Boyfriend Bargain Page 14

  “I’ve seen some chests, and yours is not the most incredible.”

  “And you’ll faint like those ladies in the Jane Austen books—”

  “How do you know what ladies do in Jane Austen books?”

  He sighs. “I know my books.”

  I smirk. “Quote me something from one of your books.”

  He clears his throat. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. That’s Mr. Darcy speaking to Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “You probably saw it on a coffee mug,” I say, but he has my attention. I happen to adore Mr. Darcy.

  He huffs. “My mom used to read the classics aloud to me and my brother. She was a high school English teacher.”

  I sniff. “Well, fine, you know Jane Austen. Do you know anything else?”

  He pauses, and I picture him thinking—

  “Are you Googling stuff?” I ask.

  “No. I’m racking my brain to come up with some kind of quote, but Jane isn’t my favorite. I know a poem by Robert Frost.”

  “The one from class?”

  He huffs out a laugh and quotes.

  “Nature’s first green is gold,

  Her hardest hue to hold.

  Her early leaf’s a flower;

  But only so an hour.

  Then leaf subsides to leaf.

  So Eden sank to grief,

  So dawn goes down to day.

  Nothing gold can stay.”

  His words are wistful as he recites the poem, and it strikes a chord.

  “My mom used to say that last line to me a lot, especially when I was upset or working through something. She died when I was seventeen, right before I came to HU.”

  I bite my lip. “My mom passed when I was eleven.”

  A long, long sigh comes from him. “Mine had breast cancer. She and my dad hid how bad it was from us for a long time, but it got her.” I hear a rustling noise as if he’s really getting comfortable. “She gave me a necklace with the last line from the poem on it before she died. She said it was a reminder that life isn’t always gold, but that green does eventually come back around. It’s the way of the universe.”

  “It’s beautiful that you have that.” I swallow.

  “How about you? What happened?”

  My heart is heavy, even though it’s been years. “I came home from school and she was dead. Seizure, they said. She was epileptic and wasn’t great about taking her meds. She…she was all I had. My father had completely broken up with her by the time that happened. Plus, he already had a wife and kids. I was the love child he never wanted.”

  There’s silence for a while.

  “Are you still there?” I say.

  “Yeah. Just thinking about you being alone…it must have been hard coming here, your dad not being around and all.”

  I sigh. “Yeah.”

  “Can I come in, Sugar? I just want to hold you. I was an asshole.”

  “Honestly, I like talking to you like this. It’s easier.” With a door between us, there’s no risk of me having sex with him. “Tell me about your cat. What’s her name?”

  “She’s not my cat. Her name is Long John Silver.”

  I smile. “Who named her?”

  He snorts. “You’ve been talking to Eric. Okay, okay, the cat is mine. I dig the cat. She curls up next to me when I sleep, and honestly it makes me feel calm, and I need a little of that during hockey season.”

  I grin and a few more moments pass of us just breathing.

  “Let me in, Sugar. I need…I need to see you. Just let me give you a hug and I’ll leave.”

  Another voice interrupts us and I recognize it as the girl from across the hall, a stocky rodeo chick. Whenever I see her approaching in the hall, I always give her a wide berth. “Oh, for God’s sake, open the damn door already, or I’m calling security! A person needs their sleep in this dump!”

  Z huffs out a chuckle, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  Fine.

  I crack open the door and there he is.

  He’s standing up now and he leans against my doorjamb, wearing black running gear from head to toe. There’s a serious expression on his face, and his hair is wild and flying everywhere as if it has static in it. Static hair is such a regular human thing and it’s nice to see, because honestly I was beginning to think of him as very non-human with that face and body.

  “You look like a burglar who stuck his finger in a light socket,” I murmur.

  He shoves a black knit hat down on his head. “You should have seen me when I had this on—cat burglar extraordinaire. I had to slip in through the side door because the girl at the front desk told me visiting hours were over for this floor.”

  “Alas, I got housing so late, I have sucky hours. They call this dorm The Virgin Vault.”

  His brows go up. “You trying out being a nun?”

  I give him a look. “We just had sex in a garage—does that sound nunnish to you? And yes, I know that’s not a real word.”

  He grins. “Let me in?”

  “CHRIST, LET HIM IN!” comes from the door across the hall.

  “You should definitely listen to her.”

  “You’ve worn me down at this point, plus I’ve had a drink, so I’m willing to hear your apology,” I say.

  I step to the side so he can brush past me. Of course my gaze follows his physique. Mr. Black Spandex is hot and every muscle in his backside ripples. I sigh—I can’t help it. He turns around and catches me checking him out. Moving with a swift athletic grace, he sweeps me up in his arms and hugs me, his voice gruff when he speaks. “See, hugging is good.”

  I slide down him, my body pressed tight against his.

  He frowns, looking down at my shirt. There’s a white logo on the front of a girl sliding down a pole. “You’re a stripper?”

  I stiffen. I’ve learned that some people get weird when they find out where I work. I once had a professor who discovered it and pulled me aside after class one day and got a little too close when he asked what nights I worked. Just no. I was glad when that class ended. “Would it bother you if I were?”

  “Fuck yeah. I don’t want anyone looking at you like that.”

  I cross my arms. “As it happens, I don’t strip, but if I did, it would be fine. Mara owns BB’s and I mostly do office work and sometimes tend bar.”

  His lips compress.

  “What?” I ask.

  He rubs his face. “Just…I don’t know. It’s not a safe place to work, even if you’re not…”

  “It is. Mara runs a tight ship. We have bouncers and our place is clean. Plus, some of the girls are like family to me.”

  His chest rises.

  “Z, you have no right to judge where I work. Don’t even try.”

  “I know, I know. Just…maybe I should come check it out.”

  “I can handle myself. You have no clue how I grew up, okay? Hockey in the suburbs is your normal, and hanging out at a strip club is mine. It doesn’t mean I have questionable morals. In fact, Bennett was my first.”

  He frowns and holds a hand up. “Okay, just stop and let me back up. I know you’re not a bad person. I’m just…surprised.”

  “I didn’t grow up rich.”

  His face softens. “And I like you the way you are. I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

  “Good.”

  “Nice place,” he says as he walks toward what is obviously my side of the room since the TV is on. He takes in my white duvet and fluffy pillows.

  “It’s not, but it’s all that was left. I was supposed to move in with Bennett this semester.” I move to the desk where the bottle of vodka sits. “You want a drink or a donut?”

  He surveys the room, taking in my books before his eyes land on the vase of flowers. “Nah.” He picks at one of the blooms. “An admirer?”

  I detect a steely glint in his eyes.

  “My ex. They were here when I came home tonight.”

  His nose flares. “I see.”

&nb
sp; “He leaves gifts for me, trying to get me to talk to him.”

  His shoulders stiffen. “Are you still in love with him?”

  “He cheated on me. He lied.”

  He stares at me. “That doesn’t mean you don’t still love him.”

  I pause, thinking.

  There are residual feelings of loneliness, especially hurt, but he tossed me aside to be with someone else on a whim, and that…that I can never get over no matter how many flowers he sends me.

  “I don’t love him.”

  “Good.”

  An easy silence fills the room, as if the tension has dissipated, and his gaze washes over me. I tug at the tank I’m wearing, but really what’s the point? I’m braless and he knows what I look like.

  “I have to say, it’s a nice look for you,” he murmurs. “Now we just need a stripper pole in here…”

  I roll my eyes, go to my closet, pull out an HU fleece jacket, and jab my arms into it while he looks around the room.

  I watch him warily as he paces around my space, taking in the bookshelves bolted to the wall and the attached desk where I have my laptop. He stops a few feet from my bed and takes in the collage of Post-it notes I’ve stuck up above it. They’re all done in hot pink and neon yellow and it’s quite garish, but I get a buzz when I read them.

  He leans in over my bed. “Modern art?”

  I snort. “More like modern shit.”

  He plucks one of the squares of paper and stares down at it.

  I shuffle my feet and take a seat on the chair next to the TV. I want to keep as much distance between him and me as I can, and I tug at the edges of my soft jacket, not quite meeting his gaze. “Those are my way of dealing with Bennett. We broke up in December, and coupled with the holidays, it was rough.”

  His gaze goes to the daisies in the corner. “Bennett Walsh, lead singer of the Orange Bird band, generally a popular guy and might well be on his way to a big-time music career? Am I right?”

  My mouth pops open. “You asked around about me?”

  He shrugs. “After he was thrown in my face, I had to go look him up.”

  I chuckle. “You can’t keep up with my stalking skills, Z.”

  He looks down at the Post-it, his gaze thoughtful, and I say, “Go on, read it. It made me feel good to write those.”

  He clears his throat. “Dear Future Boyfriend.” He pauses. “Is this to anyone in particular?”

  “No.”

  He nods, continuing. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for not taking mirror selfies of your hot bod and posting them on social media. Also thank you for not sending me the poop emoji when you text me.” He throws his head back and laughs. “He did these things?”

  “The man has no boundaries.”

  With an intrigued expression on his face, he plucks down another one. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for not calling me babe.” His eyes widen. “Shit, you really, really do have a thing about that.”

  “Indeed.” I take a sip of my drink.

  He snatches another one, glee on his face.

  “Those are really personal, you know. It’s kind of a big deal to let you see them.”

  “How else will I get to know my new girlfriend?”

  “Fake girlfriend, and are we still together?”

  “Miss Ryan, hell yes we are still together. Tonight was just a bump in the road.”

  I blush. Okaaay.

  He clears his throat. “Dear Future Boyfriend, You singing “I Want It That Way” to me last night at the karaoke bar was the highlight of my week. I promise you a blowjob later.” He bends over, laughing.

  “What?” I say indignantly.

  He grabs his stomach. “The Backstreet Boys? For real?”

  I snatch the note out of his fingers. “That song is iconic. It’s got depth and love and angst and—”

  “’Ain't nothin’ but a heartache,” he sings out with a hand over his heart.

  “You’re mocking me, and your voice is shit.”

  “You’re cute when you get mad.” He takes down another. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for binge-watching The Office with me and agreeing that Jim Halpert is the second sexiest man alive next to you.” He laughs and looks up at me.

  I shrug. “All my secrets are revealed.”

  “This is addicting,” he murmurs as he takes another one.

  “You don’t have to read them all. There are so many.”

  “But I like it. It’s like putting a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle together slowly. You’re a complicated person, Sugar.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Last one,” he says, looking down at the note. “Dear Future Boyfriend, Thank you for forgetting about the Super Bowl and taking a bubble bath with me instead.” He fingers the paper slowly, rubbing it softly, and his eyes are warm when they meet mine. “We can definitely do this one. I’m not a football fan—”

  I stand up to pour another drink. He’s making me nervous. “The Super Bowl already happened.” I indicate the box of donuts on the desk. “If you don’t want a drink, how about a donut?” Food fixes everything.

  “I’m not here for a donut.”

  He levels his gaze at me.

  The tension ratchets up in the room, and I clear my throat and make my way over to the Post-its. I grab one and thrust it toward him. “Read this one.”

  “Dear Future Boyfriend, I love that you didn’t freak out when you found my secret wedding board on Pinterest.” A slow grin curls his lips. “Trying to scare me?”

  I blink up at him, fluttering my lashes, deepening my Southern accent. “Well, I declare, isn’t that what every girl dreams of, a big wedding outside in a garden with her big, strong, hockey-playing college sweetheart?”

  He bites his lower lip. “Keep talking like that and you might be able to talk me into a pretend wedding.”

  I place my hand over my heart. “Bless your heart, I have more sayins’ if you wanna hear ’em.”

  He rubs his jaw. “Verging on redneck. It’s only good when you talk about how hot I am.”

  I roll my eyes at him and grin. I like him so much. He gets my goofiness.

  He’s moved closer to the TV. “This is that dragon show everyone talks about…” He kicks off his shoes and plops down on my bed, leaning back against my pillows. “You’re a fan?”

  I nod. “Duh. It’s got giant wolves, dragons, zombies, and tons of blood and sex.” I sigh softly. “There’s this one battle called the Battle of the Bastards where Jon Snow retakes Winterfell from Ramsay Bolton, who also killed one of his brothers right in front of him and also cut the balls off…” I stop, not wanting to spoil it for a Game of Thrones virgin. “It’s pretty much perfect.”

  “You’re more bloodthirsty than I realized. I like this side of you.” He pats the mattress, wanting me to join him. “You need to educate me.”

  I arch a brow. “You wanna watch?”

  “You said blood and gore and sex. Toss in a dragon and I’m all yours.”

  I laugh and ease in next to him. “The guy with the dark hair, he’s about to—shit, I can’t tell you. If you want to be a Game of Thrones fan, you have to start from the beginning. You have to know everyone’s backstory and why they do what they do.” I give him a look. “You can’t just start in the middle.”

  “Ah, sometimes the middle works out.” His lips curve up as he gazes at me, and his eyes are on my chest, lingering before coming up.

  I restart the series at season one, episode one.

  “Let us begin,” he says softly.

  I swallow, feeling the warmth of his bicep as it brushes against me. “Begin what?”

  “The show. What else?” There’s an amused glint in his gaze until he gets serious. He toys with a piece of my hair. “Sugar, I’m sorry for being a total jerk. In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to like control. When I don’t have it, I might say something shitty, but I’m the first to admit when I’m wrong and I’ll apologize for it.”

  “Okay.”

&nb
sp; And that’s it. I let it go.

  I nod and turn to watch as the episode starts. I explain some about the author and the rabid fan base that has made the show popular.

  He’s watching my mouth and I elbow him. “Are you listening to me?”

  He blinks and looks back at the TV screen. “Totally.”

  With a heavy sigh, I settle in, leaning against his shoulder.

  22

  Zack

  I stare down at a softly snoring Sugar as the credits roll up. Her head is turned at an angle as it rests on my shoulder, and there’s a small piece of sugar from a donut at the corner of her mouth.

  I lean down and lick it off, and she shifts against me, the skin of her arms soft as she moves, curling them around my bicep and then snaking up around my neck. As if she’s done it before, her fingers toy with the strands of my hair, twisting them around her fingers.

  Pulling on my hair is a siren’s call.

  She says my name under her breath, her lids fluttering as she sleeps, and I know she’s dreaming about me.

  She moans, her leg easing out from under the blanket we grabbed earlier.

  She’s so gorgeous, all soft and pliant, but I didn’t come here for that.

  “This is the most agreeable I’ve ever seen you,” I say in a hushed voice, not wanting to wake her yet needing to talk to her. I feel entirely content and happy right now, and I’m not sure that’s happened in a really long time.

  She mumbles something, and a little frown knits her brow. I hold back a laugh. She’s probably going off on me in her dream. Don’t call me babe.

  I won’t, and maybe, just maybe, I can get her to go out with me—for real, not any of this pretend bullshit.

  I shift so the arm she’s lying on slides more fully around her.

  She sighs when I lean down to smell her hair.

  Another mumble and then she chuckles—actually laughs.

  “What are you snickering about, sleep talker?” I ask her.

  “Take off your shirt.” Her hands tangle in my hair. “I want to see your dragon tattoo.”

  “Your wish is my command,” I say, easing her out of the way to lift my tight black running shirt off over my head.

  Her lashes flutter as she opens her eyes. “What are you doing?”