“Fluffnut. I got him four years ago. He’s a pest, but he’s family.”
My stomach falls through my toes. Four years? About the time of all those pics of Robbie. I flick my gaze to Chase’s eyes, but they’re unreadable. Totally blasé. So I stop petting Fluffnut and scratch the back of Chase’s head instead. His mouth pops open, letting out a small groan and his eyes roll back.
“You like this?” I ask, smile going through my voice.
He cracks a sort of grin, and has to slurp up some drool coming out the side of his mouth. “I love it. Ow!”
I smack the back of his head. That’s what he gets for teasing me.
“As much as I like this,” he says, squeezing my body against his, “we should probably get off the floor. I promise the couch is more comfortable.”
I pout, but crawl off him, then pull him to his feet. He pecks my lips before shrugging out of his jacket. He’s wearing blue today. A nice pale blue that instantly turns his eyes the same color.
“Did you know you have mood eyes?” I ask, plopping down on the couch and tucking my feet under my butt. It’s one of those couches you fall into, and I know I’m going to need help out of it.
“Mood eyes?” He kicks off his shoes and goes to the kitchen. There’s no wall or anything separating us, so I can still see him as he pulls two sodas from the fridge. I’m checking out his butt, too. It’s a lot nicer covered and in black jeans. I have the sudden desire to go up and pinch it.
I resist that desire.
He walks back to where I’m sitting, handing me a Sunkist. I try to hold back the doofy grin on my lips. More orange-flavored kisses tonight!
“So, what are mood eyes?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, shaking my head and popping open the soda. “Your eyes change color.”
“Oh!” He laughs. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before. Never been told they were ‘mood eyes’ though.”
“You’ve never noticed yourself?”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
“Okay, then what color do you think they are?”
“Hmm . . .” he says, rubbing his scruff. “I’ve been told gray before.”
“They were . . .” I smile and wink. “. . . about two minutes ago.”
“What color are they now?”
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine and making his eyes perfect circles.
The girliest giggle in the world comes cascading from my mouth and I almost smack myself for letting it out. I push him away and look at the can in my hands.
“Blue.”
The door swings open and we both jump. My soda splashes all over my jeans, making it look like I peed myself.
A guy with darker skin, black hair, and a jacket that’s halfway off comes crashing in. His hands are going to his belt and unbuckling it before I can shield my eyes from the strip show.
“Move, move, MOVE!” he shouts as he stumbles past us and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Chase stands, putting his soda down and laughing his face off.
“Meet Raj, my roommate.”
“Uh . . .” I mumble, staring at my soaked jeans, afraid to move.
He laughs again. “Let me grab you a towel.”
“I don’t think that will do much.” Seriously, my pants are covered in orange. Maybe I shouldn’t wear jeans around this guy.
“Hmm . . .” He kneels in front of me and I almost smack him upside the head for so blatantly looking at my crotch. “Can these jeans go in the washer? Or are they only used to the fancy rich people cleaning thing?”
“There’s a rich people cleaning thing?” I smirk.
“So I’ve heard.”
“You can put them in the washer.” I stand and the orange puddle drips down my legs. “But if you think I’m going to walk around in my underwear—”
“Dang.” He snaps his fingers. “Thought that move would work.”
This time, I do smack him upside the head.
He laughs, and waves me to follow him to his room.
I’ve been making out with this guy for a while now, spent more Fridays with him than I’ve spent with anybody, and he still manages to surprise the crap out of me every time I’m with him.
His room is nothing like I expect. You’d think the boy would have a black, dark room. Maybe a few naked pictures on the wall, smells funny, bed unmade, and socks and underwear on the floor. I mean, he’s in college! Mommy isn’t around to yell at him for a dirty room. But . . . that’s not what I walk into.
His bed is made like Carrie makes mine. Perfect with no creases anywhere, pillows all fluffed and looking big and comfy, and a bed skirt. A bed skirt! I’m not even joking. There’s nothing on the floor except furniture. Not even shoes. They’re hung up in a shoe holder on his closet.
It smells like citrus . . . of course. And there’s a bookshelf loaded with books, and they all look like they’ve been well used. Lots of classics, like Count of Monte Cristo, which is actually on his nightstand.
I’m pretty sure my mouth has lost its ability to close.
“Okay,” he says, opening his dresser drawer—second to bottom one. All his clothes are folded with perfect creases, and organized by color. He definitely owns more than just black. “These should work.” He pulls out a pair of gray plaid pajama bottoms. “They have a draw string at least.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh!” Before I can even blink, he leaps from the room. I hear the water running in the kitchen for a minute, then he bounces back in the doorway. “Here. For the stickiness.” The washcloth he hands me is warm and damp.
“Thanks.”
“Hurry and get out of those pants,” he says, pulling the door closed. “I’ll wash them when you’re done.”
“Thanks.”
Guess my voice is on repeat right now.
The door clicks and I strip, trying not to set my dirty pants on anything because his room is so clean. I awkwardly swing them over my arm and try to wipe my legs with the washcloth and put on the clean pair at the same time.
Yeah, it doesn’t work. I trip over my feet and fall butt first to the floor. My lips press together to keep from screaming. Holy freaking ouch! I think my tailbone shot up to my ears.
I lay down, not even caring anymore my jeans are touching his überclean floor. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Whew! That was a hard fall, and I’ve fallen a lot. Maybe I need to eat more Twizzlers to give myself more padding.
I turn my head, getting a peek of what’s hiding under the bed skirt. There’s a box and lines on the floor that tell me he drags this box out often to see its contents.
My first thought is porn. Doesn’t every guy have porn? It’s gross and nasty and I don’t want to think about stumbling upon my . . . whatever Chase is . . . pleasure box. But—now, you can’t judge me!—what if it’s something else? Letters from one of those girls he kissed? A dead body? I have to know who I’m dealing with, right? That allows me a little snooping leeway.
I check the door to make sure it’s still closed, and sitting in my lace undies, I pull the box out, following those lines so he doesn’t notice anything weird, and lift the lid.
Tap, tap, tap.
“You almost done in there?”
If I answer, I don’t know what I say. Because I can’t find my voice or my mind as I stare at the things in front of me. Things I should have left alone.
Chapter 28
There’s no way I’m touching anything in here. I knew the second I peered in I violated a very personal item and it’s not that I’m afraid of getting caught with it. I’m holding back tears because I’ve discovered something way sensitive he’s obviously hurting over, and he doesn’t want to talk about.
Very slowly and gently, I slide the box back under his bed, hoping nothing inside looks disturbed.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Uh, Stinky? You okay in there?”
I whip on his pants and tighten the drawstring. They’re snug on my hips, since he has none and I hav
e the widest of any eighteen-year-old I know.
“Geez,” I say, throwing the door open and handing him my jeans, “someone’s impatient.”
Please let me sound normal and not like I was poking around in places I shouldn’t have.
“You don’t want this to stain, do you?” He winks and walks back to the kitchen. Whew!
“You’re definitely spending too much time with Sadie.”
He rolls his eyes as I prop myself up on the counter by the fridge. I guess what I thought was a pantry is actually a laundry room. And I use that term generously. It’s got enough space for the washer and dryer and cat litter. That’s it.
His hands work with speed, applying some stain remover and tossing them in the wash with some purple stuff and some white stuff. Wow. I feel so lame. If I’m ever on my own—which I hope to be eventually—do you think Carrie will teach me all this before so I’m not buying new clothes when mine get dirty?
The lid to the washer slams shut and he closes the laundry room door. His pale blue eyes rake over me sitting on the counter. Whoops! Am I not supposed to be up here? Seemed okay, but now that I think about his immaculate room, maybe I’m being too casual. Must be the jamma bottoms that do it.
I move to slide off the counter, but he jumps over, trapping me there. He spreads my knees and trails his fingers up my thighs as he settles between my legs. My whole body bursts with popping corn.
“I think I like you wearing my clothes,” he says against my forehead. “Maybe you should spill on yourself more often.”
I want to sock him one, but he’s so close and smells so good, I wrap my arms around his neck instead. “Can we kiss a lot now?”
He chuckles right before diving in. His stubble is shorter and coarser, and I’m totally in love with him.
Holy crap . . . It! I’m in love with the stubble! Not him. Oy, I’ve got to be careful with that word.
“Heeello!”
Chase grunts as he lets go of my mouth. I tighten my legs on his hips so he doesn’t walk away, even though his roomy just interrupted the yumminess.
“My roommate, Raj.” Chase kinks his head toward the guy trying to get past us to the fridge. At least he’s dressed now.
“Sup?” Raj says, peering in the freezer.
“I’m Kelli.” Yes, I sound formal, but it’s just what I’m used to.
Raj laughs, pulling out an ice cream sandwich. “I know who you are. But it’s nice to finally meet you.” He waves the ice cream at me, raising his eyebrows in a clear, “Want one?” way.
I shake my head and lean into Chase’s chest, first time I’ve openly shown affection to him in front of people. He wraps his arm around me with the largest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
“Well, I’ll chill in my room.” Raj opens the fridge, his brow crinkling before he takes out a Sunkist and slides past us. He gives Chase a smirk. “Don’t be too loud when you’re . . .” He pumps his fist in a grotesque back-and-forth motion and my jaw drops to my knees.
Chase lets me go and runs after Raj down the hallway, kicking him in the butt.
“I’m kidding, dude!” I hear as I hop off the counter. There’s more laughter, then, “What’s with all the orange soda? There are a million cans in there.”
Grinning, I open the fridge and no lie, each shelf is lined with orange soda, and the bottom tray is filled with oranges. I’d have thought Chase had a fetish, but Raj seems to think it’s out of the norm. I’m not stupid. This is totally for me.
Chase comes back in the kitchen just as I’m closing the door. I cock an eyebrow, the corner of my mouth quirking up.
“What?” he asks, holding back a grin.
He knows dang well what. I roll my eyes and drag him to the couch, straddling him to get ready for more orange make out. After a couple minutes, he pulls away with a laugh.
“What, no questions tonight?”
So he has noticed. And I thought I was being cool about the whole thing. I lean back, still perched on his lap, and fold my arms. No way am I asking about the box, or anything to do with the box, so I go for the other surprise I got tonight. “Okay . . . did you clean your room right before I got here, or is it always like a quarantine area?”
His fingers tiptoe across my thighs to the small of my back, where my shirt has come up. We don’t do too much skin on skin touching during make out, other than the normal arms, neck and face. So this sends my body into a flushed fury.
“I like a clean room.”
My arms unfold. “That’s it? You’re not some germaphobe, are you?”
“No.” He smiles. “I’m just used to a clean room.”
I suppose I get that. My room is always clean, too. Not because of me, of course.
And his answer is good enough for me! Back to kissing.
“Kel?” he asks, stopping my lips.
I sigh. “Yes?”
“My turn?”
Huh?
“I want to ask a question.”
Oh! “Go for it.” I grin.
“Does this bother you?” he asks, running a hand over his scruff.
“Your stubble?” I scratch his cheeks and giggle. I really have to stop giggling around this guy, but he makes me do all the girly stuff I used to think was so stupid.
“Yeah.”
“Why would it bother me?”
“Because sometimes I give you rug burn.” His hands go to my cheeks. He’s always so careful with me, his fingers tracing down my chin and across my lips. No wonder he’s a brilliant violinist. His hands are so skilled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I get close enough to wiggle my nose against his. “I really like your stubble.” Yes! Avoided the big “L” word. “And if it hurt that bad, I’d stop kissing you.”
I plunge to his lips again, but he stops me. Grr . . . does my breath stink or something?
“Either way,” he says with a smirk. The one he uses when he gets all “pervy.” “I think your mouth needs a break from mine.”
I’m ready to argue with him, but he pulls me closer, like he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. Then instead of his mouth meeting mine, he tilts my chin up and plants his kisses on my neck. I moan, because the sensations his lips trace across my body give me pleasure chills and I find myself holding the back of his head, trapping him against my neck.
The kisses turn into one giant kiss, right under my jaw line, near my ear. The hairs on my arms go up and I press into him more, my body filling with heat and dare I say the cheesiest thing ever . . . passion.
My first hickey! I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening. I never knew it would feel so good. His tongue and the way he’s sucking my skin, taking it into his teeth for little bites, then releasing for a second . . . gah. It’s seriously moanworthy, which is probably why I’m not being so quiet. My breathing is so short and ragged that my chest keeps bumping the bottom of his chin.
It’s almost too much. Like, my mind has turned into a pile of goo, and I’m almost ready for his hands to go back to second base, but when I take his fingers from the back of my neck, I chicken out and make him wrap them around my waist. He pulls me closer, and I guess I don’t completely chicken out, because I let him grab some butt cheek.
His lips leave my neck with a pop, and we both sit still to calm our breathing. His hand rests on my butt—probably keeping it there as long as he can get away with it—and our foreheads meet.
“I think my mouth deserves a break from yours more often,” I breathe into his face.
He gives a breathy laugh, releasing my butt and running his hand down my thigh. “I’m going to be honest with you, Kelli.” His eyes flick to mine, and they are still blue, but the pupils are humongo, making them look more black. He’s hesitating, still calming his breathing with mine, which I have to say, is superhot.
He opens his mouth, and no sound comes out.
Just the doorbell hits my ears.
“Who’s here?!” Raj yells from his room.
Knowing the moment is ov
er, I slide from Chase’s lap. He stands, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket.
“Pizza!”
Chapter 29
I really didn’t think this through.
“You can still see it, Sades!”
My eyes bulge out of my face as I look in the handheld mirror. No amount of makeup can cover this thing.
“I’m trying! But it’s like he sucked the life out of you.”
Sadie globs another drop of base on the sponge and presses it to my neck. It hides the hickey for a good two seconds, but when she blends the makeup, BAM! Purple monster! And I don’t even have hair to cover it either. My dinner with Alex, Mom, and Dad is TONIGHT! There’s no way . . . No. Way. I’m going to pull this off.
“Well, you can say it’s from Alex,” Sades says, putting the sponge down on my vanity.
“I won’t have to say anything. They’ll assume it’s from him, and then Alex will have some major wrath from his mom once mine blabs.”
And there goes my best client. There goes my clean record I use to get new clients. There goes this whole thing. All because I got hot and horny. I throw my face into the pillow I have on my lap. “Why, why, why did I let Chase give me a hickey?”
Sades squeezes me shoulders. “Because you luuuurve him!”
I swat her with my pillow.
“Well, you’re just going to have to wear something high-collared.” She ballet dances to my closet. “Let’s see . . .”
I poke my hickey with my forefinger. “We’re going to need something that goes to my face. Who knew Chase’s mouth was so big?”
She laughs. “Everyone. He barely closes it.”
After a few minutes, Sades skips back to me, arms full of outfit possibilities. She whips a royal blue silk blouse—with a high collar—off a hanger as I yank off my shirt.
“You can’t tell me now he’s not your boyfriend,” she says, tossing “Option One” to me.
“He’s not.”
“Then what is he?”
I pull on the shirt, and if anything, the blue makes the hickey stand out more. It’s off the same second it’s on. “Not my boyfriend.”
“A make out buddy?” Option Two gets thrown in my face.