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I also know it won’t happen tonight, so there’s no real sense in fighting it.
Chapter 15
Landon
Is this what happens senior year? It’s supposed to be the best year of my college life, the one where I can take a break because I knocked out all the hard classes in the previous three years.
Yet, instead of partying or taking Mazie up on her offer, I’m back at my dorm room less than two hours after entering the party house.
I just wasn’t feeling it. Hell, I didn’t even want to go, but knew it would raise questions with Silas if I didn’t at least show my face. It seems all I’m doing these days is avoiding questions—from my family, my friends, myself.
Light from the hallway showcases Rick already curled up and breathing softly in his bed. Has he always gone to bed so damn early? Why am I irritated that he isn’t awake and glaring at me?
Thankful for the quiet room, because once again… questions, I close and lock the door, shuffling across the room as I strip my clothes off. I don’t have practice tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to sleeping as late as humanly possible.
Fumbling a little as I trip over clothes in the middle of the floor, I grumble to myself as I reach my bed. I search for the sheet, but meet resistance, forcing me to jerk my hands back.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, using the lit screen of my cell phone to light up my bed.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rick asks, his arm in front of his face to block some of the light.
“Me? Why the fuck are you in my bed?” I snap, my anger growing more when I shine the light over at his bed. “Who the fuck is in your bed?”
My hand starts to shake as I consider the situation.
“Why aren’t you over there with them?” I growl. “We need to make some rules about bringing people back to the room. I’m not going to lie over here and listen to you getting railed by some guy.”
“I would be the one doing the railing, thank you very fucking much,” he snaps.
An unidentified shiver runs down the length of my spine.
“And it’s a girl over there.”
I scoff. How ridiculous. “I fucking doubt that.”
“Are you done?” Rick hisses.
I clamp my jaw closed. Is he bi? Why does the thought of him hooking up with anyone, male or female, make my skin crawl?
“Explain,” I growl when he doesn’t immediately begin to speak.
“She was damn near passed out in the hallway. She’s drunk off her ass, and from the sound of her snores, completely passed out now. I didn’t want someone to take advantage of her, so I put her in my bed.”
“Instead of mine?”
He must’ve grown accustomed to the light shining in his face because he’s no longer blocking it with his arm as he glares up at me.
“What kind of sicko have you turned into?”
Surely he doesn’t think I’d—“I’m going to ignore that implication, asshole. Scoot over.”
I shove at his shoulder, lifting my leg to climb in bed.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Going to bed. Move over.” I drop my phone on to my side table, the light dimming before going out completely.
We’re left in darkness, and Rick still doesn’t move.
I shove him closer to the wall as I pull the sheet back and lie down.
Twin-sized beds aren’t meant for two athletes, but I’m fucking exhausted, and honestly, not even close to being as angry as I’m acting.
“I’ll just go,” Rick snaps.
“Don’t be a baby. We’ve slept in the same bed hundreds of times.”
I mean, not since that night, but still.
I grab his arm when he tries to crawl over me.
“Are you going to sleep on the floor? It’s fine, just go to sleep.”
He huffs. “There’s no room.”
“Turn over, like this.” I urge him to face the wall. Somehow, the thought of lying on my left side like normal is a distant memory.
He shakes off my hands as he settles on his side, face pointed at the wall. “I’m not the little fucking spoon, asshole.”
He doesn’t make a move to roll over, so I guess being the little spoon isn’t as bad as facing me. I try not to think about it as the warmth of his back soaks into my skin.
At first I keep my arm along my side, but I wouldn’t be the asshole he claims me to be if I just stayed that way. I run my finger along his side, pulling his t-shirt up for skin-on-skin contact.
“Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
His body shakes with silent laughter, and this feels easier than it has for years. Maybe it’s the darkness surrounding us that makes it so.
“You fucking love torturing me, don’t you?” he whispers as my fingers trail over his side to his stomach.
