Page 31 of Neo

His revelation shocks me, and instantly I feel horrible for asking him about home at all. I know the pain of losing someone close to me and how I don’t like to talk about it…ever. Neo clearly doesn’t like to talk about it either.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say, because what else do you say to something like that?

We start walking again and I decide that it’s probably best that we walk the rest of the way in silence. Once we arrive at my building, Neo leans against the stucco wall near the main entrance, one leg bent with his foot flat against the wall as I dig inside my handbag for the key.

“They really should put a keypad lock on that door,” he says.

“I found it,” I say excitedly, pulling it out and raising it in the air, but he doesn’t lift his head. “So, thank you again for the food–”

“I thought about something on the way here,” he cuts me off.

“What’s that?”

“You lost your mom during Christmas and I lost my brother. What are the odds of a coincidence like that?”

“Your brother’s accident was during Christmas time?”

“The day after Christmas.”

“And you still celebrate?” I ask, somewhat outraged, but then quickly catch myself. “I’m sorry. Occasional verbal diarrhea is an affliction of mine. That was insensitive of me to ask.”

“Christmas reminds me of all the good times we shared, not the pain. It was Jake’s favorite holiday, so when I celebrate it, I feel as if he’s still with me. I’m not going to let what happened ruin those memories. It was just fucked up timing.”

“I hear you,” I respond, remembering that Christmas was my mom’s favorite time of year, too. “I guess I’m just not there yet.”

The walk to campus from my place is relatively short, but the distance from Neo’s house to mine is further than I thought it would be as I look up at the darkening sky. Hockey bad ass or not, I don’t feel right about him walking home by himself. If it wasn’t for me dropping by his practice unannounced, he wouldn’t even be here, so I offer to call him an Uber, even though my credit card may laugh hysterically when they try to charge it for the ride.

“Let me call you a ride,” I offer. “The walk back home is entirely too far at this time of night.”

“Thanks, but I’m not going to just let you call me a car. I offered to walk you home. I knew the distance here. It’s fine.”

“But–”

“Plus, I don’t do Ubers in Vegas. Half of these drivers are tweaking on meth of fentanyl. I don’t trust them and you shouldn’t either.”

“Can one of your teammates pick you up?”

One of those pampered princes must have a car.

“I could call someone, but knowing them, they’re already a few beers in at this time of day.”

His reluctance makes sense now that I know a drunk driver killed his brother. He’s probably super sensitive to people driving under the influence and rightly so. I would be too. I’ve never understood why someone would get behind the wheel after drinking. If they don’t have the capacity to care about the safety of other people, they should at least care about whether they harm themselves.

I have an inner debate with myself. Should I just let Neo walk home? Yes, I should. It’s not that late out and he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. But there’s another option that my damp panties are in full agreement with, which I know is a bad idea, but I voice it anyway.

“Then why don’t you stay and leave in the morning,” I suggest, stunned at myself for making the offer, knowing full well the risk it poses for my growing attraction towards him.

Neo pushes off the wall, walking toward me. His icy blue eyes hold me in place with a look so fierce that it sends a volt of electricity straight to my weeping pussy, kick starting the fucker like the sputtering engine of a car that’s been sitting unused in the garage too long.

“Offer accepted, Grinch.”

violet

This was notthe smartest idea I’ve ever had.

Spending the night in a small apartment with the hottest guy on campus is going to be sexual torture.

The only thing keeping me in check is that I’m pretty sure this is exactly how I was conceived, and it serves as a sober reminder of what not to do.

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