Page 7 of Blurred Lines

I gasp when his hand snatches out to grasp my wrist. He doesn’t hurt me, but it’s a firm hold intended to stop me from touching him any further. Freezing, I look up into his chestnut eyes that are darkened with an emotion I can’t read. His other arm is still holding the towel to his damp strands, and as he lowers it down to his side, his body shifts ever so slightly, giving me a better view of the bruising. But more importantly, it gives me a clear view of what I missed before—the twisted, deformed skin that runs along his back and continues beneath the waistband of his boxers.

My mouth is slightly parted as I stare at it, taking my time to roam my eyes over the rough skin. It’s in direct contrast to the rest of his body, and yet, somehow it seems so perfectly Wilder. It makes no sense at all, but it fits him. It speaks to his standoffish and unstable personality. Wilder is far from the gorgeous specimen the rest of his body would suggest. He’s flawed and volatile, quick to anger and apathetic. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.

Slowly, I lift my gaze to his, and even though his hand is still wrapped firmly around my wrist, I move to brush my fingers over the toughened, uneven skin. He lets me, and when my fingers connect with his skin, my gaze falls back to where I’m touching him. I stare transfixed for who knows how long, feeling the ridges and valleys of his marred skin beneath my fingertips.

“It’s beautiful.” The words are a whispered exhale, the moment fraught with too much tension to allow my voice to come out any stronger. Regardless, I mean every word. On anyone else, the burns would probably look heinous. An eye sore for sure, but not on Wilder.

He doesn’t respond, and when I’ve looked my fill and meet his eyes again, I find him watching me pensively. Something crackles in the air between us as I momentarily get lost in his eyes. Then, in the blink of an eye, he straightens, clearing his throat, and the moment—if that’s what you could even call it—is broken.

I can feel a blush rising on my cheeks as I glance away, taking a much needed step back from him to clear my head.

“Uhh…” I begin awkwardly, looking everywhere but at him. Quickly realizing I don’t know what else to say, I stop scrambling for words, and instead grab one of the pillows from my bed and a blanket. I hold them out for him to take, but instead of doing as expected, he just frowns at them.

“What are those for?”

“Ehh, it’s all I’ve got, but it’s nearly dawn anyway, so you won’t have to sleep on the floor for long.”

His eyes snap up to mine. “The floor?” he asks incredulously. “Oh no, I amnotsleeping on the floor like a dog.”

I roll my eyes at his pretentious attitude and drop my outstretched hand. “Well feel free to leave then.”

He sighs, sounding completely exasperated. “Just get into bed, Em.”

I snort, looking at him like he’s crazy—although, I’m almost certain he is. “I amnotsleeping with you.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, ignoring me as he strides over tomybed and slips beneath the covers. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

That’s the problem though, I just don’t know what he might do. Even more concerning, as I drink in the steady rise and fall of his hard pecs and lean frame, I’m not sure what Iwanthim to do.

When I don’t move or respond, he throws back the covers on the other side, fixing his face into a more pleading expression. I’m not sure he’s ever pleaded in his life, ‘cause he looks more like he’s in pain than anything else. “Please, Em. I’m exhausted and I just want to get some sleep.”

Huffing out a breath, I decide I can probably survive a few hours in the same bed as him, and move to slide in beside him. With the pillow still in my hand, I fix it on the bed between us.

“Now what are you doing?” Wilder grumbles, looking quizzically at where I’m forming a line of pillows between us.

“Creating a pillow wall.” Obviously. What does he think I’m doing? It may seem childish and stupid, but wearing only his boxers, he is looking way too hot for me to trust that I won’t do something stupid like reach out and stroke him in my dreaming state. Not to mention what a fucking complication that would be if I slept with him. He’s still technically Hadley’s fiancé, and I sure as fuck do not need to go stirring up that drama.

He mutters something incoherent before rolling onto his side and closing his eyes. I stare at him for a couple of minutes before I’m satisfied that he’s going to just lie there and sleep before I do the same, rolling away from him and flicking off the bedside light.

When I wake in the morning, Wilder is gone, and my pillow wall has been thrown on the floor. As I roll onto my back, I can feel the faint heat from his body still lingering on the mattress, exactly where my pillow wall had been.

***

Hadley’s back. She’s spent the last couple of days in hospital, although I have no idea why. But none of it matters, because she’s back. Wilder messaged to inform me late last night, and I was hardly able to sleep. I’ve been up since six, waiting patiently for a respectable hour of the day to arrive so I can go and see her—eight a.m. is respectable, right? It’s going to have to be, because I’m going to wear my teeth down if I grind them anymore, stressing about what state I’m going to find her in.

I speed walk across to the boys’ dorms and up the stairs, not even hesitating before banging my fist against the door. However, when it swings open and Hawk’s broad frame fills up the entire doorway, my breath stalls for a second.Dammit,I was certain Mason would answer. According to Hadley, Hawk never gets up this early if he can avoid it.

His scowl is menacing, freezing me in place. “What do you want?” he snaps.

As soon as he spits out the hostile words, anger sparks to life within me. He knows goddamn well why I’m here and what I want.

“I want to see her!”

“She’s not—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” I snarl, getting increasingly more worked up that this infuriating baboon is trying to stop me from seeing my best friend. “Iknowshe’s here.”

He doesn’t move a muscle. It’s like his expression is permanently stuck to his face. He wears it so often, maybe it is.

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