Page 61 of Set on You

My body fights the urge to grab his ridiculously beautiful face and kiss him. But when I remember how he hung up on me after randomly bringing up his ex, I think better of it. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, inadvertently pushing up my boobs, accentuating my cleavage. “My deepest regrets. Would you also like your belly scratched?”

His gaze flickers briefly over my chest before settling back on my face with a devilish smile. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no.”

My face heats. He’s being his normal, deliberately flirty self, which only heightens my curiosity about last night’s mystery call. Suddenly, the entranceway feels far too small. In need of air, I inch past him, into the living room.

Scott’s apartment is clean and simple. It’s older, with original wood flooring and crown molding around the ceilings. There’s a sizable living room, filled with masculine leather furniture and a flat-screen television. Basically a frat boy’s starter pack. A cutout wall separates the living area from the slightly outdated kitchen. As always, it’s surprisingly clean for two men who work long shifts.

Scott follows my lead into the living room, watching as I perch on the arm of the couch. There’s a lingering silence, casting a barrier between us that’s never been there before. As I mindlessly stroke Albus’s head, I wonder if he feels it too.

I can’t suppress my curiosity any longer, nor can I stand the awkwardness. “So... who called you last night?” I finally ask.

His eyes immediately go to his feet, deliberately avoiding the weight of my penetrating gaze. He runs a hand over the back of his neck before clearing his throat. “Trevor.”

I frown, immediately suspicious. He never avoids eye contact. “Why’d he call?”

“To tell me he let Albus out before going to work.” His voice is clipped, like he’s desperate to move on from the topic.

It strikes me as odd that Trevor would call him at two in the morning over something so trivial. Why not send a simple text?

I want to press him farther, interrogate him FBI-style, because my gut tells me he’s lying. But what else can I say without sounding unhinged? I have no actual proof otherwise, and I can’t go alljealous girlfriendwhen we aren’t even a couple.

Instead, I settle on an innocent, “Did you have a busy day today?”

He’s still avoiding eye contact as he shrugs, hands deep in the pockets of his dark-wash jeans. “Uh, it was okay. Did some errands.”

I tilt my head, unconvinced.

He registers my suspicion, finally meeting my eyes. “What? You don’t believe me or something?”

“I hadn’t heard back from you this morning. I thought that was kind of weird.”

He watches me for a moment, the tension in his jaw softening. “Sorry, really. I had a lot going on.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah, not right now. Appreciate it, though.” His vagueresponse does little to quell my nerves, and he senses it. “It’s nothing for you to worry about right now. I promise.” He steps forward, reaching for a strand of hair falling into my face. His fingertips brush my cheek as he places it gently behind my ear, eyes locking to mine. They’re soft and sincere. I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t deliberately hurt me.

I want to respect his request for privacy. We may be close, but it’s not like I have an automatic right to know everything that’s going on in his life. I search his face for any sign of deception, but fail to find one. If he’s lying to me, he deserves an award. “Okay.”

I flop onto my usual spot on his couch while he rifles around in the kitchen. When he returns to the living area, he’s bearing fruit. Literally. There’s a carton of clementines tucked under his right arm.

He remembered my favorite snack.

“No way. Where did you find these? They’re out of season.” Grateful, I reach to pluck two from the box, almost entirely forgetting his sketchy behavior.

“I have my ways.”

My cheeks burn as his eyes linger for a moment longer than casual. “So, what do you wanna watch?” I ask, clearing my throat. I settle in the left-hand corner of his couch, making a concerted effort to loosen my grip on the clementines, lest I inadvertently juice them with my bare hands. “Something twenty minutes or less?”

He sets himself down beside me, man-splaying, long legs stretched out under the coffee table. “Ha ha, very funny. I promise I won’t fall asleep. You have my permission to take any means necessary to keep me awake.”

I shoot him a mischievous smile. “Any means necessary?”

“Within reason,” he warns, pretending to inch away from me.

“I think it’s time to work on your stamina. We’ll watch...” I rack my brain for a morbidly long movie. “Lord of the Rings,” I say evilly, knowing full well it’s a trilogy, which yields about nine combined hours with him.

He smiles, amused. “I didn’t take you for a big nerd.”

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