The room feels heavier, more exciting, with her here, and I swallow. “Need some help with Robert Frost?” Lame—so lame. I mean, I pretty much challenged her to find me with that note I left.
She indicates her pink box. “No, I meant to say something in class, but I wanted to say thank you for returning my coat. It was kind of you to bring it over, especially after how we left things.” She pauses, chewing on her lips. A nervous laugh slips from her mouth. “I thought for sure it was a lost cause to try to get it back, especially since I can never show my face at the Kappa house again.”
“Because of me?” I don’t want that.
She shakes her head. “God, no. Other people. It’s a long story involving a frat boy who misinterpreted when I accidentally blinked at him—not winked—and his very jealous girlfriend.”
I have to grin at her expression of horror. “Who? Should I kick his ass?”
“No one important, trust me.”
“So…you do know where I live. Have to say, I’m impressed.”
She rolls her eyes. “All it took was a visit to one of the sorority girls on my floor. You’ll be flattered to know she even knows your current hockey stats, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a picture of you hanging on her wall with a heart drawn around your face.” She sighs. “People are rather nuts over you.”
“Everyone but you?” I grin.
“I do not have a picture of you anywhere. I have better things to do.”
“So you say.” I laugh. Man, I like this banter. And damn, she actually came to see me…
She shifts from one leg to the other, her eyes darting from mine to the box. “I hope you like this.”
“Is it Gwyneth Paltrow’s head?”
She gives me a surprised glance.
I smirk. “Like in the movie Seven?”
She nods. “Saw it, loved it—so dark—and no, there’s no head inside.” She smiles. “I know my movies—especially the ones with Brad Pitt.” A small laugh comes from her. “Mara has a thing for him. Well, she has a thing for a lot of movie stars.” She takes in my arched brow. “Mara’s my guardian. She’s family, but not blood, ya know?”
I nod. I’m trying to listen, but shit, she’s so fucking gorgeous, and the way her eyes light up when she’s talking…
Eric is still behind me, looking over my shoulder—nosy bastard—and I turn to see him checking Sugar out. He’s cramming Cap’n Crunch in his mouth at the same time, and the effect is pretty much an overgrown child. I smack him on the arm when we walk past him.
“Ow! What the hell did I do?” he says.
I lead Sugar into the kitchen area.
She eases into the room carefully, taking in my place as if she’s unsure about coming inside. Everything about her screams uncertainty and unease, and absurdly I want to make her feel at home.
She runs her gaze over the space, a small craftsman style house, older but with a semi-fresh coat of pale beige paint on the walls, crown molding in the den, and nice, tall baseboards throughout. Our furnishings are newish and from IKEA, everything clean, modern, and functional. My dad bought all of it for me when I signed my scholarship for Hawthorne, and I think part of him just wanted to make me happy, to fill that black hole of grief I had. After graduation, Reece and Eric will stay here, and after that, my dad will probably sell it for a profit.
“Nice house.” She turns to face me.
“Thanks.” I stick my hands in my pockets. “So if there’s no head in the box, what did you bring?”
Eric starts singing the Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg song “Dick in a Box”, and I shake my head at him. “Show some restraint.”
He pouts. “But if you ask what’s in the box, that’s where my head goes.”
A slow bloom of color starts at her neck and makes its way up her neck to her cheeks. I watch the pulse that beats erratically at her throat, and my shoulders rise as I inhale her scent, light with a hint of vanilla. “Ignore Eric. He gets excited when anyone comes to see us, even the guy who delivers the mail. He always goes out there and talks his damn head off.”
She gives us a sheepish look. “The box has pie in it.”
“You made me a pie?” I blink.
“Yeah. Stupid idea?”
I shake my head. “Hell, no. I like to eat.”
She bites her lip.
“Score!” Eric says. “What kind? Is it chocolate? I love chocolate. Man, that shit is the bomb.”
She laughs. “I’ll remember that and make you one next time.”
“Cool.” He gives her a fist bump.
“Don’t you have an episode of The Bachelor to watch?” I say to him.
He shrugs, gets a good look at my face, and laughs. “I guess so, but I want a piece of that.” His gaze lingers on Sugar and the box before he wanders back into the den and cranks up the TV. Good. Dude is my best friend, but he’s also a horn dog.
I turn back to Sugar. “Thank you for the gift.”
“If I can set this somewhere…”
“Of course, sure.” I’m feeling discombobulated, stiff, and a bit off, and I edge in front of her to clear off the table. My shoulder brushes hers, and I think I hear her breath hitch.
“Sorry,” I say as I grab my books and plop them in one of the wooden chairs.
“Great, thank you,” she murmurs as she leans over and sets the box down, giving me the perfect view of her heart-shaped ass. She’s willowy and curvy in all the right places, and I tug at my collar.
Last night, that ass was in my hands…
She turns to face me, and I blink at the twinkle of a piercing in her belly button, the blue jewel causing my eyes to linger on the creamy strip of skin between her sweater and jeans. Damn. How did I miss that? There’s also a half-moon birthmark the size of a quarter to the right on her waist and my pulse jerks, fantasizing about putting my mouth there, sucking the taste of her between my lips.
“Before you look at it, just know I did the best I could.” She grimaces, pressing her lips together, that blush rising on her cheeks again. Almost shyly, she turns and opens the box, and hell, at this point I don’t even care what’s in it. A head? A dick? Bring it.
“It’s cherry pie.” She says the words with bravado. “I read your HU bio and it said it’s your favorite.”
I blanch.
She pauses, giving me a searching look. “It is your favorite, right? I spent the whole afternoon on this thing.”
I recall the bio she’s referring to and the PR girl who did them for us. That meeting ran short and before she could get all of us interviewed, we left for practice and she never came back to recheck her facts. We all assumed she made half of it up. It also says my favorite song is “Dark Horse” by Katy Perry…just no. I’m a dude, not a teenage girl.
“Uh, yeah, thank you. It looks…delicious.”
“You’re sure? You don’t look sure.”
I look at her, taking in her earnest blue eyes. “I’m sure.”
She heads for the kitchen cabinets and pulls them open until she finds three dessert plates. Then she gets a knife out of the drawer and proceeds to cut three slices.
I hold my plate and get a small piece on my fork. “Together?” I ask, and she nods.
I give the bite a long look and stick it in my mouth. My body clenches at the tart taste, at the disgusting squishiness of the cherry. “Very good,” I tell her after chewing, fighting my gag reflex.
She pauses. “You look like you’re barely eating any.”
“Yeah,” I choke out, walking over to the sink to fill up a glass of water then chugging it down.
I turn around and she’s staring down at her piece. “You don’t like it.” She looks back at me. “Did I do it wrong?”
“No, no, it’s just…I fucking hate cherries.” I say the words lightly, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “Some PR girl made all that up.” I explain the story to her.
“What?” Her face is horrified.
I grimace. “Eric likes it.”
Sure enough, he’s practically having an orgasm in the den as he devours the piece he snagged while we were talking. He waltzes back into the kitchen and gives Sugar an appreciative look. “Damn, girl, you are welcome to bring your cherry pie over any time.” He sticks out his hand. “By the way, Z’s too rude to introduce us, but I’m Eric—or you can call me E.”
“One of the wingers?”
“That’s right.” He grins and leans back against the counter, his gaze glinting with interest. I know that look. Hell, we invented that I’m into you and do you want to get with me look.
I bristle. “Don’t you have to call that girl you brought home last night? What was her name?”
Eric grins at me, completely unabashed. “I think it was Eleanor. Might have been Erica, possibly Ellie. All I know is it starts with E, which is like Eric. Easy, you’d think, but shit, I can’t really remember. She left me a note on the dresser. Guess I can go check for you.”
Sugar laughs and tries to hide it with a cough.
I give him a look. Get out of here.
“Touché,” he says, straightening up from the counter and easing away from us, heading back into the den. “I’ll stop bugging you.”