Page 51 of For Crosby

I faintly saw him lay down on his back and cross his arms behind his head. I crawled under the sheets on his bed and turned on my side so I could face him.

A long silence passed between us.

“Sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” he said.

“Sorry I left you tied to a tree.”

“Are you?”

I laughed. “Not really. You deserved it.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Good night, Sabrina.”

“Good night, Crosby.”

But it wasn’t a good night. Not even close. I was up most of it listening to the low purr of Crosby’s breathing. It was all I could focus on. The guy was jacked. And those tattoos—now that I’d seen them up close and knew what they meant to him—made him even hotter. And don’t get me started on his naked body. I’d somehow been able to put that image out of my head, but now that we were alone in the darkness, and it’s all I could think about.

My body tingled with need. I’d never been one who couldn’t control my urges. Control my thoughts from going to dirty places. Control the throbbing between my thighs.

Ugh.

I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow. The damn thing had Crosby’s scent all over it.

Fuuuuuck.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sabrina

The sound of Crosby’s door closing softly jarred me awake in the morning. Feeling groggy and exhausted, my eyes cracked open. Sunlight filtered into the room. Crosby wasn’t there, but I could hear the soft rasp of his voice in the hallway.

“I’m fine,” he said. “How are you doing?” Since there was no other voice, it was clear he was on the phone. “Yeah...Appeal it…That sounds like a good idea.” Nothing in his voice said he believed what he said. “I’ll try. You know I don’t have a car anymore. I’d have to take the bus again…Uh huh…Thanks for calling. Talk to you tomorrow.” There was a long silence. I wondered if he was listening to whichever parent was on the other end or if he’d disconnected the call and needed time to regroup.

A short while later, the door handle twisted. Crosby stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.

“You okay?” I asked.

He swung around. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I sat up, pulling an elastic from my wrist and tying my hair into a top-knot. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, good.” He hurried to his closet and grabbed a towel. Then he moved just as quickly to his dresser, grabbed a pair of boxers, and walked to the door. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said, trying to figure out why he suddenly seemed so eager to get away from me. Was he regretting asking me to stay?

He pulled open the door.

“Wait.”

He twisted toward me.

“You sure you’re okay?”

He stared across the room at me, his eyes saying what his answer didn’t. “Yeah.”

When he walked back into his room twenty minutes later with soaked hair wearing only his boxers, I focused solely on his eyes. And not the droplets of water on his face. Or the ridges defining the muscles in his chest. Or the tattoos wrapped around his arms.

“Is it safe for me out there?” I flicked my eyes toward the door.

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