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I’m not sure if it was the timbre of his voice, the way it fell somewhere between late-night radio host and bedtime story narrator, or if it was the blissful tone of his words as he spoke about his family that did it, but something about Cutter McCreary’s voice in the dark put me fast asleep.
It’s three in the morning and I startle myself awake, a habit I have when I’m in unfamiliar places. This place has yet to feel like home. Cutter’s pillow is pulled over his eyes and his arm rests on top to weigh it down. His chest rises slowly, his breath quiet and steady. I spend longer than I should watching him sleep, and when it becomes clear that I’m not going back to dreamland, I slip to the floor and pull my laptop down with me so I can finish my paper in peace and quiet. And without waking Cutter. I refuse to consider why that last part matters.
6/
cutter
I could tellshe fell asleep when I started talking about my twin nephews. I began to describe them in detail then began adding made-up traits like tails and horns on their heads just to see if she responded. She didn’t, and the way her body remained perfectly still let me know she’d fallen asleep.
I pulled the cover back over her body. She was showing off for me when she slid it off. I knew what she was doing, and I didn’t mind. Laney’s sexy as hell when she’s not smearing my name out loud or swearing at me. Actually, she’s a little sexy then too.
What’s crazy is how fast I fell asleep after her. I usually struggle. I didn’t get into it with her last night but that’s my biggest worry about sharing this room—and bed—with her for however long it lasts. I’m basically nocturnal. Actually, nocturnal would indicate that I sleep during the day and that doesn’t happen either. Maybe a better term for me would non-turnal.
I’m not even groggy this morning, which is also unusual. I didn’t hear Laney leave this morning, but her running shoes are gone along with her workout bag, so my gut says she went to thegym early to retake her dominant place on the team and prove herself. She and I have more in common than she realizes.
Skipping the shower this morning, I pull my hoodie over my jersey and grab a Tiff beanie to pull down over my crazy-ass hair before grabbing my gear bag, keys, wallet and phone. The living room smells of strong coffee, and I follow the scent into the kitchen where Ivy is pouring half of a pot into a tumbler that seems to be holding way too much.
“Aren’t you going into the medical field? That feels like a toxic amount you’ve got going there,” I joke as I gesture to what looks to be about forty-four ounces. She shoots me a glare before shoveling a scoop of ice into her container before screwing on the lid and giving the mixture a good shake.
“Touchy subject. Got it. Do not mention your coffee addiction. Mind if I . . .” I point to the pot that has a normal cup about left. Ivy grabs the handle and carries the pot to the sink and starts to pour it out. I drop my gear on the floor and step toward her, tilting my head to the side.
“Come on. You cannot like me all you want, but don’t take things out on perfectly good coffee.”
She stops pouring and slams the pot down on the counter. I wince.
“Fine. Get your own mug, though. For now, you can use one of Matt’s. They’re in there,” she says, pointing her thumb over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” I choke out. Damn is Ivy intense. I see why she and Laney are friends. I grab a small thermos from the cabinet and fill it with the remnants of coffee.
“And for your information, the medical field basically functions on coffee. This amount?” She shakes her tumbler. “This is nothing. And I have a test today so there is going to be more when this is gone.”
I shoot her a faint grin and for a blip I think she gives me one in return. I maybe imagined it. Regardless, Ivy spoke words to me that were not flanked by swear words and loathing. If I can get Ivy on my side, maybe Laney will soften more too.
“I don’t like you, Cutter. And you’re going to lose that stupid bet.” She points at me as she grabs a backpack practically bursting at the zippers from the stool near the kitchen counter.
“Noted,” I say with a wink, putting on a good face.Yeah, I imagined that grin.
I snag my gear bag and head out to my Jeep. It takes a crank or two to turn it over, a sign that my battery is on its last leg. I’ve been putting that off along with a lot of other small expenses. Money is tight, and I don’t like having to ask my mom for spending cash. That’s what my summer coaching gig is for. And those awesome checks that grandma sends along with her inedible cookies that I will pretend to love until her last breath. More than wanting to defeat Laney, I want to win this housing wager for the cheap rent.
I make a right turn to head toward campus and spot someone jogging about a block ahead. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I swear that’s Laney’s backpack I see bouncing up and down, and there aren’t many girls around here who wear their hair in one massive braid that starts at the crown of their head. It becomes clear as I roll up closer that it’s her, so I check my rearview mirror to make sure I’m not holding anyone up then slow down to match her pace. I roll down the passenger window.
“It’s still dark out. Wanna ride?”
Laney slows to a walk and folds her hands behind her neck before squinting at me as she pants. The sun is just cresting over the horizon behind me, the sliver of light about to blast me through the mirror.
“It’s only another mile or so. I’m good.” Her cheeks look red, even in the dim light. I’m sure she’s in great shape, but this jogis uphill. And if she wants to have legs for jumping when she reaches campus, she should probably take my offer.
“You put in two already. And I will hands-down admit that you are faster and can run farther than me if that’s the reason you’re saying no. You win the running competition. Reconsider?”
She slows down more and finally stops and bends forward to put her hands on her knees.
“Yeah, alright,” she pants as she nods.
I grab my bag from the passenger seat and toss it in the back to make room and she climbs in, swinging the pack from her shoulder to the floor between her feet. I hold up the coffee thermos and offer it to her.
“It’s hot, which is probably not what you’re looking for, but you can have some if you want.” She scrunches her face but takes the drink from my hand and indulges in a sip.
“Oh shit, that is hot!” She smacks her lips and puts the mug back in my center console as I drive us toward campus.
