His lips brushed the soft shell of my ear. “Let’s go, Sunshine,” he whispered.
And I melted inside.
My nerves, though, continued to twist in turmoil as we climbed the stairs to my dorm room. Brax took the key from my fingers, unlocked the door. Inside, the walls seemed to close in on me, his presence large, looming, yet, strange as it sounded, suffocating. In a good way. In an … appealing way. The moment he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, I raced around my room, toeing my All Stars into the corner, kicking out of my work pants and pulling my Mulligan Telescope tee shirt off. I stood facing my small fold out closet, pondering my choice. My fingers brushed a favorite pair of soft faded low riders and a burgundy thin strapped cotton cami, and I hurriedly slipped both on. On my bed I waited while he showered, no less than thirty feet away, and yet some of my trepidation eased as he began a not-too-shabby Slim Shady rap. The louder he got, the harder my mouth tugged. Finally, the water stopped, I pulled on my boots and re-braided my untamable hair.
Brax emerged from my bathroom, hair wet and curling and messy, shirtless and barefooted with only a pair of well-worn jeans slung low over his hips. And all those cut in stone muscles, tattoos and Latin scriptures stretched taut …
My breath left me, and it actually hurt to pull it back in. My dorm room filled itself to the gills with Brax Jenkins and all his raw male hunger; so thick I could feel it pulsing off the walls as much as the steam wafting from the bathroom. He swaggered over to where I sat and plopped down beside me, and my body sank into his weight. As he pulled on clean socks and boots from his duffle, his head turned sideways, watching me with eyes so profound I began to fidget. Brax’s muscles flowed like liquid metal beneath his skin with each movement, and I noticed the thick roping veins that snaked from his hands, up his forearms, his biceps. On his face, throat, and back lay the scars; the evidence of the beatings he‘d endured, and the Celtic cross between his shoulder blades that represented his salvation. It fascinated me. Brax fascinated me.
He rose, and pulled me with him. “You want me to grab the scope?”
“Not this time,” I said. As he pulled his long arms into a white buttoned-down shirt, I reached for the big folded quilt and two pillows off my bed. Just as he finished the last two buttons, I piled the pillows into his outstretched arms. I carried the quilt, and grabbed the wrench and flashlight I kept on my bedside table. “This is all we’ll need.”
A slow, sly smile stretched across his face. “Is that so?”
I gave him a nervous fake scowl, and held the door open. “Yes, that’s so. Now come on before it gets too late, wise guy.” I led him out into the hall and locked my door behind us.
“Wise guy. I like that.” Brax’s raspy chuckle reverberated off the walls of the stairwell as we climbed to the rooftop. When I pushed open the door to the roof, turned the flashlight on, held it with my teeth and jammed the wrench in the crack at the bottom, he laughed again. “Who are you? Mission Impossible? I guess this is something you do all the time?”
“Maybe.” The night air had the slightest of crisps to it; not chilly by any means, but not as scathing hot as August. Finding my usual spot, I spread the quilt out, dropped to my knees and smoothed the corners. “It usually only takes me one time to learn a hard lesson.” I turned my face toward his. “I got locked out once and was stuck on a rooftop for hours.” I sat back on my heels and inclined toward one side of the quilt. “You can drop those there.”
He did, and I situated them right where I wanted. Then I crawled onto the quilt, flipped over and laid flat on my back. My gaze was straight up, right at Brax’s as his stared over and down at me. Inside, I was jittery; hopefully my exterior proved a little cooler. I patted the space beside me. I drew a slow, inconspicuous breath in. Released it. “Right here, Boston.”
Although a smile pulled at his mouth, his stare remained bottomless as it held mine. He dropped beside me, straightened his long, lean body out and I stuffed one pillow beneath his head; took another for myself. Our heads, bodies were side by side. I looked at him. “Comfy?”
A line bunched between his brows. “No. Come here—” He reached for me, but I pushed him back and giggled. It didn’t stop him. He grabbed me, pulled me half onto his chest, his arms around me. “This is better.”
I scowled at him, although I more than loved lying like this, against him, so intimate. “Brax. Do you want to see Draco or not?” I studied his face, so close to mine now; noticed each sharp edge, planes and angles of his cheekbones and jaw cast in mysterious shadows, and thought I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my life. Such a contrast in reaction to the very first time we met. I had to force myself to breathe. “Well?” My voice was quiet, but not as shaky.