Page 17 of Overtime
“Obviously not!” I squeeze myself between the doorframe and the door, pulling it closed behind me. Which leaves me fartoo close to him, seeing as he hasn’t moved away. I crane my neck back to meet his piercing eyes.
“You’re not stalking me, are you?” he has the nerve to ask.
“How could I possibly be stalking you when you’re the one who barged into my bedroom?”
A corner of his lips twitches.
Dang, he has pretty lips. Wide. Thick. Moisturized. I wonder if he wears lip balm. I should make a note about that in my journal. I bet hockey players’ lips get chapped easily.
“I did not barge in. I’ve stayed out here the whole time.” His voice is the perfect companion to the work of art that is his mouth. Rumbly. Deep. A bit raspy. “Where’s the bathroom?”
I fix my attention on his eyes and say, “Door behind you.”
Finally, he takes a step back and points at me. “First door, they said.” He shifts his finger backward. “Should’ve said first on the right.”
“Ha ha, yeah.”
Those glorious lips stretch just a smidge, but then they disappear as he turns around and heads into the bathroom I share with two other girls.
Oh no. The bathroom’s a disaster zone. What if he sees the hundred pots of acne creams I have on the counter? I should’ve picked up when Rebs called. Maybe I’d have had time to…
Who am I kidding? No matter what I do, I’ll always be a mess. And I don’t have to bust my butt trying to impress this guy or anyone else; I should just be myself, no matter what. I push my shoulders back, lift my chin, and march to the kitchen.
CHAPTER 7
ARAN
Well, well, well. I never imagined I’d get to know my tutor this intimately. But there, as a welcome sign the moment I step into the bathroom, is a bra that can only belong to Strawberry. The other girls are smaller.
I snort, and a laugh threatens to burst out.
Also never would’ve imagined her as a lace girl. Not that I’ve tried to picture what her underwear is like, but if I had to, I’d have said it would be some pink stuff. Possibly with strawberries for decoration. But this is some proper silk, lace, and wire, in a creamy color that would blend with her skin and make her look naked.
I clear my throat.
After that, I make a point of not looking at the garment again. But it’s imprinted in my mind, and I happen to have top-notch spatial vision. I now know exactly how big her chest is. And I’m not sure I can wipe the knowledge from my mind.
After washing my hands with fruity soap, I close the bathroom door and am assaulted by chatter coming from the living room. I stand there for a second, staring at Strawberry’s door. There was a shocking lack of the infamous fruit in thedecor, and the whole space was filled with books. But it smelled similar to this hand soap. I don’t know why I realize that now.
I lift my hand to my nose again and take a good whiff this time. And, of course, it’s strawberry. The woman is obsessed.
“Dude, stop. You’re doing the character dirty,” Mark is saying to Archie as I walk back to the living room.
“Dirty how? I’ve played this game a million times before.”
“Yeah, in your sleep.” Mark snatches the control from the other guy. It doesn’t seem to bother Archie, because when he leans back against the couch, he’s right up against the girl he’s into.
Jamal and Rebs handle the other control. The girl whispers something in his ear that makes his face shift from amused to ultra-competitive, as if he’s on the ice, facing a Bulldog or something and not about to play some video game against Mark.
“You’re back.”
I pull my hands out of the pockets of my jeans, ready to push this Lori chick away bodily if I have to. But she’s sitting on a barstool, legs crossed and facing me.
“Yeah, not for long,” I say, glancing around her until I find my tutor.
“What do you me?—”
I tune out the rest of her question while striding around the kitchen island. I lean against the fridge and fold my arms. My tutor freezes in the middle of assembling a sandwich. Slowly, she glances up at me with wide eyes, like I caught her doing something wrong. And I have.
