One, two, three, four seconds pass. How they manage to feel so effortless, I'll never know.
"So...I don't want to alarm you," he says, "but I might get a hard-on."
"What?"
"Don't take it personally. It's been a while since I've gotten any. A soft wind would give me raging wood."
I hate him for making me laugh, so hard and so effortlessly. I'm reminded of how much more experienced he is than I am and how easily I blush around him. The thought causes me to grapple for a foothold.
"You're a fake, Giles."
"Am I?"
"You act like you're this player, but I haven't seen you bring a single girl into the house the whole time I've lived here."
"Been keeping track, huh?"
"No. I mean, it would be hard not to notice an extra person leaving the house in the mornings."
"You're right. I haven't brought any girls home." His stare is fixed right at me, with so much intensity I look away. "And I bet you want to know why?"
I don't mean to nod, but I do, because my body reacts to him in ways I don't intend.
He hesitates. "I'm not sure. For a while there, I was banging everything that looked good enough. But then..."
"Then what?"
He bites his lower lip. "You're going to get mad if I tell you."
"Oh, whatever. Just say it."
"Then I saw you naked."
I blink.
"What's that have to do with anything?"
"Well...it's kept me..." He laughs, a sly smile brightening his eyes. "Never mind. You don't want to know."
God, is he implying what I think he's implying?
Are conversations like this normal? I'm way out of my league here and it shows. Luckily, he goes on without prompting.
"I don't bring random hookups to my bed, anyway. I'm sure Ava wouldn't take kindly to a parade of women here."
"Isn't it hypocritical of Ava? She's in there screwing some stranger. Pretty loudly, I should add."
"Well, that stranger happens to be Damien. Her boyfriend of three years."
"Oh, Damien's her boyfriend? I didn't realize they were serious, they were so flirty, I thought they had just met."
"He's been out of town on an internship most of the summer."
"Well, that explains the...enthusiasm."
"Enthusiasm?"
"All that vigorous...noise." My cheeks heat up.
"Fucking should always be vigorous, Julia." His eyes hold onto mine and I will myself to not glance away.
"I wouldn't know," I blurt out, not thinking.
He pulls the cover off of our heads, the chilled air of the bedroom sweeping across my face.
"What do you mean you don't know? Please tell me someone's fucked you properly."
Why does he have to talk like that? And why do I like it so much?
God, what conversation have I started?
"I've only done it that one time and...I sort of pretended it felt good even though it didn't. It was awful."
The words are even enough. Cool enough. Yet, I'm all too aware that we are lying in bed together. All too aware that I came here willingly. And that I promised myself I would never let him get into my pants because...
Wait.
I had good reasons. I know I did.
"That's a travesty," he says, looking very offended on my behalf. "I'd be willing to offer you my services to right that wrong."
Oh yeah, I remember. He's a cocky, arrogant ass and the only time we get along is when we are trying to be friends. Otherwise, I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns. Except that I don't hate him. Except that I like him, even when he's being a pervert. I'm an idiot who likes things that are bad for her.
I don't want to move away from him. And I don't want to think about how his words turn me on. Or how he's watching me as though wondering if they did. I keep expecting him to reach out and touch me. I don't know what I'd do if he did.
What I do know is that giving in to my hormones and having sex with him will only be something I will regret. I'd be pathetic to. Him wanting me sexually is not a surprise. We're young. We're attracted to each other. But it doesn't mean anything more to him. And I can't do something that doesn't mean anything. Not again.
"Tell me, little leopard. How is it so many of our conversations always end up being about sex?"
I stutter but fail to respond. He chuckles and pulls the sheet over our heads again.
"That was a rhetorical question. I know the answer," He says. I wait, but he doesn't enlighten me. Instead, he says, "Let's talk about your accent."
"I don't have an accent," I protest.
"Yeah, you do. It's really subtle, but I hear it when you say my name. It's your L's and in your vowels. It's cute."
I bring my lower lip into my mouth, as my cheeks struggle under the urge to smile.
This is good--small talk. Unassuming, innocent small talk. It casts such a comfortable aura over our current position. Makes me feel like this is the most natural thing in the world. To talk in low voices under bed sheets with my shirtless roommate. This is what we do. No big deal.
You hear that, ovaries?
Quit your throbbing. This is no big freaking deal.
His gaze moves over the top of my hairline, tracing the outline of my face, sweeping over my lips once more before meeting my eyes again. I can feel his sight like a caress.
"You said you'd stop looking at me like that."
"I never agreed to that," he says. "I just agreed to keep my hands to myself."
His lips tug at the corners. And I know he can't pretend the things we did in the game room didn't happen. There's no forgetting that any time soon. I know, because I can't forget it either.
I lay my arm over my chest, trying to think of a come back. I'm sure he will gloat at my lack of response, but instead, he changes the subject again, dancing the line between a harmless conversation and a suggestive one.
"Ava said your family is from Texas?"
"Not really. It's just easier to say I'm from the last place I lived. My dad was in the military so we moved around a lot."
"My dad was military, too," he offers.
"No way...what branch?" I'm unable to keep the enthusiasm out of my voice. Being a military brat is an experience not everyone can relate to.
"Marines," Giles responds. "He was infantry. Yours?"
"Mine was army. Military police. That's what he does for a living now. He's the chief of police in Newport Beach." I say the words dismissively even when that wasn't my intention.
"That's cool," Giles says vaguely, probably noticing something in my tone.
I shrug. "Try having him for a father. My dad's extremely judgmental, combative, and suspicious. He never gives people the benefit of the doubt."
"So he's just like you?"
Dread splits through me in the second that follows before his lips shrug in a half-hearted smile.
"My dad's worse than me," I say. "Or...I'd like to think he is."
"That was a joke, you're not that bad."