It’s spacious, clean, and minimally decorated, which I think somehow fits her exactly. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who makes a fuss over much, especially when it comes to things like decorations.
But then again, I barely know her.
Last night at the bar took me by surprise in more ways than one. First is the fact that she’s actually as bad at flirting as she says she is, and now I know why she’s asking for me to teach her. Even though I think the minute she gets out of her head, it’ll work out, I’m going to do what I promised and help however I can.
But second, if I’m honest, I could’ve spent my Saturday night in worse ways. She’s actually quite funny, and chill when she’s not stressing out about what she should say or do. She’s every bit the spitfire that I thought her to be, but it’s kind of fucking hot. She’s hot.
Not that I’m going to tell her that I didn’t hate spending time with her. She’ll think it makes us friends or something, and that’s not happening. This is purely a mutually beneficial arrangement, and when I’m done satisfying my end of it, I’m out.
Period.
I follow behind her farther into her apartment until she suddenly comes to an abrupt stop, causing me to run into the back of her.
I collide with soft, warm curves, and I grunt. “Bloody hell, St. James.”
She whips to face me, still plastered to my front, and places a finger over my lips, silencing me. Her voice lowers to a barelyaudible whisper. “Shh. Okay, listen. You and I both know that this is going to be a total…shit show. But I need you to promise me that you’re not going to let them goad you. And promise me that you’re not going to, I don’t know, fly off the handle. That’s exactly what they want.”
It’s not that I’m worried about right now.
It’s the fact that she’s pressed against my front, one hand resting on my stomach and the other still on my lips, that has my brain doing something stupid.
Liking it.
Christ.
My pulse thunders and I swallow, nodding against the pad of her finger.
What the hell is going on with me lately?
Her deep, dark eyes resemble chocolate as she peers up at me, slowly dropping her finger from my lips. “You want me to help you get in with the guys, I need you to trust me. It’s the only way we’re going to pull this off.”
If only she had any idea how hard that is for me.
I’m giving everything I have, and trust isn’t one of those things.
Our eyes stay locked, her body so close that I can feel the heat radiating off her, and for the first time I find myself wanting to touch her. To see how soft she feels beneath my hands.
“Rory, where’d you go?” a voice calls from the other room, and her breath hitches as she stills. “Roooooory.”
“I promise to be agood boy, all right? On my best behavior,” I murmur, taking a slight step back and creating distance between us before I do something even more dumb than liking the feel of her body pressed against mine.
I’m not really sure what I’m promising, but I’m here and I’m not going to leave.
With one last lingering look up at me, she nods. “Okay, let’s go.”
She leads me into her living room, and I see the guys spread out on various pieces of furniture, watching TV, eating crisps, and sipping beers. They look comfortable in Rory’s space, and for some reason it makes me feel out of place.
Envious even. That they have this familiarity and friendship with her, and I’m destined to always be the outsider.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” My gaze flits to Thorne, who’s in a plush, cream-colored armchair with a bowl of fruit in his lap that nearly falls to the ground when he sits up abruptly, his face turning a bright shade of scarlet.
There’s an echo of murmurs around the room and I scan their faces, finding a similar expression on all of them.
They don’t want me here.
But that’s nothing I wasn’t prepared for.
Ezra Keller looks at me with narrowed eyes as he shakes his head, a menacing smirk curling his upper lip into a sneer. “Seems like someone brought the trash in.”
