Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) (7 page)

But that's what worries me about her. That she could be drowning right in front of me and I wouldn't know, because I wouldn't have the right information to gauge from.

"That insurance money isn't a fortune, Giles. Your father wanted your education expenses paid for so you could focus on school and internships and not get sucked into a dead-end job. If you think I'm taking a penny more than your share of the rent, you really are an idiot."

 
Tension shoots up my temples and I realize I'm grinding my teeth. It's not that she called me an idiot, that's almost a pet name coming from her. It's her reminder of my father's expectations.
 

"Fine," I say. "You'll have a new check tonight."

Satisfied, Ava collects the plates from the table and my credit card to pay for my bill. When she returns to wipe down the table surface, I keep busy, rolling my newly filled glass between my palms, wondering if maybe Ava embodies the type of loyalty that I've so easily discarded as myth. She's not without her faults, though.

"You're lying again, little one," I say. This is as good a time as any to bring it up. I haven't been able to confront her on this over the past few days. "I guess old habits die hard."

"Stop calling me little one," she says, barely glancing at me. "It worked when we were kids, but it just sounds stupid now, since I'm practically as tall as you."

She's tall, nowhere near as tall as I am, but I suppose her ego makes up the difference.

"Why'd you tell me Julia's a lesbian?"

"I never said she was a lesbian."

"You know you did, in not so many words.
Too bad she's not into guys.
Took me less than a day to figure out that wasn't true."

Her eyes widen. "Did you—?"

"No. I didn't sleep with her. There are other ways of finding out, such as asking the person. So, answer my question. Why did you lie?"

"I just got the impression she's not a fan of men at the moment. I don't know. Some of the things she said." Ava shrugs. "What's it matter, anyway? You're going to stay away from her."

"I am?"
 

My smirk seems to piss her off and I know her well enough to duck and fling my arms over my head to protect from the slaps she rains down all over me. Some of them sting the skin on the back of my forearm.
 

"Okay, okay. Stop." I straighten in my seat when she lets up on her attack, but I don't make any promises.

I simply can't stay away from Julia. She's too fun to mess with. One of my admittedly less mature pastimes over the past few days has been watching my new roommate's eyes spark in anger when I prod her and get under her skin. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed pushing someone's buttons as much as I enjoy it with Julia.
 

It's fun to watch her attempts to show me she isn't uncomfortable around me. Even while it's obvious that she isn't comfortable living with a man. Watching the shyness show on her face, despite the sharp edges she tries to flaunt, is the reason I don't even bother putting on a shirt in the mornings until she's left the house.
 

Julia has an edginess about her exotic looks. An unintentional type of confidence I've never seen before. It's not the blatant, openly flirtatious kind that demands attention. It's an unassuming confidence in the way she's always fresh-faced, her hair down in natural dark waves and parted in the middle. She's the type of girl who doesn't try too hard. Not exactly a tomboy, but not far from it, either. She doesn't dress to accentuate her curves the way girls with her body type can when they want to. Yet, sexiness creeps out of her anyway, despite her efforts to the contrary. But never more than when she's pissed. She lights up from underneath and all around, on fire. Daring me to touch her.

Ava snaps a finger in front of my face, like she knows my thoughts are wandering somewhere dangerous. "Seriously, you're pissing me off with your inability to keep it in your pants. I've had to deal with the aftermath of you hooking up with my friend. I'm not dealing with that under my own roof, okay? I get that you're heartbroken and somehow…screwing your way out of it—"

"I'm not heartbroken," I correct.

She straightens her apron in a way that makes me dread where this conversation is going.

"Look, I know the anniversary of uncle Finn's death is coming up," she says. "I know how—"

"Don't go there, Ava." My tone grows icy.

"I'm just worried—"

"Don't be—"

"—that you bottle it all up, refuse to talk about it, and think being a manwhore is somehow going to—"

"Ava."
 

She falls silent at my definitive tone then shakes her head as I get up, declaring this conversation over.
 

"I'll see you at home," I tell her.

"She's off limits, Giles."
 

"Sure she is," I say, without looking back.

I wake the next morning with a dull headache, which I find strange because I barely drank last night. Searching my nightstand for some aspirin proves pointless. There's none in my bathroom, either. I'm half asleep as I make it out into the hall. The place is quiet and I'm not sure what time it is, but I think everyone's still asleep.

I head down to the girls' bathroom, turning the knob and pushing inside before I register how damp the air is. The shower curtain is drawn and Julia stands just outside of the tub, hair soaked and clinging to the sides of her head.
 

We both freeze, eyes going wide. Except mine are powerless to stop from following one of the water droplets as it rolls down her collarbone, between her full breasts, down the concave of her flat stomach to the smooth, shaved skin between her parted legs.
 

Holy shit.

The towel she snatches from the rail obscures my sight. She pulls it tight over herself and snaps, "What the fuck, Giles?!"

I look up at her face, which I haven't glimpsed since walking in. She's enraged, her entire expression twisted by fury.
 

"Get out!" she yells.

"Hang on," I say, turning leisurely to the medicine cabinet.
 

I'm already here, might as well get what I came for. I find a bottle of aspirin and, shutting the cabinet again, I catch her reflection. Her mouth is half open as she continues to pull the towel tighter around herself, deep lines between her brows.
 

"Just needed these," I say, pretending I don't notice her expression. But, as I turn to the door again, I glance back over my shoulder. "Nice tits, by the way."

She hurls toward me and I duck out of the room laughing and close the door behind me. Two thundering booms mark her banging her fists against the door.
 

"Asshole!"

Fuck. What a tight little body. And those breasts? Man, I can already see what they'd look like bouncing around during a good pounding. I run a hand over the front of my boxers, smoothing out the beginnings of a hard-on. Then I head back to my room, because the last thing I need is for her to come out of the bathroom to witness what seeing her like that did to me.

Julia, off limits? Yeah, I don't think so.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Julia

T
HE
MIRROR
REVEALS
THE
mortified expression still on my face, five whole minutes after Giles left the bathroom. I've never wanted to strangle him as bad as I do in this moment. Any decent person would've immediately shut the door, apologizing for walking in. But not Giles. No, that asshole just strolled right in, after helping himself to a full-on sweep of my naked body, and then rummaged through the medicine cabinet as if nothing had happened. Like he had every right to be in here with me. Like he didn't care I was practically shaking with anger behind him.

The door to my room is just a few feet away from the bathroom's entrance. I want to make a dignified walk in my towel, but I hurry, instead, and slam the door behind me.
 

In the dim morning light of my room, shades drawn and my skin still burning with anger, I dress in silence. My hair takes a while to towel-dry to damp. I squeeze my fingers between my thick locks, scrunching them into waves as an unrelated countdown commences in my head.

 
I've been living here for just six days. That's it. Not even a full week and he's already seen me naked.

Nice tits, by the way.
 

I can't believe he said that. He's treating the whole thing like a big joke and I'm the punch line. I'm tempted to storm back out there and give him a piece of my mind, draw a line in the sand, and show him I'm not going to be messed with. But I know better than to face his mischievous grin when rage is coursing through my veins. I'm borderline homicidal at the moment and stabbing him in the eye is probably not the best way to handle this. Still, I need to get back at him for…for being him. For being such an ass.

I sit on my bed and pull my laptop closer to check my emails. The last one is from my sister, Cassandra. It's just another one of the random health articles she sends me every once in a while. The ones with titles like,
Ten Ways To Know If You're Getting Enough Sleep
, and
Three Symptoms You Should Never Ignore
.
 

I used to find these emails annoying, but now? They're like the tiniest of threads still holding us together. I'm closest to my younger sister, Lola. But as the oldest, Cassandra has always been very maternal and overprotective. After she found out I'd had sex for the first time, she practically dragged me to get tested and have the birth control implant. She told me that as a nurse at a parenthood clinic, she'd seen more STDs and unwanted pregnancies than she ever cared to admit.
 

It was an uncomfortable experience for me, going to that clinic. I understood why it was necessary, and having my sister there with me somehow made it bearable. Even though I had used a condom, it was still a deep relief when my tests came back clean. I'm reminded of the implant whenever I run my fingers over the right spot on my arm. I don't regret getting it, I hardly ever remember it's there, and it does beat having to take a pill every day, but whatever hormones it distributes to my body seem like a wasted effort now.

 
Just as I go to close the laptop, a ping alerts me to a new email. The simplest of glances at the sender's name makes my blood run cold. It's from him. The email is from my ex—Andrew. I should delete it. I've promised myself I would not read any other messages or emails from him. But, as though it has a life of its own, my hand moves the cursor and clicks open.

For the last time…it wasn't me, Julia. I didn't do it. And why did you block my number? I need to see you.

I shut my laptop, blood rushing to my ears and making my head hurt. The same lie, repeated a thousand times, wouldn't make a dent in the truth. It was him. He knows it. I know it. Everyone knows it. Yet he keeps trying to find a loophole, some alternative that would render him blameless instead of owning up to what he did.

I have to make the effort of taking deep breaths, determined not to allow this situation to control my emotions. The time will come when I will face this asshole. But right now I'm trying to build my present, not sift through my past. I'm so goddamn sick of feeling like a victim.