“Yikes.”
He blew out a breath. “On my birthday, I was sitting in here waiting for her, but the person I really needed was just across the hall. And even when I got off my ass and went to you, I wasn’t truthful. I made a game out of it, and it wasn’t a game.” He reached out, stroking my hair. “I tortured both of us, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”
That only made me smile. “I’m that transparent, huh?”
“Callahan, you were honest. You weren’t afraid to tell me to my face the other night, that you couldn’t just be friends. That killed me — that you were the one with the balls to say it. So I got ready to make it right.” He pulled me toward him, tucking my head onto his chest. I could hear his heart — glug glug — under my ear.
My pulse accelerated. I wasn’t quite used to the idea that he was holding me, just like I’d always wanted him to. My plan at that moment was to stay in his bed until he kicked me out. And yet I still had questions. “Does your mom know that you were sort of stalking your father?”
“No,” he said. “But even without the details, she was on to me. She knew there was something about my relationship with Stacia that wasn’t honest, and she loved beating me up about it. ‘Adam, why are you with her? She’s a stuck-up bitch, you’re smarter than that,’ and so on. My mom hates everything about Greenwich, Connecticut. And Stacia didn’t do a very good job of winning her over.”
“Were you ever tempted to tell Stacia about your father?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You can’t show any weakness to Stacia. She’ll eat you for breakfast.”
“That’s not love.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I get that now. And here I am, spilling my guts to you first thing on a Sunday morning, like it’s no big deal. Because you’ve always got my back.”
“Actually…” I splayed my fingers across his belly. “I have your front.”
He pressed his nose into my hair. “Have more of it, baby.”
As my fingertips feathered across his waist, Hartley reached for me.
For me.
When I opened Hartley’s door an hour later, he was still lounging on his bed, half-dressed, flipping through Sports Illustrated. He sat up quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be ready so soon.”
“It was only fifteen minutes, no?”
He grinned, reaching for a T-shirt. “Some women say fifteen minutes when they mean forty-five.” He put a baseball cap over his messy hair. “I, on the other hand, need only forty-five seconds.” He went into the bathroom where I heard him brush his teeth.
I’d spent my fifteen minutes wisely, pulling myself together for brunch. I made more of an effort than I usually would, changing into new jeans and a top. I’d even added a slick of lip gloss. In other words, I didn’t want to walk into that dining hall looking like I’d just rolled out of bed with Hartley.
In spite of my preparations, my face began to burn as I hitched myself toward the top of the Beaumont dining hall stairs. I paused before the doorway, looking up at Hartley. “This is weird for me. I feel like it’s tattooed on my face,” I whispered.
He only looked amused. “You’re cute when you’re freaking out. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“That must be it,” I said, taking a deep breath.
He moved very close to me, his hand resting on the small of my back. “How old is this place? Three hundred years?” He dropped his voice to a hot whisper. “We’re not the first people to have a whole lot of sex before Sunday brunch.”
His lips brushed my face, heating me everywhere. “The school has only been coed since the seventies,” I pointed out, inhaling his warmth.
“What a bummer for all those old dudes.” He pulled me even closer to his body.
With his hands on me again, I felt the familiar thrum of desire in my core. For sanity’s sake, I pushed him away and took a deep breath. “You’re not helping me to appear cool and indifferent.” I turned away from his smile and headed for the kitchen.
Now that I was on crutches and he wasn’t, Hartley handled our food. “Holding the tray used to be my job,” I pointed out. The role reversal stung. He was going back to normal, and I wasn’t.
He flinched. “Callahan, are you going to hate me when I go back to hockey in the fall?”
Hmm…In the fall. Hartley assumed we’d be together then, too. I loved that. “No,” I decided. “I’ll finally get to watch you play.”
His face broke open with happiness. “Really?” He leaned over to brush his lips against my cheek. “I’ve been worrying about it.”
“Just don’t expect me to squeal like a puck bunny when you take the ice. And I’m not wearing a tight-fitting jersey with your number on it.”