Wildfire (Maple Hills, #2)(13)

“You don’t seem the pinging at the police station type . . .”

“Uh, thank you . . . I think.” He laughs, deep and warm; it tugs at my stomach in a weird way.

I finally take in the room, wandering aimlessly, looking for picture frames or something about him, but finding nothing. I’m not joking when I say this is the tidiest bedroom I’ve ever been in, mine included. Even the empty cardboard boxes have been collapsed and lined up next to his wardrobe. His bed has more than one pillow. And they even look like nice pillows.

They all have pillow covers on them and they don’t look like they’ve been runover by a sixteen-wheel truck like many of the guys on this campus.

I reach his desk and other than some engineering books, there’s nothing personal. No signs that it’s him that lives here. He watches my tour of the room quietly, eyes following me from corner to corner. Turning to face him, I slide myself onto his desk, pushing his textbooks out of the way. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

My question catches him off guard, his mouth twists in confusion. “No?”

“Your room is really clean. There’s nothing about you in here: no pictures, hobbies . . .” I wouldn’t even know he played hockey if he didn’t live here. There isn’t one piece of dirty, smelly equipment littering the floor. “And you have pillows. With covers.”

The last one makes him snort and he stands, strolling over to the desk. “Is the bar really that low? Pillows with covers makes you think I have a girlfriend that I’m cheating on?”

He finally stops right in front of me; I widen my knees and he steps into the space they create, his body dangerously close to mine. My heartbeat speeds, heat prickles at the nape of my neck as his body leans over me. He doesn’t touch me though, his hand travels past me and toward a shelf above the desk.

Much like everything else in here, the picture he hands me is pristine—not even a slightly bent corner. It’s him and several of the guys I met downstairs, trying to hold up a trophy. They look like they’re all jumping on Russ and he has the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

“A picture and a hobby.”

I look up at him, a small smile on his lips. “You look really happy.”

Putting the picture back on the shelf, he nods. “Best day of my life.”

“Why?”

“Tell me about the best day of your life.”

His redirection is odd but there’s no point in me pushing him because it’s not important really—and emotional baggage isn’t really well suited to the whole one-time hook-up thing anyway.

“I don’t think you brought me up here to hear about my life, did you?” I shuffle closer, legs widening to accommodate his huge frame, and lean back on my hands. “Or do you need a Jenga tower to want to touch me? Should I find a boardgame? What about seven minutes in heaven? Should I set the timer?”

“Aurora,” he says softly. His hand finds my chin, nudging my face up to look at his. The moonlight peeking through his half-cracked blinds illuminates him, making him borderline ethereal. “If a timer goes off, I’m smashing your phone.”





Chapter Five





AURORA


I expect his mouth to crash into mine. For him to tug my skirt up around my hips, for him to grab and pull and fumble, but he doesn’t.

His mouth is soft, gentle, testing. His hand moves from my chin, tracing along my jaw until his fingers skim the sensitive area beneath my ear, continuing until it’s entangled in my hair at the nape of my neck.

Our mouths break apart and his forehead rests against mine for a moment. “I’m not expecting anything from you, y’know. We can stop at any time.”

My heart has no right to be beating as hard as it is. “You know the same applies to you, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s the bare minimum we should expect from each other, but it makes me feel relieved all the same. He’s the same man he was downstairs. He didn’t change as soon as he got me alone. I didn’t let myself get played by pretty words and an even prettier face.

His lips meet mine again, but this time he’s all in. He helps me pull off his t-shirt, taking a sharp intake of breath when my hands trail his abs and reach for the buckle of his belt. Discarding his sneakers, then his socks, he shimmies his jeans to the floor, stepping out of them so he’s left in only his boxers.

He starts at my feet, carefully unbuckling the tiny strap around my ankle, pulling off each heel, sliding his hands along the backs of my calves and thighs, until he’s high enough up to lift me from the desk.

It’s not a long walk to the bed, but it’s long enough for my brain to register how perfectly my legs fit around his waist, how he isn’t clumsy like I thought he might be and that, maybe, I don’t care that much about not getting my veggie pizza with Emilia on our way home if this is the alternative.

He’s careful as he lowers me onto his bed, immediately moving to kneel between my knees. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, helping to take off my skirt as I pull off my top. It makes me feel dizzy, the way he compliments me. Like he’s unsure how to say something, but he means it wholeheartedly. His eyes lock on my face and I suddenly feel twice as naked.

My eyes travel up his body, shamelessly, scanning every hard ab and inch of suntanned skin until they’re back on his face and his dimples appear.