The extra hours my mother had worked to scrape together a few extra dollars, every grant I’d applied for, and every student loan I had to one day pay back.
I’d worked too hard to waste my time here.
A complication like Christian Davison was something I definitely didn’t need.
But man, was he pretty.
The really irresponsible side of me thought it’d be worth the risk.
Something reckless and completely unlike me to add to the list of cherished college memories.
A fling with a boy who would so obviously make me forget myself.
One glimpse of his sure hands and strong body left no question that he would make me experience things I’d never experienced before.
A shiver traveled down my spine and pooled somewhere in my stomach.
Shaking myself out of it, I forced that dangerous train of thought aside.
I knew myself better than that. It wouldn’t be a cherished memory, but something that would eat at me for years.
I didn’t do flings.
I fell in love, and falling in love with someone like Christian was a mistake I couldn’t afford.
But if I could somehow put the unknown longing he created in me aside, I realized I liked him. I liked the way he seemed to get lost in thought, disappearing somewhere deeper beneath the façade I doubted few people ever penetrated. I could almost feel it, an undercurrent of vulnerability there beneath his perfect exterior.
Maybe that’s what he needed, someone to look past that gorgeous face and his arrogant smile. Maybe he needed a friend in this city as much as I did.
We’d see.
* * *
j
* * *
The rest of the week passed in a blur. Every time I stepped out my apartment door, I still found myself in awe, amazed by this city. As much time as I’d spent hoping for it—working for it—there was a part of me that never believed I’d make it.
Even though living here was a lifelong dream, it had taken some getting used to. The mass of people at every turn. The buildings that towered on every side.
There were times when I felt closed in, like the sky could crash down on me and I’d have nowhere to run. But for the most part, I loved it and reveled in this city that I had only known in pictures and movies.
When my last class of the week let out on Friday, I wound my way through the crowds toward my apartment. I’m sure I appeared a tourist, my head raised as I soaked up the details of every building and landmark.
My building was a drab block of gray brick, glued between two taller buildings on each side. I jogged up the stairs to the second floor. Turning the key in the lock, the door opened to my small studio apartment.
Well, small didn’t really describe it.
A twin bed was pushed lengthwise up against the far wall to the right, and a miniature kitchen lined the opposite wall to my left. Straight back was the only separate room—a bathroom so small I could fit it in my back pocket.
But I loved it.
It was mine, my own space, a reward for what I’d worked so hard to achieve.
Crossing the five steps to the other end of the room, I sighed in satisfaction and dropped my backpack to the bed, shrugged out of my jeans, and pulled on some black yoga pants.
If I had to spend my Friday night studying, I wanted to be comfortable.
Flopping onto my unmade bed, I dug out the books I needed from my bag.
Afternoon light filtered in through the window, wrapping the room in a cozy glow. I snuggled up and hunkered down. In order to stay in New York, I had to keep all my scholarships, so I couldn’t risk letting any of my grades slip.
I dove into my first class, reading through the materials that were due the next class period.
Late afternoon bled into evening, time passing quickly. The room had begun to darken, and I reached over to twist the switch to the small lamp that rested on the floor next to the bed.
The light bulb flickered on.
A dim light seeped up the back wall and illuminated my book. I figured I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I changed to my most dreaded subject—math. If there was one subject that would ruin me, math was it. I flipped to the correct chapter.
My mouth moved slowly as I struggled to absorb the instructions and somehow make sense of the numbers.
I looked to the ceiling and groaned.
Completely hopeless.
My phone rang from the front pocket of my backpack. It was a welcomed distraction.
Mom called me almost every evening, and I was anxious to hear her voice, for her to tell me she missed me as much as I missed her.
Unzipping the pocket, I rummaged around to pull the phone free and glanced at the screen.
But no, it wasn’t her.
I frowned as I stared at the number lit up on the screen. It was a number I really hadn’t anticipated seeing tonight.
Actually, I was kind of shocked.
It didn’t mean his face hadn’t fluttered in and out of my consciousness over the past week or that I had forgotten that smile. It just meant when I made the offer, I never really believed he’d take me up on it.
A flicker of excitement sparked in my stomach. I chalked it up to being lonely.
Accepting the call, I placed it against my ear.
“Hello?” I realized I was smiling. No doubt, he could blatantly hear it coloring my voice.
Ridiculous.
“Hey, Elizabeth, it’s Christian.” His voice was easy, filled with the same confidence he’d approached me with at the beginning of the week. This time it didn’t throw me. I expected it. Welcomed it, even.
“Hi, Christian. What are you up to?”
“I just got out of my last class for the day. Wanted to find out where you’re studying.”
“Um . . .” I glanced around my tiny apartment that I could only imagine was smaller than Christian’s closet.
I tried to picture him here.
Ridiculous.
“I’m actually studying at my place.” I bit at my lip, and I couldn’t help but tease, “What, no hot date for the evening?”
His voice dropped low, hinting at humor and something else I didn’t want to recognize. “What, you didn’t believe me when I said I was going to spend the evening studying with you? You’re going to learn to trust me, you know.”
I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so.” A current of suggestion slipped through his voice. This guy had to be the most dangerous predator walking the streets of New York City.
So why did I seem to like him so much?
I rattled off my address, then told him, “All right then. I’ll be waiting.”
Ending the call, I hopped off my small bed and ran around to pick up the dirty clothes I’d left in random piles around the room.
It wasn’t like the studio was dirty—it was just cluttered.
My arms were full of clothes when there was a tap at my door.
I tossed them into the hamper next to my bed before rushing over to unlatch it.
And just like he promised to be, Christian, in all his perfect glory, stood at my door.
Oh God.
Men should not be that pretty.
And of course, he had to unleash that smile on me. “Hey, Elizabeth.”
Again, with the stomach flip.
He shouldered his way into my apartment before I had time to step out of his way. He huffed out a weighted breath as he turned a slow circle to take in my apartment, a casual smile on his face when he turned back to me. “You don’t know how happy I am it’s Friday. How about you?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m ready for a little down time,” I admitted, closing the door behind us, stopping to admire him standing in the middle of my room.
He didn’t look so out of place, after all.
“I think I’m finally getting a handle on my schedule and routine.” I sidestepped around him and crossed the room, moved some papers arou
nd to make a place for him to sit down on my bed/couch. “I was pretty overwhelmed last week, but I’m getting used to it. Finding my way around the city isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”
I grinned and gestured to the spot I’d cleared. “Make yourself at home. I don’t exactly have a lot of space.”
He looked around again. “Yeah . . . I kind of noticed that.”
Without any hesitation, Christian plopped down on my bed like he belonged there. Shrugging his backpack from his shoulders, he scooted back to rest against the wall, his long body sprawled across the width of the bed with his feet hanging over the edge.
Dull light glinted off the playful blue eyes looking back at me after they made a pass over my bed. “But I think we could make it work.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you wish.”
Christian just laughed.
“And don’t go knocking my apartment,” I said as I curled back onto my spot on the bed. I grabbed my textbook and pulled it onto my lap. “This place is perfect for me, don’t you think?”
He shook his head as if he didn’t understand me at all. A mild chuckle rumbled in his chest.
We both knew there was no denying my place was kind of a dump.
He sobered, his words not quite matching the confused expression on his face. “You really like it here?”
It wasn’t mocking, just an honest question as he searched my face for the truth.
“You don’t work so hard for something and not appreciate it, even if it isn’t the nicest place in the world.”
His smile was soft. “Well, I guess it’s perfect, then, Elizabeth.”
His expression shifted into something I couldn’t quite grasp, something that worked to unravel all the reservations I held twisted inside of me. The smile slipped from his mouth, his head angled as his gaze seemed to swallow me whole.
I could almost taste him, the heavy breaths he panted filling the air, diminishing the space between us.
He was a walking contradiction, flipping from this joking, easygoing guy who seemed to understand this was a study session, to this extreme intensity that threatened to set my skin on fire.
I wondered if anyone else noticed it. Wondered if they could see what simmered and churned in the blue of his eyes.
Something real and genuine and consuming. Something that left me more unnerved than I’d ever been in my life.
I struggled to curb my reaction to him, fought the part of me that liked it.
Craved it.
The part of me that wished he’d give in and succumb to what I saw so vividly playing out in his eyes.
But that would be a very bad idea.
No way could I allow him to set me off kilter in my own home. I couldn’t allow him to detract from the reason I was here or the decision I’d made on Monday.
If Christian wanted to hang out, if he wanted a friend, that was cool. I could handle that.
The truth was, I wanted him here.
But anything beyond a friendship wasn’t going to happen.
I just wasn’t really sure Christian understood the difference.
When I tore my eyes from his penetrating gaze, he dug into his backpack and pulled out its content. His casual indifference made a reappearance. “So what are we working on tonight?”
I held up my Calculus I book. “Well, I was working on my calculus assignment. Math isn’t exactly my strong point.”
This time when Christian laughed, it was all throaty and warm, comforting. “Well, you are in luck, Elizabeth, because it’s mine. Now if you can help me pass our American Government class, I think we’re going to be a pretty good team.”
His head tilted as he raised a brow at me. Those blue eyes were both earnest and playful as they traveled my face.
I fought back the blush that crept to my cheeks, the way those words sounded rolling off his tongue, the way he looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.
I was going to have to get used to it if I was going to be around him.
“I think I can handle that,” I said.
We settled into an easy rhythm, both of us absorbed in our work. Every once in a while, Christian would lift his head, smile in my direction, as if he needed that small connection.
I’d smile back, welcoming the calm that slipped over my skin.
It was a warmth I knew I could easily get used to.
Yeah, I really liked him here.
With that thought, I closed my calculus book with a loud smack. “Are you hungry? I don’t think my brain can process any more numbers tonight.”
I hopped off the bed and headed to the kitchen.
“Starving, actually. You ready to take me up on the offer for dinner I made Monday?”
Cocky Christian was back, his movements fluid as he slinked up behind me while I bent down to rummage through the small selection of food I had in the kitchen.
I could feel his presence behind me, larger than it should be, filling up the entire room.
“Um, no.” I glanced over my shoulder at him, unable to hold in the smile. This Christian was just so over the top, but I found he was a whole lot easier for me to handle when he acted this way.
Maybe because it wasn’t real. “I think I made that plenty clear then, didn’t I?”
“A guy can try, can’t he?” He was all tease, moving over to lean back against the one foot of counter space I had in my kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest.
“If he wants to hang out with me, then no, he can’t.” I nudged him aside.
He laughed, this melodic sound that bounced off my walls and rumbled against my chest.
I filled a saucepan with water and lit the old stovetop with a match. A ring of flames sprang to life. I set the pan over them, pulled out two packets of noodles, ripped them open, and dumped them in. The directions said to let the water boil first, but when it came to food, I was never that patient.
Christian looked horror stricken as he watched the lump of hard noodles soften and separate as the water began to boil. “What are you making?”
“It’s ramen. You know, what every poor college student in the country eats?”
Clueless, he shook his head.
Um . . . yeah . . . we were from two very different worlds.
“Are you serious? You’ve never had ramen before?” Disbelief colored my tone.
Shaking his head again, he grabbed a fork from the counter. He jabbed at the noodles that roiled in the boiling water as if they were alive, as if he were ready to protect himself if they lashed out to bite him.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Not disgusting. Delicious. Obviously, you have no idea what you’ve been missing. Just wait . . . you’re in for a treat tonight.”
His expression assured me I’d lost my mind. “Whatever you say.”
A couple minutes later, I ripped open the foil seasoning packets and mixed them in, and then poured the soup into two bowls.
Shuffling around in the drawer, I dug out two spoons and two forks and dropped them into the bowls.
I handed him one. “You’re going to love it.”
I turned around, stopping just short of the bed. I slid my back down the wall as I balanced the steaming bowl in my hands.
Settling onto the ground, I stretched my legs out in front of me.
There was no resisting the smile that broke out on my face when I looked up at Christian.
Clearly, standing there, he didn’t quite know what to do.
I liked that he could be kind of awkward. That overbearing confidence stripped away.
“Sit,” I said.
He finally gave and moved toward me, settling on the ground beside me and mimicking my position.
His eyes were intent as he watched me twirl some noodles onto my fork, as if he were eager to learn something new.
I tried not to pay attention to how close his face was to mine. How his body felt warn and safe where he sat so close to me.
I blew the lump of
pasta before I brought it to my mouth.
From the side, he studied me as is chewed the noodles as if he were learning some secret meaning of life.
Warily, he copied me and tentatively brought a heaping bite to his mouth.
“Oh . . . God . . . that’s hot . . . and so good.” He went in for a second bite, making these little appreciative noises that expanded my chest.
“See.” This time I nudged his foot with mine. “You’re going to learn to trust me.”
Blue eyes gleamed back at me, his shoulder brushing against mine. “Is that so?”
“That’s so.” I couldn’t help but smirk.
We sat like that on the floor, backs against the wall, our feet stretched out in front of us, eating dinner together.
Comfortable.
Relaxed.
And it felt . . . good.
I realized how thankful I was that he was there. He’d turned what would have been another solitary night into something I was truly enjoying.
Christian released a contented groan and placed his empty bowl on the floor beside him. “Thank you for dinner, Liz.”
I rolled my head his direction and murmured, “I’m glad you liked it.”
He just nodded, turned back to face forward, and seemed to vanish somewhere inside his head.
Dense silence filled the room.
And I just waited.
Somehow, I knew he needed this. He needed someone who didn’t want anything from him. He needed someone who would just listen to him, talk to him, someone who didn’t mind sitting beside him without saying a word.
“What’s your family like?” Christian barely whispered, breaking through the silence that had taken hold.
His feet rocked back and forth in a slow sway as he tugged at the hem of his shirt.
I could feel the nerves ripple across his skin.
As if he were wondering if he could trust me with the question.
Or maybe he was questioning himself for asking it in the first place.
He tilted his head to look back at me. He was wearing the same expression that had rocked my foundation earlier.
Genuine and real and open.
It stole my breath.
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