Not that it’s any different the rest of the year. I should know. Jeez, I’m a college student, too. I tend to forget that.
Only now I don’t know what to do with my life. Which way to choose. What future I want.
Maybe coffee will help with the brain waves. Has to.
I’m pouring myself a steaming mug when the doorbell rings. A glance at the clock mounted on the wall lets me know it’s seven thirty. Who on earth can that be?
A thought hits me as I cross the living room, but that’s crazy. Nah. Can’t be. I mean, why would he come? Lured by my dreams of him?
Get a grip, Amber.
Then I look through the peephole, and it’s déjà vu all over again. Reality lurches as my dreams merge with the image of the tall, muscled guy waiting outside, bright eyes shifting between the door and the world beyond. He’s dressed in jogging gear, in a washed-out black hoodie and stretchy jogging pants that mold to the thick muscles of his thighs and calves.
My whole body flushes, my nipples harden and the ache between my legs returns.
God. If looking at him through the peephole does this to me, what would it be like to touch his strong chest, his face, kiss those lush lips, taste his smoky, masculine flavor?
And there I go again, wanting a guy I shouldn’t. I may not be a good judge of people, but this case is clear-cut: Jesse isn’t who I need.
For a moment I consider pretending I’m not here. I could walk away quietly. No harm, no foul.
Before I step away, though, he turns his gaze to me, as if he’s looking straight at me. As if he knows I’m there. His gaze is sad, his pretty mouth downturned. He seems so miserable I don’t have the heart to go through with my plan.
Cursing myself six ways to Sunday for being an idiot, I open the door and face him.
“Good morning,” I say, repeating to myself that I should avoid pet names and anything ambiguous he could use to tease me. “Is everything okay?”
The long slide of his eyes over my neck and breasts quickens my breath and leaves a trail of heat on my skin.
“Good morning, sweets,” he drawls and braces one arm on the doorframe, leaning in. “Well, now it is a good morning indeed.”
Looks like it doesn’t matter what I say. With this man everything is an innuendo waiting to happen.
Then again, no wonder he’s staring at my breasts. My nipples are stiff and aching, standing to attention, poking through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.
Hurriedly I fold my arms over my chest to hide them. “It was a good morning until you showed up,” I grumble.
“You wound me to the heart.” He presses a hand to his chest and flashes me a lopsided grin, so sexy my brain short-circuits.
“Do I?” I whisper, breathless. Why the heck am I breathless?
His gaze is dark and hot, the length of his muscular body within touching distance, and his scent snags me and draws me in—musk and cinnamon and sweaty boy. He’s so close I can see the ring of blue around the green starburst surrounding the pupils of his eyes, the fine lines at their corners deepening with his grin, and a thin, jagged scar, white with time, running from one dark brow to his hairline.
When did he get so close? Or was it me?
Maybe that’s why I can’t breathe properly anymore. I force myself to take a step back and look away.
“So what are you doing here today?” I clear my throat, my voice somehow thick. “Anything else you lost during the party?”
“Just the one.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him lean on the doorjamb, his grin fading. “I don’t suppose you found it?”
“The leather band?” I shake my head. “I looked. Maybe it wasn’t here you lost it. Maybe at another girl’s apartment? I know. How about that blonde’s house?”
“What the…” He huffs, a breath of a sound, and rubs his forehead. “I’ve never been to her place. I don’t know her. Can’t even recall her name.”
“Veronica, I believe it was.”
“Then you know more than me.”
“You’re a,” I swallow, looking for a non-ambiguous word, “a douche.”
He doesn’t deny it, only snorts softly. “May I come in?”
“What for?”
“To look for my leather band.”
“No way. I’ll let you know if I find it, but honestly, I don’t think it’s here.”
A pause, and despite myself I glance his way. His eyes are strangely blank. “You won’t let me in?”
“Nope.” In fact, I’m going to grab my coffee and go hide in my room. “Got stuff to do.”
“Really? I could help you.”
“You can’t.”
“Boy.” He chuckles. “How do you know? What will you be doing, playing with yourself? ’Cuz if I can’t help you, then at least I wouldn’t mind watching.”
I choke on my spit. “Screw you.”
He shrugs. “If it gets you off…”
“You’re unbearable.”
“Yeah.” There’s a note of regret in his voice, a bright, golden chime of sorrow, then he taps a rhythm on the doorframe with his fingers while picking with his other hand at a hole in his hoodie. “I’d better get going then.”
Those remarkable eyes shift, and the regret I heard in his voice echoes in their depths, a flash of bleakness.
Crap. I shouldn’t. Not with the way he makes my body react and my heart sting. Not with the way he teases me. He’s like salt in my wounds, the last thing I need.
I really shouldn’t.
“I have fresh coffee,” I say. “Get in.”
***
Jesse draped over a chair in my little kitchen is a sight not easily forgotten. He’s taken off his hoodie, and his T-shirt is soft and stretching easily across his pecs and broad shoulders. I watch his long fingers curl around the chipped coffee mug I dug out of the cupboard, his sea foam gaze glinting over the rim, and my mind goes blank.
I’m going to regret this, but Kayla was right. He’s such eye-candy, I can’t help staring.
Just a touch. Just a taste.
Shaking my head at myself, I busy my hands with the coffee maker and keep my back to him. I need a moment to gather my wits.
“So, Embers.” I hear the clink of his mug when he sets it down on the table. “How do you like it, being back here?” He taps his fingers on the table, like he did on the doorframe. “You did say you were from around here, right?”
Crap, I did. “It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
Mug gripped firmly in both hands, I turn toward him. “It’s fantastic,” I say drily.
He grins and looks down into his coffee. “Yeah, I see you can’t contain your excitement and joy. Going out on a limb, I’d say you hated it here and couldn’t wait to skip town. Makes sense.” He tsks. “Question is, why did you come back if it makes you so unhappy?”
Whoa. I’m not sitting in my kitchen with Jesse digging inside my head. Because that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Like, Oprah weird.
Besides… just no. Answer the question with a question. Boy, those visits to the psychologist are paying off.
“Are you from around here?”
He blinks, looks up. “No, actually, I’m not.” He seems shocked I asked.
“So where are you from, and how did you end up here?”
“You really wanna know?”
His question could be a trap to get me to admit I really want to know, so he can tease me mercilessly about it.
Funny thing is, I find I really do want to know more about him. He’s a puzzle, a riddle.
“Sure.”
He blinks again, brows lifting. “I’m from North Dakota, near Bismarck. I think.”
“You think?”
He shrugs. “Moved about quite a bit.”
“You don’t have an accent.”
He sips at his steaming coffee, his face going blank. “I left a long time ago.”
“Did something happen back then?”
A corner of his mouth curls up. “Didn’t know you cared, Embers.”