Page 29 of Mason
I roll my eyes. “You’re kidding, right? We’ve never been on good terms.Ever.”
He turns and drops the box next to my dresser. “Maybe sometime, when you’re not quite so worked up about it, you could take a look.”
“I really don’t see the point.” I glare at the box with disgust like bugs are going to come crawling out of it and cross my arms firmly over my chest.
He gives me a tight smile, rubbing his hand over the scruff coming in on his cheek. “Well, it’s not my job to play go-between, so that’s the last time I’ll ask you about it.” He hesitates. “Can I sit with you for a sec? I wanted to ask you about something.”
I eye him warily. “Yeah. I guess so.” I gesture to the couch on the far side of the room.
He sprawls over one cushion and half the middle one. I carefully sit on the arm, facing him with my feet up on the seat.
“Have you felt okay since the sleepwalking incident?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek for a moment. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Are you, though?” He clears his throat. “Because I wanted to ask—” His teeth clench together before his eyes connect with mine, concern lacing his gaze. “Is this something that happens often?”
My stomach roils. “I’ve been stressed out. I think that’s all it is.” Maybe. I don’t know. “It’s been happening for several years, but only every once in a while. Nightmares, too.” I draw in an unsteady breath. “Lately, it’s all been more frequent. I don’t know why. It’s frustrating.”
“Does it make you nervous to sleep?”
“A little. I’ve never hurt myself or anything.”
“But you can see where you could, right?”
For the second time today, my face flushes deeply. “Of course. I’m not stupid.” My voice hitches. “I mean, where the fuck was I going Sunday night? I have no idea!” I cover my face with shaking hands and my eyes crash shut, squeezing tightly closed. I’m not going to cry, I’m just really fucking frustrated.
“Hey.”
I’m far enough in my own little world that I don’t notice him move. But then, Bear’s arms are around me, scooping me up against his chest. He sits back down with me sideways on his lap and locks his arms around my middle. He doesn’t speak, but instead waits until I’m ready. I appreciate the fuck out of that because so many times people try to talk me down or “help” before I’m truly ready for it. I don’t get upset that often, but I’m on overload with everything today.
I draw in an unsteady breath, then release it, wetting my lips before I speak, my face half-buried in his chest. “Sometimes I worry about it before I go to bed and it kind of overtakes my mind. And it’s on those nights that it’s the worst because when I finally do sleep, it’s kinda like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
Bear inhales deeply, then lets it out in one big gust. “I’m here. Seriously. Anytime you’re feeling like this, if it helps to not be alone, you can come find me.” He shifts both of us and pulls his phone from his pocket. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I have an odd feeling that I know. “What’s your phone number?” he murmurs.
I twist, taking his phone from him, and find I was correct. He’s opened a new text thread. Quickly, I input my digits and shoot myself a message that simply reads, “Bear,” before I had it back to him.
“Good. Now, I don’t claim to know what’s in your head, or what you need, so if it helps”—he pauses while he fiddles with the phone again—“and it’s not me you need, I’ve just sent you contact info for Mason and Duke. You probably should have them in case of an emergency on campus, anyway.” He runs his huge hand over my back, and I can’t deny that his warmth has a calming effect on me. “Do you need anything else from me right now?”
I chew discreetly on the inside of my cheek. What I really want to do is stay curled up in his lap all evening, but instead, I remove myself from that place of comfort and sit on the couch beside him. I don’t need him to know that he’s chipping away at the carefully structured walls I’ve built around myself with his kindness. I don’t want to appear needy. There’s something inside me that’s crying out for more of this. Of him. I swallow hard past the growing lump that’s caught in my throat. “No. I’m good.”
He tilts his head, studying me for a moment, then nods. “Okay. I’ll be down in the gym if you need anything.” He unfolds his big body and gets to his feet.
I rise from the couch, and for a few moments, the two of us stand there, unmoving. My eyes roam his strong jawline, then his full lips before returning to his hazel eyes. I bite down hard on my lip, because I don’t want to be the pain in the ass who’s constantly asking for help…
He tips my head up with a gentle touch of his fingers to the underside of my chin. “What’s going on?”
“I was thinking about what you said. About teaching me to throw a punch. Defend myself. Not today, but I really would like to work with you sometime. You know, if you have time. I know you’re probably busy with all your football practices and stuff. But you know, I—”
“Lennon,” Bear chuckles low, a hint of a smile curving his lips, “stop rambling. I said I’ll help you out. I meant it.” He reaches out, grasping the back of my neck, his thumb sliding over my skin at the hinge of my jaw. His brow furrows. “I’ve got you.” After a moment, he rather reluctantly lets go, turns on his heel, and walks out.
I definitely don’t have a firm enough grasp on the inner workings of his mind yet, but I’m fairly certain Bear didn’t want to leave any more than I wanted him to. And he might be as confused by our talk as I am.
While I ponder that, I slowly cross the room to the stupid Duke box he brought up for me and left next to my dresser. Shaking my head and grumbling a bit, I kneel in front of it and pry the cardboard flaps open. My eyes widen in both amazement and confusion. Because the box? It didn't contain a bunch of cast-offs like I’d previously suspected. It'd simply been a vessel hiding a whole lot of shopping bags and boxes from high-end stores, most of which I’d never dare set foot in. Fendi, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada, YSL, Dolce & Gabbana. And that’s just what my eyes take in at the first glance. My stomach flips as I spy something from La Perla.
Tell me my stepbrother didn’t buy me lingerie.
SIXTEEN
