Page 48 of The Wallflower

I can feel the heat from his body radiating into mine. The hefty smell of his peppermint and teakwood cologne makes it hard for me to focus.

“Maybel, eat the damn sandwich,” he growls, and the vibration of his voice echoes through me. Every fiber inside me wants to fight him, to push his hand away or tell him I can fucking feed myself, but I know the power of those hands, and with the tense mood he’s in, I wouldn't put it past him to hold me down and force-feed me.

Leaning forward, I wrap my lips around the bread and sink my teeth into it, taking a big bite. He nods in approval, his eyes darkening as he watches me chew.

"I can feed myself," I remind him.

He shrugs one broad shoulder up. "Are you sure? If I left it up to you, you’d still be sitting in your bedroom, listening to your stomach growling. So now I’m feeding you. More." I take another bite, and he continues to feed me, a little at a time, until the entire sandwich is gone and my belly is full.

Definitelyhaven't been eating enough.

He snags his own sandwich off the plate and eats almost half of it in one bite. I don’t know why, but I stupidly smile at him. Maybe because, for the first time ever, our interaction isn’t sexual or violent. It’s just simple and normal. Either way, he returns the smile, and there isn’t any denying how handsome of a man he is. If only he smiled all the time.

"No need to rush through eating. The other football players aren’t going to steal your food,” I joke.

He gives me a puzzled look. “And here I thought you’d send me out the door the moment I arrived, but you haven’t even thrown something at me yet.”

“On second thought, hurry the hell up.” A bubble of laughter escapes me, and Drew gives me another megawatt smile that somehow makes me feel like I’m seeing the real him. The tension between us seems to ease, and the heavy feeling on my chest lifts. If only every interaction between us went like this.

Maybe then I could picture us being…

My phone buzzes in the next room, and then there’s a thud, the sound of it hitting the floor after it falls off the nightstand. That damn thing is always going off. Between clients texting me and conversations with my mom, it’s not surprising.

I look at Drew, and something close to suspicion flickers in his eyes as he glances toward my bedroom. "Who is texting you this late?"

"Well, I mean, you were texting me before. It’s not abnormal to receive texts from clients or even my mother at this time of night.”

He jerks his chin up, shoves the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, then turns toward my room. I already know what he’s going to do. Call it instinct or just the knowledge of starting to understand his mannerisms, but I race after him, trying to get to the phone before he does. He makes it into the room first and snatches it off the floor in his big bear paw.

By the time I reach him, he’s thumbing through the messages and using his other hand to fend me off. Despite his six-three height and broad shoulders, the guy is fast as hell. I make a mental note to put a damn passcode on my phone.

“Look. I know you think youownme and everything, but my phone isnotyour property.” I huff.

Ignoring my statement altogether as he continues thumbing through the messages, he growls, "Who the fuck is Stewart?" His dark gaze penetrates, daring me to lie to him. “Don’t tell me this is one of your tutoring clients."

I sputter. "Of course it is. Who else would it be?”

"I mean, you tell me? What do you call a text this late and him using a nickname to address you? I know you’re smart, Bel. Surely, you can see what I’m seeing."

I roll my eyes because this entire conversation is draining and stupid. "Apparently, I can’t. We’re just friends. He’s probably up late studying, same as I usually am." I grab formy phone again, but his hand moves, resting gently against my collarbone, almost cupping my neck.

"Just friends? Huh? Did you fuck him?”

The words are a literal slap to my face. I sputter and try to step away, but he closes his hand, his fingers coming up around my neck, encasing my throat in a collar of warmth.

"Did. You. Fuck. Him?" he asks again, each word a jab at my heavy beating heart.

I gulp, feeling his hand press tighter as I do. How could he even question that?

"No. Of course I didn't. That night with you… It was my first time." The one I still can't talk about, hell, even think about. "You know I didn't...I hadn't… been with anyone else.”

The feral, animalistic rage in his eyes drains away as reality rushes back to the surface. His grip loosens only slightly as he remembers, weighing my words.

"You're right." I wait for something more:an I'm sorry for being an asshole, Bel. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, Bel.Even an…I don't know what I'm talking about, Bel.But I get none of those things. He only stares at me, his eyes skimming down to my breasts where my nipples are peaked from the cold and his touch.

The electrifying current rages between us, making the air tight and hot, crushing around us. What is this, and why do I only feel it with him here when he touches me?

"Why are you like this?" I whisper, afraid that raising my voice will spark some raging fire into existence.

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