First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (147 page)

A twinge of guilt is quickly brushed aside as I let myself into his bedroom. The gray and black theme from the rest of the apartment is continued here. A black upholstered headboard rests against a charcoal gray wall, and silver sheets peak out from beneath a boring but modern gray comforter. A metal weightlifting set guards an otherwise empty far wall, and a closet double the size of most bathrooms sits just inside the doorway.

I’m tempted to close the closet door because it’s the only thing at all out of place. It looks like he might have been interrupted while changing. It’s a bit odd that he made the bed when the blonde was leaving, but he hadn’t finished dressing. Maybe she did it.
 

The oversize closet swallows my attention, and I can almost convince myself I’m not looking to see if Blondie keeps clothes here. From what I can see, she doesn’t, but confronted with a closetful of dry clothes, I can’t help noticing how uncomfortable my wet jeans are. Before I can talk myself out of it, I peel them from my clammy skin and toss them in a pile. I haven’t seen a washer or a dryer anywhere, so that will have to wait. My white tank top is hugging me like a second skin, but eventually I struggle free of it, tossing it on top of the jeans. No sense keeping on damp panties, so those join my bra in the pile.
 

Finding a white button-up shirt in his closet is simple—everything is some variation of white, black, brown, or gray. Doesn’t he have anything with color? Maybe in the chest of drawers across the room, but I draw the line there. I’m not digging through all his stuff.
 

His shirt is huge on me, falling well past my hips, but I’m cold and my eyes are growing heavy. Five hours on a plane followed by a soggy walk through the city have taken their toll. He told me to make myself at home, I tell myself, trying to justify what I’m about to do. A pair of black nightstands hug the bed, and there’s a framed picture on the closest of the two. It’s the first personal item I’ve seen anywhere in the apartment.

I gasp as I look at it closer. It’s not a picture at all, but a pencil sketch. Of me. Or at least the me he thinks I am. I—well my character, Angel—sit on a jagged cliff overlooking a choppy sea. Sorrow fills my eyes, which is about the only thing of the portrait that resembles the actual me. I wonder if he was the artist, because spreading wide and glorious from the figure’s back are a pair of pure white wings. My character in game didn’t have wings, and neither do I. He might still call me Angel, but my wings were clipped a long time ago.

The realization that he doesn’t know me at all hits me all at once, but even more disturbing is the thought that follows it. I don’t know him, either. I’ve come over two thousand miles with no money, no one knows where I am, and right this moment I’m crawling into a stranger’s bed. I gingerly pull back the covers, wrinkling my nose with the thought of what the sheets might be like. I wouldn’t even consider this if I wasn’t so freaking tired. Surprisingly, the sheets are immaculately clean, and needing no further encouragement, I crawl between them.

This was a giant mistake. One I’ll have to fix as soon as I wake up.

Four

Angel

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, staring at the world below me. Except it isn’t my world, it’s the game world where I’m not Nick’s girlfriend, I’m Arion’s Angel.
 

Even though I see it, it’s from up here where I can’t touch it. I’m not a part of that world. It forgot me a long time ago, even though I’ll never forget it. Nick’s breath is hot on the side of my face as he peers over my shoulder. His fingers bite painfully into my arms.
 

Arion’s voice calls to me from somewhere below, begging me to come back to him. I shouldn’t have left him in the first place.

“It isn’t real, Tess. He’s only a fantasy. I’m real.”

“No,” I mumble, my entire body trembling.

“Yes,” he says. His voice is frigid, like his heart. “I will never let you go.” Then he shoves me off the edge.

A scream shatters my unconsciousness, raking me out of a fitful sleep about two seconds before I realize the sound came from my own throat. I unfurl my fists, trying to push back the curtain of nightmares. Then there’s a hand against my cheek, and for a moment, I’m not sure if I’m asleep or awake. I shy away from the tender touch, knowing it can turn violent without any warning.

“Angel, wake up.” The voice I’ve longed to hear teases my heart. If I’m hearing Arion, I must still be asleep. If I can just stay asleep, I can keep the dream alive. I’d give anything to believe for just a little longer that I’m with Arion. That I’m safe.

Lips graze my forehead, and they feel so real it’s torture.

“Angel.”
 

“Uhn-uh,” I mumble. “Tess.”
 

“No,” he whispers in a tone that sends a whole new type of shiver down my spine. “To me you’ll always be Angel.”

That snaps me back to reality, separating the nightmare from the dream. Except the dream isn’t a dream. I really am in Philly, and Arion is balanced above me with a hunger in his eyes like I’m the only oasis in the desert. Which is silly, because judging from yesterday’s downpour, Philly has no shortage of water, and judging from the blonde leaving his apartment, he has no shortage of the other type of oasis, either. I realize my thoughts are rambling and take small comfort in knowing my mouth hasn’t yet joined in. Only because I’m not really awake yet. Saying I’m not a morning person is like saying August in Tucson is mild.

My head is pounding like I drank too much alcohol or not enough caffeine. I prop myself up on my elbows, trying to make sense of everything. Arion, apparently satisfied that I’m awake, sits on the edge of the bed. I’m not as awake as he thinks I am, but all the wrong parts of me are awake enough to take notice of his thigh pressed against mine on the bed. He’s still wearing the shirt with the bar logo, but the top few buttons are undone, revealing taut muscles underneath.

There aren’t any windows in Arion’s bedroom, so I have no idea what time it is. The clock on the nightstand reveals it’s two. I think it must be two in the morning, but I’m not really sure. The other thing on the nightstand reminds me that it doesn’t matter what time it is, I should go before this whole situation gets out of hand. I draw my knees up and start to climb out of the bed. Arion leans back, giving me space and watching me with an unreadable expression.

I can’t bear that look. He must be realizing I don’t fit the image in his head any more than he fits mine. “I’m sorry. Just give me a minute, and I’ll go.”

Arion reaches for my hand but catches only air. I freeze. And then I shiver. Without the warmth of the blankets, I remember I’m not wearing anything but his shirt, and given the look he’s giving me now, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. That expression I can read just fine.

“You aren’t going anywhere, Angel.”

I suck in a sharp breath, hearing his words in someone else’s voice.
 

But I did. I’m here.
I left.
 

My eyes dart around the room like a moth fluttering against a light. My pile of clothes, which should have been by the door, is missing. “Did you take my clothes?” The tightening in my chest makes my words breathless. I try to tell myself not to panic, but that’s like telling a dog not to wag its tail. Acknowledging it only makes it worse. I gulp for more air as my head starts to spin.

“Would only seem fair. After all, you took mine.” His tone is tense, but beneath it I can hear his familiar teasing. I try to tell myself I don’t have to be afraid. This is Arion. The one person I trust. I know him.

But I don’t, and to tell myself otherwise is a lie.

If he wants his fucking shirt he can have it. I’ve got to get out of here. My fingers begin undoing the buttons without me really thinking about it, and then I’m shrugging my shoulders free.

His eyes go from warm pools of interest to sexy oceans of desire in the time it takes me to remember I don’t even have a bra on. Shit.

I manage to catch the shirt just before it falls away from my hips, and I quickly wrap it around me, covering myself. I tilt my chin toward him defiantly, daring him to say or do anything even as I want to beg him to let me go. At the same time I want to beg him to pull me close. My emotion is a giant see-saw, and I’m tottering on the edge with him in the middle. If he takes one step toward me, it will tip the balance.

I can’t take the intensity of his gaze anymore; I have to look away. As I drop my face, a stray lock of hair falls across my cheekbone, and then his hand is there brushing it away. Instinctively, I cringe, and when I look at him again, his expression is unreadable once more.

It almost kills me to know I’ve hurt him. This is why I can’t be with him, why I knew I couldn’t even before I knew he was hotter than any man has a right to be. I’m damaged goods, and I’ll only bring him trouble. “I’m sorry.”

Jade flecks of anger spark in his hazel eyes, and his fingers clench into a fist. Tension radiates all the way up into his shoulders and neck. I want to massage it away, but I also want to run and hide. Logic and lust are using me in a giant game of tug of war that can’t possibly have a winner.

“I swear to God, Angel, if you say you’re sorry one more time—” He shakes his head and turns to go. “I brought food back; I thought you might be hungry. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready, and if you still want to leave, I’ll take you wherever you want to go in the morning.”
 

The way my stomach twists as I watch him leave hurts as much as if he’d punched me. It’s on me to figure out what I want, but I’m floundering.

Once he’s shut the door behind him, the silence in the room is deafening, screaming at me that I’m an idiot for letting him go. I redo the buttons of the shirt while pondering my options. My mother has a sister, somewhere in Florida, I think. She might be willing to take me in, if I can find her number. I trashed my cell before I left Tucson, and I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Including my mom.
 

Going to my aunt’s would be risky and too easy to track. That option’s out.
 

He doesn’t want you to leave. You could still stay here.
The thought niggles the back of my brain, but I’m not convinced. Another guy with more moves than manners is the last thing I need right now. Who the hell did he think he was telling me I wasn’t going anywhere? The rational part of my brain says he’s the guy whose doorstep I showed up on, but I’m still in flight-mode, scanning the skies for a reason to fly away.

And what about Blondie? Judging by my reaction to him a few minutes ago, my body isn’t clued in to the fact that Arion and I are just friends and he’s not available any more than I am, and I definitely don’t want that kind of drama. Or any drama. Between the growling of my stomach and the pressure in my bladder, one thing is for sure. I can’t hide in this room any longer. I’ve got to go out there and face him.

Five

Angel

After being spoiled on the plush carpet in the bedroom, my bare feet protest at the assault of the cold tile floor in the kitchen. Arion is facing away from me, his hip resting against the far side of the island, speaking in hushed but forceful tones into his cell phone.

“No. I don’t know how long.”

He’s quiet a moment, listening to someone on the other end as his fingers drum against the counter.

“Just cover the fucking shifts, and I’ll update you in a few days,” he hisses before flipping the phone shut and slamming it on the counter with more force than necessary. Maybe I should give him a few minutes to calm down. I try to back silently into the bedroom, but I bump into the door frame behind me and he spins around. Even though he keeps his eyes guarded, I can see a hint of a smile trying to peak out behind the clouds.

He gestures to an open barstool across from him, and I don’t take my eyes from his as I slink across the room onto the seat. The hint of a smile grows wider, but more sheepish as he pushes a styrofoam box toward me. “I didn’t know what you like…”

I open the lid and laugh. The sound is foreign to my ears, a forgotten part of me that Arion has dredged up from the depths of recent reality.
 
A burger and french fries are tucked in next to a piece of grilled chicken, with a salad in the corner. Five packets of salad dressing are cradled on top—each one a different flavor.
 

Arion shrugs. “I figured if I brought red meat, and poultry, and rabbit food, something would be okay. If not, I can go get you something else.”

Blondie must be picky. “What about the fries?”

He winks and snags one, popping it in his mouth. “Those are for me.”

I take a fry, trying not to pay attention to the way his tongue glides over his lower lip, licking at a stray grain of salt. I chew slowly and deliberately, and he’s watching me back.
 
“Ketchup?”
 

He flips through the packets, and holds up the winner. “Of course.”
 

Once there’s a little pile of ketchup on the lid of the takeout container, I dip in a fry, then suck the ketchup off while he watches, enthralled.

Arion walks around the island, stopping a few inches away. “I’m going to touch you, now,” he whispers, then waits for my response.

A little shudder goes through me, but I’m not sure if it’s fear or anticipation. I want so badly to be touched by him. I crave it like a junkie after her next fix. And like the junkie, I shouldn’t want something so bad for me, because I know being touched means pain. But his voice was gentle, giving me a small ray of hope. I nod then hold my breath. His finger softly glides across my lip. “You’ve got a bit of ketchup right here.”

I don’t, and I’m sure of it.
 

“I’m going to kiss it off of you.” He pauses, waiting again.

If my heart beats any faster, it will turn itself inside out. I tilt my chin up toward him, telling myself I want this, because I do. I wanted it to be real every time we flirted in game, but it wasn’t. Is it now?