Page 14 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

“I’ll, uh…” Again, my voice trails off as I try to calm the freaking swarm of butterflies assaulting my stomach. I turn around and open the dark cabinets, blindly searching for a glass while the jug of juice hangs limply from my other hand.

A cup. A cup. Where’s a freaking cup?

I shouldn’t be unnerved. I’ve been around half-naked guys before. Okay. I’ve been around a fully naked Logan, but that’s about it. Men and I? We’ve never really been super chummy.

Which is why I’m so glad I found Logan. He was the hockey star. The sexy guy who was going places, and he offered to take his goody-two-shoes-slash-bookworm-girlfriend with him.

This is why I most definitely should not be drooling over his roommate––I peek over my shoulder––who is still watching me.

Great.

“Cups?” I ask, fed up with my search. “Do you have any more cups?”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re thirsty?” he returns, his tone thick with sarcasm.

I toss a quick glare his way but continue my search. The wood cabinets sound like clashing cymbals in the otherwise silent kitchen as I open and close the doors nearest to the sink. The entire lower shelf is empty, and since I’m barely over 5’3”, having a glimpse of the upper ones is bleak at best. Standing on my tiptoes, I blindly reach up, desperate to get the hell out of here, when warmth spreads along my spine.

“You never texted me,” he murmurs, the sound low and raspy.

He’s standing behind me. Not touching me. But I can still feel him—his heat. Hell, I can smell him. His scent taints the air. Like musk and man and––I hold my breath, keeping myself from going into full-blown Bloodhound mode as his corded forearm reaches above me and grabs a cup from the upper shelf.

With a soft clink of glass on granite, he sets it next to my hip on the counter and trails his hand along my bare arm. His fingers tickle against my sensitive flesh, making my knees weak as he takes the orange juice from my hand, twists the dark green cap, and removes it. Then, he splashes some of it into the cup while I hold my breath.

Goosebumps pebble along my skin, but I keep my attention on his strong hands as they lift the glass and offer it to me, all too aware of the gorgeous man behind me who’s practically pinning me against the counter. My hands shake slightly as I take the offered drink and bring it to my lips. It’s sweet and tart with low pulp, but I barely taste a thing. My senses are too busy zeroing in on the stranger whose heat is branding my back. The way his breath tickles the top of my head, his subtle scent teasing my nostrils.

As if he can tell I’m close to breaking, he steps back, giving me another foot of space. I turn around and face him again. I should be frustrated right now. Or annoyed with his presence.

What I shouldn’t be is curious. But I am. I can’t help it. I’ve never been curious about anyone. Even Logan had to pursue me, begging me to let him take me on a date before I agreed.

But the man in front of me?

He’s distracting.

That much I know.

Maybe it’s because he’s the opposite of Logan in every way. Where Logan screams Prince Charming, Colt screams bad idea. Logan has blonde hair, and Colt has dark. Logan’s shorter, stockier. Colt is long and lean-ish. Still built for hockey, though. Logan also screams gentleman while his buddy screams…

I gulp and wet my lips.

His attention slides to them, and his mouth flickers with amusement.

He’s toying with me, leaving my mouth dry and my palms sweaty with a look alone. And he knows it.

I need to get out of here.

“Thanks,” I whisper, wiggling the glass back and forth to showcase what I’m talking about.

He stays quiet.

Unable to hold his dark, flinty gaze, I look down and follow the light trail of hair beneath his belly button instead.

Nope. Bad idea, Ashlyn.

I take another sip to wet my dry throat, giving the guy a tight smile.

“Still thirsty?” he asks.

I shake my head, my breath shallow and unsteady.

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