Page 32 of Resist Me

West stepped in and started looking at everything. He ran his fingers over the arm of the couch, then ventured into the kitchen. I stood there, watching him do his inspection while I fiddled with the keys in my hand.

What was he thinking when he touched the countertop or glanced out of the small window? Was he passing judgment on the tiny apartment? It wouldn’t really make sense considering he was the one with kamikaze cockroaches.

I slipped off my shoes but kept my eyes on him. He made his way around the entire place before he looked at me. His expression was immovable, a stone mask that refused to allow me access to hisinnermost thoughts. For a second, I was trapped under that gaze. Then, his face morphed into his familiar excitement, a goofy grin slipping into place.

“Shoes,” I clipped.

“Do you have OCD?” he asked as he set his sneakers by the door.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have let you walk around in those and touch everything.”

“Or you were seething in silent rage the whole time.”

The corners of my mouth twitched upward. “No, I’m not obsessive about shit. I just like things to be clean. Otherwise, it gets out of control and I can’t play like that.” Glancing at the keyboard, I pursed my lips to cut myself off before I started telling him more about myself.

Dropping the keys on the entry table, I walked into the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and pulled out a jug of protein powder. West’s gaze was like a physical weight as I measured everything out. Most people knew that it was rude to stare, but he seemed to have missed the memo.

“You should get out of those clothes,” I remarked, nodding toward his wet shirt.

He looked down at it for a moment, then pulled it over his head. Once again, I found myself in front of a naked-chested West. This time, my face felt warm. I quickly averted my eyes and tipped my head back to drain the shaker bottle. In my rush, I hadn’t made sure the powder was fully dissolved and I fought the urge to gag as the lumpy fluid poured into my mouth.

“Mind if I use your shower?” he asked.

I just shook my head. He disappeared into the bathroom and I dropped my hands to the counter. Now that I was alone, I couldn’t stop asking myself why I’d invited him here. The guy said he couldn’t sleep, so I told him to come over for a sleepover. It was embarrassing, really.

Maybe it was that sadness I’d seen in him. It reached something inside of my chest that had never served me but I couldn’t get rid of.

West was damaged. I had a weakness for damaged men- both romantic and platonic- and it never worked in my favor. Usually, they ended up walking away with some of my own spark, feeding on it to feel alive while they left me to heal slowly and painfully.

I didn’t break it, so I wasn’t buying it. It was that simple.

The shower turned off and I realized I’d just been standing in the kitchen for god knows how long. I brought the shaker bottle to the sink and began washing it. The bathroom door opened, but I didn’t turn around. West, of course, didn’t know how to occupy himself, so he came over and leaned against the counter beside me.

“Your showerhead is amazing. If we had better water pressure, I’d get one.”

I glanced sidelong at him, taking in his basketball shorts and bare torso.

I frowned at the ugly bruise on his side. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Ever been hit by a truck?”

I opened the freezer and pulled out an ice pack. When he scowled at it, I jerked my chin toward the bed. He obliged, but in the same way that a toddler would. Sure, I was only twenty-two, but it felt like we were decades apart sometimes. I could hardly remember what I was like at eighteen, but I knew I hadn’t been like West.

He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hands behind him on the mattress, which gave me better access to his ribs. I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do about it, but he obviously hadn’t taken care of it himself, so it just felt like something was better than nothing.

“You’re an idiot,” I said.

He chuckled. “I’m very aware of that, Linc.”

Rolling my lips, I touched the bruise with the pads of my fingers. It was bigger than my whole hand and stretched around to the front of his torso. When I trailed my fingers to where the bruise ended, just below his chest, his muscles flexed under my touch. I looked up and found him watching me with an unreadable expression.

My guilt soared again. “West…”

He continued to stare, waiting for me to go on. The admission died on my tongue, though, and I just shook my head.

“Keep this on it,” I said, thrusting the ice pack at him. “I’m gonna shower.”

I quickly stood and walked to the bathroom as casually as I could. Once the door closed behind me, I let out a breath. Clearly, I was a coward. I’d never done something like this before and if it was justabout trying to make him lose the game, I’d be able to move past feeling bad.

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