“Let’s drop that, all right? Work is not a good subject for me right now.”
“Dropped.”
“Why are you here?” she whispers. “Seriously, Eli, you don’t like Christmas. Or holidays, period.”
“Your brother invited me.”
“Fine. Why did you say yes?”
“Because I wanted to come.”
“Just like that?”
I take the pan she’s been scrubbing from her hands. “Just like that.”
She’s fighting herself to ask if I knew that Brenden was her brother, but she doesn’t.
“You look the same,” I say softly. “Maybe a little more made up.”
She rolls her eyes.
“What’s with the makeup anyway?”
“Gracie did it. She wants to be a makeup artist, and I’m being supportive. She’s been practicing a lot.”
“This is after practice?”
Wrong thing to say.
She smacks the faucet handle up and rinses her hands, and I know my time is almost up. “I think I’m done here.”
When she turns to leave me, I grip her wrist with suds-covered hands to stop her. She stares at my hand clamped around her wrist, and her mouth parts slightly as she glances up. I feel it, too, but I can’t decipher if it’s memory, familiarity, or both. I know she can see the confirmation in my own expression.
“Whitney, I didn’t come with intent to ruin your Christmas. I was hoping I could—”
“So, you knew Brenden was my brother?”
I give her a slow nod.
She gently pulls her hand away and shrugs. “It was a long time ago. And no one should be alone on Christmas. I’m fine with you being here.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.” She nods several times as if to convince both of us. Eyes distant, she bites her lower lip pensively before speaking again. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel unwelcome.”
She emphasizes that with another nod. “Forgive me if I haven’t been hospitable, I’m…I haven’t been…”
I set down the pan and turn my back to the counter, gripping the edge of it to give her my full attention.
“It’s been a shitty couple of weeks.”
“How so?”
“Doesn’t matter, and anyway, it would be utterly ridiculous to try and hash out or even entertain something that happened so long ago.”
Translation.
Don’t go there.
I don’t want your apology.
You’re an idiot if you think otherwise.
A warning look is all I’m left with before she leaves me standing there, staring after her. Blowing out a loaded breath, I grab the pan and gaze out of the kitchen window, the tree-covered ridge surrounding the back of the house partially visible due to yard lights. It’s then I vow to drop it for the night, knowing I’ll catch hell in the next week to try and pin her down, much like I did years ago in the beginning.
“Whitney,” I call out, and she spins around, an answering smile lighting her face when she recognizes me. Her ‘I’ve seen you naked’ grin is like a beacon and has me plowing past the crowded campus hall to get to her.
“Hi. Meant to bring your sweatshirt back, but I didn’t.”
I lift a brow. “Why is that?”
She shrugs. “It’s comfortable.”
An instant image of her in my sweatshirt and black thong has my dick twitching. My attraction to her is oddly stronger than it was at the party. But that day had been a clusterfuck, and she’d been the only good thing about it. And if I’m honest, I hadn’t thought about much aside from her since last Friday night.
“Where are you headed?”
“Professor Morales.”
“I had him last year. Marketing major?”
“One of them.” She speaks through distracting, thoroughly glossed pink lips. The fact that she’s intelligent and ambitious—coupled with the plaid sweater brandishing just the right amount of cleavage—ticks more of my boxes. Boxes I’m inventing as we interact. Though I know we’re both pressed to get to our next class. I stall to keep her engaged.
“What’s your other major?”
“You’re full of questions. And I have a full schedule today, so…” she feigns ignorance of my name.
“Eli,” my smirk calls bullshit before I voice it. “But you didn’t forget.”
“You were naked. Hard to forget.”
“I was just an innocent man taking a shower before you bulldozed in and stole my innocence.”