Tryst Page 9

  I shake my head again. “Josh, I don’t need a party.”

  “I think you do.” His sharp tone catches me off guard.

  “What? Why?”

  “You study all the time and you’re working between classes. You deserve a good time. I owe you that—especially with you pulling through for me this weekend.”

  “You are NOT throwing me a party because I provided you a girl to sleep with. She’s my friend, you know?”

  His wolfish grin is what pisses me off. “A little bit of fun never hurt anyone.”

  I lick my lips, recalling a forbidden memory, and quip, “I’ll remember that.”

  Boy, will I ever.

  He folds his arms over his chest. “Are you going to let me throw you a party, or not?”

  I collapse back into my bed. “Will it make you happy if I do?”

  “Ecstatic.”

  “Then fine. Throw me a party.”

  “You won’t regret it, Skye. I want to see you happy. I’d like to see you smile a bit more.”

  “I smile,” I retort a little too quietly.

  “Not like you used to. If I ever see that asshole again, I’ll . . .” His trailed-off sentence stings, and the fact that Jason was at his doorstep less than twelve hours ago scares the shit out of me.

  I try not to think about it, and know that in the end, I want my brother happy, too.

  “I’m looking forward to the party” I try to say convincingly.

  His grin is worth it. “Good. It’ll be a blast. Now do me a favor and let Blake know what you want served and whom you want invited. He’s better at planning parties than me. It’s kind of his thing.”

  I protest, unsure of which frustrating feeling to tackle at the mention of his name, but my brother cuts me off.

  “No buts. He’s an asshole, but he means well.”

  I let my face scrunch in pain at hearing his words.

  “My logical mind rejects the statement. Now off to work with you. I’ll deal with Blake in my own time.”

  The idea of attempting to plan my birthday party with the man who uses his dashing good looks and wonderful pouty lips to manipulate both irks and excites me. I try not to press my thighs together in the presence of my brother. I want to turn green at the thought.

  As if on cue, I can hear a clattering of dishes in the kitchen.

  Speak of the devil.

  It isn’t until I hear the front door shut that I decide to leap out of bed and tackle the situation head- on.

  Or maybe I just want to see Blake. I can’t decide.

  I look in the mirror and wish my eyes weren’t so puffy. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I cried a few times during my sleepless night. I may have even wished that I could climb into someone’s bed to be held and he could let me cry again, and wait until my body-wracking sobs subsided before I returned to my bed.

  I brush my fingers through my hair and rub at my eyes one more time, thinking that this is as good as I’m going to get. I’m not in the mood to impress anyone, no matter how good-looking he is.

  As I rush downstairs to see Blake’s sculpted back rippling with every graceful movement, I regret my last thought. Instinctually, I try rubbing at my puffy eyes again. I will never be as pretty as the girls he’s interested in. The exotic name Marguerite springs to my mind and I want to barf.

  He doesn’t turn around. “Good morning, roomie.”

  His carefree tone feels reassuring. I shrug while he isn’t looking.

  “Morning,” I reply.

  When he turns around and makes eye contact with me, his expression switches to one of concern as he rushes to my side, cupping my jaw, forcing me to look up at him.

  Huh?

  I gasp. His crisp musk hits my senses, the heat radiating off his bare chest is overwhelming, and I can’t figure out what is going on.

  “Skyler, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  I feel a tremor run through my body as if I’m bracing myself for more tears, but I heave in a deep breath, not wanting to give in. I’ve cried enough, dammit.

  His thumb rubs over my puffy cheek. “Are you still upset about last night? We can talk about it.”

  Even though his tone is welcoming, caring even, I don’t want to talk about it. It hurts too much. I hate Jason. I hate just thinking about it, and I hate being this way in front of Blake.

  “I’m not some wilting flower, Blake.” My brusque tone catches me off guard as I try my damnedest to harden my look.

  His thumb halts its strokes, and as much as I want Blake’s touch, I have to get a grip.

  I know he can see me battling my emotions as his intense emerald stare darts over my face, searching for an answer.

  I step out of his grasp. I can hear his regretful sigh as I head to the fridge.

  “I don’t think of you as a wilting flower. I just want to make sure you’re fine. I thought about it last night, and I know it must have been tough to see your ex.”

  My chest tenses, and I pretend to look for something in the fridge, unable to look at him. He would see right through me.

  “It was, but I’m fine now. And since we’re talking about it, I’d prefer you didn’t mention it to my brother.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  I exhale. I wasn’t aware I was holding my breath, but it’s a relief to hear Blake’s answer.

  When I turn to my right, I see that Blake has closed the distance between us. I want to ask why he wouldn’t tell Josh about our unexpected visitor, but I’m not sure I want to hear that answer, so I keep it simple.

  I notice Blake rubbing his fingertips together as he stands next to me, watching my every move, and I get the sinking feeling that he’s aching to touch me again.

  “Thank you.”

  He nods and we stand there, staring at each other for a long minute, and I don’t know what’s going on. My skin tingles with a familiar pull as I let my eyes drop to his bare chest, and I wish the man would wear a damn shirt in my presence. I need to distance myself. His close proximity makes my mind fuzzy, and I think his apology for kissing me should come next, but I don’t want to mention it, knowing there’s no way to predict his actions.

  I grab for the milk, unsure if I even want a glass, but I need something to do other than bear his gaze. I pour myself a glass. “My brother says you’re in charge of planning my birthday party.”

  His shoulders slump as he relaxes. This seems to be a more palpable topic. He scratches at his naked abdomen, and I watch his fingertips graze his chiseled stomach.

  “Skyler, my eyes are up here.”

  I practically choke on my glass of milk. Yet I smile, knowing that the Blake I’m used to is always right below the surface. At least that I can always count on.

  He chuckles. “I am a party connoisseur.”

  “I was going to tell you that I really don’t need a party.”

  His brows shoot up. “I’m under strict orders to throw you an amazing party.”

  “And you always listen to what my brother tells you?”

  His smile grows, revealing that singular dimple, causing everything below my waist to clench. I regret mentioning it. “Forget I said that. Party sounds fine.”

  I finish off my glass of milk, ignoring his persistent stare. I wish I knew what he was thinking, or maybe I don’t.

  “I think I’m going to head back to bed.”

  “What about school?”

  I place my cup in the sink. “Not today.”

  “Do you work today?”

  I face him. “Not today,” I repeat as I lean against the counter.

  “What’s your plan for today?” he persists.

  “You heard it. I’m going back to bed.”

  Yeah, right now, that plan sounds best. Safe, even.

  “Wanna hang out?” His boyish shrug already has me wanting to smile again, but his words throw me off.

  “Um . . . no.”

  He takes a deliberate step toward me, and I take a step b
ack.

  “C’mon?” he pleads.

  I rub at my temples. “I think it’s best we don’t. Don’t you ever work?”

  He leans against the counter next to me. If he gets any closer, I might run for it.

  “First of all, I do work.” He speaks matter-of-factly as he locks his stare with mine, and I try my hardest not to examine how his lips wrap around each word. “Secondly, I think you should go upstairs and change into your running shoes, come jogging with me, and then we can come back here and finish our chick flick. How about that?” Catching me off guard, he taps his index finger on the tip of my nose.

  This time I can’t hold back my smile.

  I raise a quizzical brow. “Chick flick, huh? Are you sure you aren’t gay?”

  Like an experienced predator, he leans closer, willing to accept the challenge as his humid breath skims over my lips. “I could show you I’m not.”

  I make the mistake of inhaling his scent, but it becomes more like a warning as my blood flames within my veins, churning thickly with every rapid beat of my heart.

  I take another step back. “This is what I’m talking about. You don’t listen.”

  “I’ve never been much of a rule follower, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. Go get dressed. We start our jog in ten.”

  “Blake, I—”

  “Stop stalling. You don’t have to be afraid of me. You’ll be safe—for now. This is me being your friend. You need to get out of the house.”

  He doesn’t let me argue further as he returns to his room. I pray for my sanity that he clothes himself, because the last thing I need is the image of Blake’s naked torso dripping in sweat.

  ***

  When I make it downstairs, I’m thankful to see Blake wearing a shirt, albeit a formfitting one.

  He flashes me a confident grin as he waits by the front door.

  “C’mon, Skyler.”

  “I’m coming!”

  “I wanna see what you’re made of.”

  “I play soccer. I’d like to see you keep up.”

  He scoffs. “Try me.”

  As I make it to the living room, I ask, “I’m surprised you aren’t forcing me to go to class.”

  He grins wolfishly. “I’m not much of an academic. I dropped out of UCLA after the first year. Rules, boundaries, schedules have never been my thing.”

  What is your thing? I wonder. I tilt my head to the side, finding his response unexpected, and officially confirm that he’s a bad influence.

  “UCLA? What did you major in?”

  His smile falters slightly. “Psychology, briefly. Enough of the questions. Let’s go. Fresh air will do you good.”

  He grabs for my hand, pulling me out the front door.

  I flash him a grin, but when the sunshine hits my face, I freeze. With my hand still in his, he bungees back toward me. I didn’t realize I would have this plummeting feeling entering the outside world. Forgetting for a brief moment that Blake is standing there, squeezing his hand for an unexpected need of moral support, my eyes dart around the street.

  Could he still be here, lurking? Would Jason do something like that?

  My heartbeat accelerates, even before the jog has started. I am getting a cardio workout from fear.

  “Skye!”

  How many times has he called my name?

  I look at Blake, who has somehow appeared in front of me, our bodies almost touching. He lets go of my hand, only to rub at my arms, shaking me from my trance.

  “It’s going to be okay. I’ll protect you. I promise I will never let anything happen to you.”

  His tender tone grabs my full attention.

  “Skyler? Did you hear me?” he asks.

  I manage a nod, and surprising me further, he presses his lips to my forehead.

  “You’re a strong, determined woman, remember? Now be that smart-ass I know you are, and just try and beat me.”

  My brows furrow in confusion, and just like that, I watch him spring from the porch to begin his jog.

  “C’mon, Skyler!” he shouts. Before I know it, he is already halfway down the road.

  Two things compel me to move. First, the fear of being alone. I don’t want to be alone here. Second, the aching need to beat Blake in any way.

  Chapter 13

  When I reach the lawn near UCLA’s athletic field, I stop at the edge of the grass and heave in a deep breath, tightening my high ponytail. I take the bottom of my tank and tie it in a knot at the top of my stomach, trying to relieve my body of the building heat, not only from the sunshine overhead, but also from my long jog.

  Even between breaths, I cannot help my triumphant grin as I see Blake run up to me two minutes later. When he makes it to the lawn, he rolls his eyes before walking the short distance to the water fountain next to me.

  I’m hoping for some compliment or congratulations, but I know better.

  As he leans over the fountain, I take a moment to admire his shirt, wet with sweat, sticking to his Greek form.

  I bite my bottom lip, enjoying my mini-win.

  “Are you even going to say anything to me?” I ask.

  After splashing his face with water, he stands, and that wry curve to his lips ignites a physical reaction low in my belly. My knees go wobbly, and I try to play it off as if it’s from my run.

  As he gets closer, I feel the need to take a step back.

  “What do you want, Skye?”

  “I want you,” I stutter, realizing that is exactly what I want, but complete the sentence anyways, “to acknowledge that I beat you fair and square. I could run circles around you.”

  I jab my finger into his chest, making contact with a wall of muscle. The small poke does nothing to waver his stance, and with his closeness, I find that even his sweat smells sweet. I have to take in a deep breath. He has me in a trance, and I almost wish he would kiss me. I worry that he knows it too as I watch his mouth stretch wider. It’s a flirtatious moment, and he surprises me by lifting his hands up and playfully shoving my shoulders. The move is so sudden that I stumble back, and my heel catches on the edge of the lawn, causing me to fall back onto the grass entirely. I shriek as I make surprisingly gentle contact with the thick green. When I open my eyes, Blake looms over me, laughing.

  “Congratulations, you beat me, but you’re right, I could use a rest.”

  “I didn’t say I needed a rest!”

  He chuckles as he lays his sticky body next to mine in the grass, closing his eyes. “Your actions say differently.”

  I lean up on my elbows to get a better look at him. When his eyes open—revealing their mesmerizing, glittering color under the Southern Californian sunshine—they render me speechless.

  “How do you feel, Skyler? Better?”

  I collapse back onto the grass.

  He turns over on his side, putting his body even closer to mine as he looks down at me.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Sometimes I think I understand you, and then I don’t think I get you at all. In the end, everything always feels like you are trying to steer my emotions, or whatever.”

  “For someone who wants to be a doctor, you’re not very eloquent with your diagnosis of the situation.”

  “Why make me run? Why hang out with me?”

  “I think you need someone to be there for you.”

  “So I’m your charity case now? I have friends, ya know.”

  He shakes his head and looks up to the sky for some sort of, I don’t know, guidance, before speaking. “I know I tend to cross the line a lot, but is it so wrong for me to care?”

  I turn on my side, leaning my head on my palm, leveling my stare with his. “How can you care about someone you barely know?”

  “Regardless of the short period of time, don’t you think I know you pretty well? I think I know you better than you assume. In a way, we are kind of similar.”

  “Hi, Blake.” The high-pitched chirp distracts both of us. A pretty brunette in a short skirt walks pa
st us, waving sweetly to him, and she is quick to wink before walking off to her class.

  I point at the disappearing girl, and then jab him in his chest again. “We are in no way similar.”

  His grin reminds me of my brother’s, and I realize why they are such good friends.

  “I think we are. You just don’t know it yet.”

  I point again in the direction of the girl. “There’s no way. You are a commitment-phobe!”

  “So are you!” He pokes me back in my shoulder.

  I laugh, knowing I can’t disagree.

  “Hey, Blake!” a higher-pitched voice escapes the lips of an even prettier girl, this time a redhead, walking in the opposite direction.

  I watch Blake wave, but he brings his full attention back to me.

  “You are unbelievable. Is there a girl on this campus you haven’t slept with?”

  “I think you’re just jealous.”

  I scoff. “Jealous!”

  He laughs. “I meant, I think you just need to get out more. You hide behind your textbooks and cappuccinos.”

  I sigh, falling against the grass. As I shrug, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “I should give Richard a chance.” His silence is what has me turning to look at him again. “What?”

  “Pre-med Dick? I hate that guy.”

  I let my eyes sink closed, absorbing the warmth from the sunshine, finally feeling a sense of relief from the run.

  “Well if it makes you feel better, it seems the sentiment is mutual.”

  “Why don’t you just date him, then?”

  His question throws me. It almost sounds like a dare, but I ignore it. “I already told you. I’m not looking for anything serious, but talking to you makes me feel like I should.”

  “Then I’m doing a poor job.”

  His fingers glide over my stomach before he wiggles them over my skin, causing me to squeal with laughter, which doesn’t allow me to ask what the hell he means. I grab for his wrists, but he overpowers me and continues to tickle me. I can’t stop giggling, and his fingers leave burning tingles over my bare stomach.

  “S-stop, B-B-Blake! S-stop!”

  His laughter combined with mine has us both grinning, getting too comfortable with one another as I keep trying to grab for his hands.