefront of my vision. Crisp and close.
His long eyelashes, framing those mischievous eyes. Those lips, full and somehow disarming. Annoying and sweet, all at once.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice low.
"It helps me sleep," he says. "Just pretend we're in a fort. You know? Like when you were a kid."
"I never made forts. My mom would kill us if we messed with clean sheets."
"Strict parents, huh?"
Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) Page 13