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"Why did you want to leave the party? All your friends were there, begging you to stay." Her words hang in the air, filled with genuine curiosity.
Little does she know, I hate parties and the people who attend them. Those people aren't my friends and they only hang around me because it makes them feel cooler by association. It's strange, as I don't consider myself a cool person. They're drawn to me because of my talent in hockey, my potential to make it to the NHL. They're nothing but opportunistic leeches, and I want nothing to do with them.
They want to hang out with me because of my prowess in hockey and the tantalizing prospect of an NHL career. In my eyes, they were nothing more than opportunistic leeches, and I want no part in their shallow world.
I clench my jaw, attempting to rein in the anger that surges through me at the mere thought of those vultures. I offer Sutton a straightforward response, though my frustration still lingers. "I can't stand people, so that's why I hate parties."
Sutton paused her exploration of my room, her expression a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. "Weren't those guys your friends?"
I wish she'd forget the garbage those idiots had said about her. My disgust is palpable as I shake my head. "No, most of those guys are on the baseball team. I don't associate with them for various reasons."
She blinks up at me with her wide, inquisitive brown eyes. "But you were talking to them before I ran into you."
I correct her with emphasis, "I wasn't talking to them. They were talking to me."
Her head tilts in confusion, and I realize the gap in our perspectives. "That's not the same thing," I stress.
Sutton shrugged her shoulders, breaking eye contact. "Oh, okay."
She might not understand it now, but I hope that with time, she will.
I decide it's time to steer the conversation toward a less anxiety-inducing topic. My gaze drifts over Sutton once more, and I remember she's wearing a skirt, which might not be the most comfortable choice for lounging in bed and watching a movie. Plus, if I have to keep looking at that tiny skirt riding up her thighs, it's going to put me in an awkward position.
I curse under my breath. This is the first time I've found myself in a situation like this. Is it weird to offer her something more comfortable to wear? It seems like a nice gesture, and Ronan would probably approve.
As I observe her, I notice the way her skirt clings to her, accentuating the curve of her hips and the slender lines of her legs. A flush of heat creeps up my neck, and I avert my eyes, hoping she doesn't catch me staring.
I make my way to the dresser and start rummaging through it, searching for suitable clothes for both of us. The scent of lavender and cedar wood from the drawer's contents fills the air, adding a layer of comfort to the room. I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder and notice that Sutton is still standing in the same spot, her eyes fixed on the ground, her fingers nervously twiddling the hem of her skirt.
I take a deep breath, attempting to appear less intimidating. "Do you want something to change into?"
Sutton hesitates for a moment, her gaze flicking up to meet mine. Uncertainty plays in her eyes. So, I give her an encouraging look, or at least as encouraging as I can manage, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
She responds with a shaky smile, a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. "That would be nice, thank you."
I continue with the task at hand, selecting a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for myself. I consider what to offer Sutton and settle on a cozy crewneck and a spare pair of boxer briefs. It did cross my mind – was giving her my underwear an odd choice? It seems like the only option since none of my pants or shorts will fit her. I decide to take my chances with it, for her comfort's sake.
Of course, it was one of those moments when I wished Ronan was here. This is the one time his advice would have been truly welcome, yet he is nowhere to be found.
I turn and gently toss the clothes onto the bed. Sutton's gaze meets mine, and as she looks at the clothes, I can’t help but shake them playfully in my hand.
"I'm going to change in the bathroom," I say, trying to break the awkward tension. "You can change in here, okay?"
She responds with that same, slightly hesitant, yet appreciative smile. "Thank you," she says softly, quickly averting her gaze.
I feel an urgent need to escape the room. Hurriedly, I made my way to the door, stealing one last look at Sutton. She hesitantly approaches the bed and begins examining the clothes I have left out for her. It’s a subtle sign that I should give her some space, so I decide to head to the bathroom.
When I return to the room, Sutton is perched on the edge of the bed, dark hair curled over her shoulders and her hands neatly folded in her lap. As I take her in, a strange tightening sensation explodes in my chest. I instinctively reach up to rub the spot.
I’ve never quite understood why guys like seeing their girls in their clothes, but now it makes complete sense. Sutton looks surprisingly good in my attire, and she looks even more appealing as she sits on my bed.
An inappropriate thought crossed my mind – that she would probably look even better without the clothes, still sitting on my bed. I curse inwardly.
In an attempt to shake off my inner turmoil, I push away those thoughts, reminding myself to stay friendly. "I need to get my act together," I mutter under my breath, feeling more unprepared than I've ever been in my entire life. Sutton's expectant gaze rests on me, awaiting my decision, and I wish I had a clear plan.
I clear my throat and make an effort to regain my composure. "Uh, what do you want to watch?" Pausing for a moment, I walk over to my nightstand, retrieve the remote, and power up the TV. "A movie or a TV show?"
The TV screen comes to life, and to my horror, 'The Real Housewives' occupy the display. I quickly switch to the next channel, glancing at Sutton, who covers her mouth to hide her reaction. The embarrassment continues to accumulate in her presence.
