by Danica Avet
Their smiles are identical, very cat and the canary-esque, making me feel uneasy as fuck. I wipe my palms on my shorts. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here. I should’ve just made sure Lena got upstairs safely and took off because this is looking more and more like the Spanish Inquisition.
Becca hops to her feet and saunters over to the closed bathroom door where she proceeds to bang on it like she’s the police. “Hey hooker! Me and Nessie have to get home and Jolene’s running to the dorms to get her stuff. Root’s gonna stay here to make sure you don’t need your back washed!” There’s a squawk from the other side of the door, but that only makes Becca’s smile widen. She turns back to us, rubbing her hands together like a miniature Machiavelli. “Okay Nessie, get that sweet ass in gear,” she commands as she returns to the table. “I presume you’re going to be here bright and early to help her down the stairs?” she asks me with another eyebrow quirk.
Wondering if they were trying to help me or mess with me, I just nod.
“Excellent!” She claps her little hands and looks over at Jolene. “Go get your stuff. Take your time though. I think the Viking here is going to need a little private time with our girl.” I open my mouth and she glares at me. “Just trust me on this, okay? I’m good at hooking people up.”
The other two girls roll their eyes but get up, no doubt used to her bossy ways. “Just how many people have you hooked up, Becca?” Hennessey asks dryly.
The tiny dictator shrugs and begins ushering them out the door. “None, which means I have a 0% failure rate. In my mind.” She turns just as she crosses the threshold, her dark eyes flashing with that weird light. “By the way, you hurt her and I’ll cut you.” Her gaze flicks down to my lap. “I’ll let you guess where I’ll start.” Then she smiles brilliantly. “Have fun!”
The door slams shut, doing little to muffle their laughter as they leave me in Lena’s apartment. Alone, with her naked in the next room. My heart slams as I listen to the sound of the floor creaking beneath her feet, the soft shush of fabric sliding up long legs… Sweat trickles down my spine, dampening my pits.
“Fuck,” I groan, hopping to my feet as I pace around the small space.
I look at pictures—Lena was a cute kid and her dad looks huge. I look at the paperback novels she has scattered all over the place. I squint at some paper-covered vinyl records lined on shelves throughout the apartment. I don’t touch them because I don’t want to break any of her shit, but they also don’t help cool the heat building in my body. Why? Because I can’t help but wonder what she looks like without a stitch of clothing on. What color are her nipples? Is she clean shaven, waxed, or does she have an airplane strip? Does she have any more of those sexy beauty marks anywhere?
Stopping in front of the little window unit, I try to cool myself off, although I know the only things that’ll really do the job are either a jerk off session or an ice cold shower, or probably both. And neither option is available to me right now. I brace my hands on either side of the window and close my eyes.
“If two thermodynamic systems are in thermal equilibrium with a third, then they’re in thermal equilibrium with each other,” I recite from memory, needing something to distract me from the very naked girl behind the bathroom door. The first thing to come to mind is the Laws of Thermodynamics and I grab a hold of it like a lifeline. “Forms of energy can be changed, but cannot be created or destroyed. The state of entropy…”
“What are you talking about?” a soft voice questions behind me and I open my eyes, spinning around with a pounding heart.
Lena stands balanced on her crutches just a few steps outside the bathroom door. It doesn’t seem possible, but my heart beats even faster. She’s just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Her hair is wet, the honey-colored strands falling around her shoulders, her face is freshly scrubbed, her cheeks rosy, and she’s wearing what I’m starting to think is her standard outfit: baggy shorts and a baggy T-shirt. Beautiful.
She cocks her head to the side, her face flushing at my continued silence. “You don’t have to stay,” she mutters as she hobbles the few feet to the fridge. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I still don’t say anything. That tongue-cleaving-to-the-roof-of-my-mouth thing has taken over again. Then she bends over to get something out of the refrigerator and my throat goes unbearably dry. Round cheeks, a peek of the tops of her thighs, and an image of sliding into her from behind have rendered me completely and utterly mute.
Lena
I can’t believe my friends just left me here with Anders. I can’t believe he actually stayed. I stare at the inside of my mostly empty fridge, not needing or really wanting anything. I just need something to do so I don’t stare at him like he’s some Nordic god. Even though, you know, he looks like one. Even with flecks of mud all over his clothes and body, he’s so impossibly cute I just want to ogle him.
It doesn’t help that Becca said nearly the same thing on the ride to my apartment. She, and the other two, squealed on the fifteen-minute phone call we had from two separate cars. Becca sees Anders’ rescue of me as Mr. Darcy-grade, while Jolene thinks it’s just the sweetest thing ever, and Nessie just couldn’t stop talking about how big and strong he is. I’m surprised the Weather Service didn’t issue a high wind advisory with all the sighing they did.
Do I agree with them? Yes, of course I do. In all honesty, I’m flattered by the concern he’s shown me so far. I barely know him except for a few weird meetings, but he protected me from Ivan the Terrible, scooped me off the practice field like a gentleman of old, and even now is watching out for me. Okay, flattered doesn’t even cover how astonished I am by the way he’s treated me.
Then to walk out of the bathroom to see his big shouldered body hunched over the window, muscles flexing as he muttered scientific stuff to himself, the light showing off the silhouette of his torso through his T-shirt? I almost fell on the floor. And not because of my sprained ankle. No, it was pure shock and heat and hormones that squealed, “Yay, it’s a big, strong man waiting to give us his baby batter!” that nearly brought me to my knees.
Not that I’m looking to get pregnant or anything. It’s just biology. It’s simply the body’s reaction to his particular scent, his strength, health, and the way he’s been protecting me. That’s all. Yep. That’s all it is.
After I poke around the fridge that’s just as bare as ever, I finally stand and close it. He still hasn’t said anything, something that’s beginning to annoy me. I’ve read plenty of books where the hero’s all action, little talk, but this is ridiculous. Swinging around on my crutches, I see he hasn’t moved from his spot in front of the window unit. The evening sunlight pours through the panes above the appliance, giving him the appearance of a bronzed god.
I really need to stop watching Vikings.
Of course I also need to get my body under control. As in, I might need another shower since my panties are damp just from looking at him. He’s probably just doing this to be nice. Like he goes around rescuing damsels in distress because he has nothing else to do. Or maybe he has an ulterior motive, or he’s doing it for community service hours, or something.
“You don’t need to stay with me,” I say again, leaning back on the fridge.
Naturally, as is par for the course when it comes to communicating with Anders De Groot, he just stares at me without saying a word.
“Why?” I snap, glaring at him. “Why don’t you speak to me? I know you can talk; I’ve heard you, but you don’t talk to me. And when you do, it’s all grunts, or a maximum of two words. Yet you talk to everyone else! What’s up with that?”
He still doesn’t say anything. I can’t even understand why he’s here if he can’t talk to me. I’m not a big conversationalist or anything, but having someone stare at you as though they’ve never seen another person before, every single time they look at you, is unsettling. When you’re attracted to that person and they look at you that way, it’s infuriating.
Huffing
under my breath, I drop my gaze to the floor and start shuffling in the direction of the door. “You should go.”
“I can’t think when you look at me.”
The words are spoken so softly, I almost don’t hear them. Almost, but I do and I pause with my hand on the doorknob.
Anders clears his throat. “I can’t talk when you look at me,” he says hoarsely, like it’s a confession. “You look at me and my brain, my mouth, they just stop working.”
Why is my heart racing?
“Why?” I turn my head, but I don’t actually look at him because if what he says is true, then I won’t get an answer out of him. Instead, I stare at his reflection in the picture frame of me and Dad when I was six. My breath hitches. “Am I that revolting?” I ask with a little laugh, even though I don’t find it funny at all.
Anders moves forward, his reflection disappearing from view, but I know he’s only a few feet away from me by the way the floor creaks under his weight. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he tells me, voice vibrating with intensity and honesty. “You look at me with those big, brown eyes and I lose every ounce of intelligence I have and say stupid shit, or just don’t say anything at all.”
Forget my heart racing, the organ has sprouted wings and multiplied into the millions. My entire torso feels filled with butterflies fluttering around, bouncing off my ribs and spine. Anders talks about his brain not working and mine is working overtime. What does this mean exactly? He likes me? Wants to…
Stare at me?
I peek at him out the corner of my eye. He looks as nervous as I feel. The poor guy’s sweating bullets, his face is flushed like he just ran a marathon, and he’s shifting from foot to foot as though he’s trying to decide if he should make a break for it or not. Weirdly enough, his nervousness helps to settle mine. Just enough for me to breathe again.
“Lena,” he half-says, half-groans, running his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I like you a lot and I really want to get to know you, but I don’t know how because I turn into a tongue-tied idiot around you.” He huffs out a breath, dropping his hands, shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re right, maybe I should just go.”
My adrenaline spikes as he takes a step forward. I want to look right at him, but manage to fight the impulse. I feel like I’m about to take a leap off the Huey P. Long Bridge without a parachute, without a net, or anything else to stop my fall. But I like him too, what I know of him at least. And this new Lena wouldn’t let a guy like Anders, who says the sweetest things she’s ever heard, leave without figuring out a way to get to know him even better.
Spying the small dry erase board next to the door, I get an idea and hop over to it. “What’s your number?” I ask as I pick up the marker.
He hasn’t moved yet, thank god, but he does the foot shuffle thing again. “555-343-5403,” he recites in a gruff tone.
I write his number down although I have a pretty good memory and, since it’s the first boy’s number I’ve ever gotten, I’ll probably never forget it. And I’m not as dumbstruck as I was in class. This is probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, but it just feels right. For us. He claims he’s tongue tied around me and I don’t exactly have smooth moves either. Without looking at him, I head for my phone, which I’d left on my dresser. He lets out another sigh, this one much heavier than before.
“I’ll just…” he clears his throat and shifts his feet again. “Yeah, I’m just gonna head out.”
My hands shake as I snatch my phone off the dresser, nearly dropping it in my rush, but if I don’t do this now I’m pretty sure Anders will never talk to me again. Okay, never stare at me with that strange look of what I think may be longing on his face.
Lena: Is this better?
Looking up again, I watch his reflection, my heart hammering in my throat. Yup, my throat, and it keeps climbing and climbing…
His hand’s on the doorknob and he’s about to swing it open, walking out of here, away from me, when I hear his cell phone buzz with an alert. For a moment, I don’t think he’ll check it. In fact, he opens my door before he pauses.
His reflection glances back at me as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. He looks down and I know he’s reading my text. Anders doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to breathe for long enough that I wonder if the text he’s reading is actually from someone else.
Then he lets out a bark of laughter I feel all the way to my bones, the sound loud, a little rusty, yet so engaging, I spin around to stare at him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually smiling, but I do now and that’s the moment I become completely infatuated with the giant Viking who can’t look at me. His face almost glows with his humor and, even better, he seems startled by his own laughter, his expression making me giggle a little.
Our gazes lock and his laughter fades, but I can’t keep the huge smile off my face. This boy likes me. Me! If it weren’t for my achy ankle, I probably would’ve danced in place, needing some means of expressing the happiness and excitement bubbling inside me. Which just leaves me grinning like a madwoman. Like Becca.
Anders drops his gaze to his phone, his lips kicking up to the side as he half-smiles at it. “It isn’t that bad,” he mutters, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He still doesn’t look at me though, but that’s okay because the tips of his ears turn red as he does the foot shuffle thing again. He clears his throat. “Can I hang out a little longer?”
I strive for casualness, although anyone who knows me well would’ve recognized the slightly hysterical pitch to my voice as I say, “Sure, that’s cool. We can watch a movie, or something.”
Then I stop to stare at my apartment. I have three dining room chairs and a bed. You can’t really see the television from the table, which normally isn’t a problem when it’s me and the girls. We all just pile up on my bed to watch movies. And while I’m beyond thrilled Anders wants to hang out with me—he likes me!—I don’t think it’d be a good idea for us both to sit on the bed.
But once again, Anders either doesn’t see my dilemma, or it isn’t much of one for him because he points at the bed—staring somewhere over my head—and says, “Sit and elevate that foot. I’ll take the floor.”
That just seemed rude. “You can drag one of the chairs over.” Although they’re not very comfortable. “I can pile some blankets—”
“Lena, I’m good. Put that foot up,” he orders softly, gaze straying over my face after he finishes talking. His breath makes a whooshing sound as he releases it. Then Anders tilts his head in the direction of the bed. “Go.”
“Bossy,” I mutter good-naturedly as I hop toward my bed. “But don’t blame me when your backside hurts after sitting on the floor.”
“If it hurts, I’ll make you kiss it better.”
I freeze in mid-hop, my head pivoting to look back at the guy who, until this very moment, hasn’t been able to flirt with me, only to see his eyes wide with shock, his mouth gaping, and a blush overtaking his face.
Tilting my head to the side, I feel my lips tremble, a bubble of laughter working its way up my throat, but I don’t release it until I manage to choke out, “Did you…” I pause. The struggle to keep my laughter down is very real. “Did you just tell me to k-kiss your ass?”
Anders’ mouth opens and closes, but no sound emerges. I lose the fight, collapsing on my bed in a fit of hysterics. I don’t know what happens to my crutches. All I keep seeing is his expression of sheer horror. Tears stream down the sides of my face as I roll around, clutching my stomach. I don’t even know if my laughter is from this very moment, or if it’s a release of all the tension that’s been riding me since I moved out on my own, but I can’t stop laughing. And it feels good to let go, to just… enjoy myself.
“All right, Chuckles, it wasn’t that funny,” he mutters somewhere close, which manages to make me pry my eyes open.
Blinking away the tears, it takes a moment to focus, but even before that happens I see the very large outline of Anders�
�� standing next to my bed. When my vision clears completely, I almost wish I’d kept my eyes closed. With his hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts, he looks far too adorable for my well-being. I know, how is it possible a guy who has to be six-foot-eight and three hundred pounds easy to be cute? I couldn’t explain, except maybe it’s the sweetness in his blue eyes, the shyness of his smile, and the gentleness he’s shown me.
“It was very funny,” I say a little breathlessly. Yeah, my body suddenly goes on a there’s-a-cute-boy-standing-next-to-our-bed alert. The window unit is pumping out icy air but it may as well not even be on because I’m so hot, I think I might be sweating.
It’s just from laughing so hard. I haven’t done that in a long time.
He gives me a half-smile again, his blue eyes trailing over my face and down my body, making me very aware that I’m sprawled on my bed, my legs dangling over the edge, and he’s in a dominant position. Now, in every romance I’ve read this is when the hero would seduce the heroine. He’d tell her something about needing to teach her a lesson, or he wouldn’t say anything at all. He’d just smolder at her until she throws herself at him.
Anders doesn’t do either of those things. He simply says, “I love your laugh.”
There’s no way he’s real. No way in hell. What guy says sweet things like that, rescues a girl, and just basically makes her feel like a princess just because he can?
Our gazes connect before he looks away quickly, giving his head a small shake. “C’mon, scoot back,” he says, voice hoarse, as though he may have picked up the same vibes.
In a matter of seconds, I’m settled against the wall, a mound of pillows supporting my back and another two propped under my foot.
“You’re like Anders Nightingale,” I joke, as he snaps open a blanket over my bare legs, making me wonder if I was flashing him.
These shorts are a little shorter and baggier than the ones I usually wear. This time I’m the one blushing as I wonder if he caught a glimpse of my Wonder Woman panties.