Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Julia

W
E
GET
HOME
AND
make a beeline for our respective rooms. I lie awake for a while, thinking about how much I enjoyed spending time with Giles. It feels nice to have someone to lean on. To literally lean on. And there's something that much more satisfying when it's someone you find attractive. Like there are layers added to the comfort that wouldn't otherwise be there.
 

I guess it wouldn't feel as good to press my face against his chest. Or to feel his arms resting over me. It wouldn't feel so good to have his face inches from mine, if he wasn't as beautiful as he is…
 

My next conscious thought is of my eyes flying open to darkness in my bedroom. The sound of a door shutting is almost a distant memory, though I'm sure that's what woke me. I stare at the ceiling through the dim blue glow of my alarm clock. There's shuffling outside of my door, followed by the unmistakable sound of Ava saying, "
Shhh
…" to someone else.

Another door closes, this one closer. The door to Ava's bedroom. More muffled noises. The baritone of a man speaking, his words undecipherable but the smoothness of his suggestion piques my attention. Ava giggles, a mattress creaks.

Oh my god.

She must've brought home that guy she was all over at the pool party. I forget his name, but I've never seen him around before. It seems like their plans don't include sleep. I cover my face with my hands to stifle a nervous laugh. An awkward energy washes over me. Am I supposed to lie here and listen to this? Should I leave? Images of the nighttime streets outside the house flash through my mind, deserted roads, and storefronts with blinds pulled down and signs turned to 'closed.'

Moaning and more of the smooth baritone drums over me, and I'm embarrassed by how the sounds flood me with warmth.
 

This is sick.
 

I grab my pillow and pull it over my head, but that does nothing to drown out the noises next door. The unmistakable clashing of bodies dripping with lust. Moans growing steadily out of control, muffled words that I can only imagine are of encouragement. And my mind's eye flickers to images of Ava's thin frame handled by that handsome stranger, cast in shadow as he spins her around to her stomach and…

My phone pings and I shoot up, fumbling around for it quickly, afraid that the sound will alert Ava to my listening. But the rhythmic clapping noises next door remain unaffected.
 

On my phone, there's a text message.
 

[You're not getting any sleep tonight.]

It's from Giles. I turn off the sound on my phone and before I can respond, another message comes in.

[Those two fuck for hours. Come over here. You can't hear it as much.]

[Come over, where? To your room?]

[Yeah.]

I almost laugh.
 

[Nice try.]

[What? It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before.]

This time I do laugh. Then my sights dart to the wall in front of me, the one separating my room from Ava's and I hear the desperate groaning and moaning, the frantic squeaking of furniture. My stomach ties in uncomfortable knots all over again. It's just awkward, having to listen to this. What are my choices, really? Where can I go at two in the morning? Everything on campus is closed.
 

Still, I'm not going to Giles's room. No way. Last night when I was sick was one thing. But getting in bed with him now? The thought of going in to see him brings more knots to my stomach. We're friends now, I remind myself. Yet, the thought of it still seems like walking into a lion's den.
 

[No thanks. I'll find something to shove into my ears.]

I lock my phone and set it on the bedside table, facedown.

Irritation surges through me that I'm put in this position in the first place. Though, that's ridiculous. Ava has every right to screw in her room. And the fact that I'm uncomfortable with it is my problem, not hers. I shouldn't be listening. But she really could make an effort to be stealthy. I mean, those noises are not of two people worried about making a scene.

I lie back down, tossing and turning. Pull a pillow over my head, then another. Feeling completely ridiculous over the warm, tingling sensations flooding me, the pooling between my legs as the sounds of pleasure from next-door show no signs of quelling.

Ugh. This is beyond awkward.

After a few long minutes of trying to tune out the noises, I get out of bed with the intention to grab a glass of water. I think there may be headphones in one of the kitchen drawers. It's worth a look. Hesitant, I step out of my room, closing my bedroom door carefully behind me. There's no way I can miss the fact that, down the hall, the door to Giles's room is slightly open, as though in anticipation of my arrival.
 

Yeah, nice try, indeed.

I try not to draw too much attention to myself, as I look around the kitchen drawers for the headphones or, even better, earplugs. What I find is a pack of gum. Is that what I remember seeing before? Well, this is useless. I chug down the water then head back toward my room, glancing back down the hall as my hand closes over the doorknob. The sounds of screwing are louder out here in the hall and I rush to open my door. Except the doorknob doesn't turn.
 

"Fuck," I say under my breath.

My door is locked. I can't believe I locked myself out.
 

Caught in a desperate urgency to not be found out in this hallway listening to these sounds, I get the urge to kick the door open by force.
 

"
Yeah, yeah
," Ava's breathless voice croons from the other side of her bedroom door. "
Oh, yeah
…" Then a man's voice mumbles something I'm glad I can't decipher.

I rub my temples in exasperation, and then turn on my heels and head quickly down the hall. I hesitate as I reach his door and I turn to look back at my own on the opposite end of the hall. Two thoughts occur to me—the noises are almost completely muffled at this end of the hall, and maybe I could take a running start at my door and bust it open like in the movies.

Obviously a ridiculous thought.

A hand wrapping around the edge of the door, I push it open slowly, the room coming into view from the slit between door and frame. The mirrored doors of his closet come into view first, his nightstand, and then his bed. He's sitting up against the headboard, phone in hand. Tiny, cartoonish spurts of noises coming from it like he's playing a game. His eyes connect with mine and his mouth twists into a devilish grin.
 

He's shirtless, the bastard. And I wonder if he's naked under the covers draped over his lap. As though reading my thoughts, he pulls his bedcovers back to reveal his dark blue pajama pants. He pats the mattress beside him, eyebrows tilted up in a way that almost casts innocence to his features. Almost.
 

I glare at him, just out of habit, as I hold onto the doorframe behind me. Giles sets his phone down on his lap, lifts his hands, and shows me both sides the way a criminal would do when surrounded by the authorities.
 

"Come on. I've more than proven I can keep these to myself."

"You better. And don't think you're getting lucky."

"I'm already lucky," he says. "You're here, little leopard."

His words elicit a nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach. But I pretend they don't. Desensitization. If we are going to make this friends thing work, I need to not get so nervous about things like this. His effect on me will wear off. It will wear off the more I expose myself to it. Soon, I'll be immune for real.

I walk over and sit up in bed, beside him. Making sure there's at least a foot of empty mattress separating us, I pull the covers over my lap and smooth out the sheets with my palms, trying not to think about how strangely normal and comfortable it feels to be in his bed. Though I know, I shouldn't feel too comfortable. Then I catch the way his eyes sweep past my face, over my lips, down my collarbone to my tank top.
 

Crap. Not again.
 

I can tell by the way he eyes me, greedily, that the material of my tank top clings to every detail of my bare breasts underneath.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to point?" he asks.

"Shut up," I say, pulling the covers up over my chest.
 

He looks like someone struggling not to burst into laughter. Like he's already won and finds it amusing I'm putting up a front.

I nod to his phone. "What stupid game are you playing, anyway?"

He holds it up to show me.

"You're playing Tetris in the middle of the night?"
 

"It's hard for me to sleep, sometimes."

Looking out to the door, I'm reminded of what's going on just down the hall. Two people are humping like rabbits. And now I'm sitting in Giles's bed. The strain of raw sex seems to be creeping in from under his door, because I'm suddenly warm and…

"Give me that." I snatch the phone from his hand. He laughs and I'm glad he's not annoyed that I'm being rude. Rude is a nice barrier between us right now. It's the only thing keeping me from revealing the heat brewing in the pit of my belly. Eyes trained on the screen, I say, "Look at this. Five rows of blocks? How can you suck this bad?" My fingers maneuver over the keyboard as I begin to quickly lay pieces to break down the lines of blocks.

"You're good."
 

I tense up at these words because they are right by my ear. His breath tickles my shoulder and, though I keep my eyes on the phone screen, I'm aware of his face right next to my own. I shouldn't look up. I know I shouldn't. But I do.
 

He's leaning in, mouth so close to mine I can almost taste it. The impulse to close the gap leaves me weak. I look down at the screen, where I'm suddenly not performing so well on the game, and remind myself why I shouldn't kiss him.
 

Even if I could get past the reservation of getting involved with my roommate, he's still a conceited, womanizing manwhore who thinks he can get any girl into bed.

Well, he did get you into bed, didn't he?
A voice croons these words from the back of my mind. The voice already sounds small, already resigned to the inevitable.
 

This is followed by the urge to jump out of bed and face whatever is out there in the hall, sleep on the couch if I have to. But taking off like that will only show Giles the effect he has on me. The thought of displaying any weakness to him makes fire burn through my veins, the stubbornness that's my blessing and my curse. He will not turn me into another brainless girl quivering over his proximity. I am immune.
 

And even if I'm not, I can sure as hell pretend I am.

"I shouldn't have complimented your skills," he teases from beside me. "As soon as I did, you started sucking big time."

I throw the phone onto his lap and say, "Whatever."

"Ouch." He cringes and I realize the phone landed right in the center of his lap. Probably right on his dick.
 

I laugh then straighten my face again. "I'm going to sleep. Stay on your side or I'm gone, got it?"

"Yeah, you too," he says, mockingly indignant. "Don't you go trying to touch me. I won't have any of that."

 
We both settle into lying positions. On our sides, facing each other, only a couple feet of mattress between us. It should feel strange, but it doesn't.

"Go to sleep," he says, gaze traveling over my face.

"You first."

Smiling, he pulls the sheet over both our heads, until we are immersed in a cocoon of gray cotton and his face is the in forefront of my vision. Crisp and close.
 

His long eyelashes, framing those mischievous eyes. Those lips, full and somehow disarming. Annoying and sweet, all at once.
 

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice low.

"It helps me sleep," he says. "Just pretend we're in a fort. You know? Like when you were a kid."

"I never made forts. My mom would kill us if we messed with clean sheets."

"Strict parents, huh?"

"You have no idea."

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 apartment 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 smiles, 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.