by Mia Harlan
The metal knob is mere inches from my hand. I give it a twist and the water flow finally stops. I should be relieved, but instead, I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’ve been here less than an hour and I’ve already managed to turn the fancy bathroom into a soapy moat.
Tears spring to my eyes, which helps with the stinging from the soap. My vision blurs and my panic grows. There’s no way I can clean this up! When Tate and Charles realize what I’ve done, they’re going to flip. I get this sudden mental image of an angry Father advancing on me with fists flying, but Tate and Charles aren’t like that. Even if they were, they haven’t been drinking. They’ll probably yell at me and call the cops, which isn’t any better.
“Why is there water on the floor?” Tate shouts, sounding panicked. The doorknob rattles, reminding me that I’m standing in the tub without any clothes on.
With a panicked yelp, I plop down in the middle of the tub. I manage to submerge myself fully in soapy water, so only my head is sticking out, and tons of water splashes loudly onto the floor.
“Roonie! What’s going on in there? Open the door!” Tate sounds about as panicked as I feel. I should just drown myself in the tub and be done with it. Except Tate will eventually break down the door and when he pulls me out I’ll still be completely naked.
“Hold on,” I shout over the gurgling sound of the overflow drain as it tries and fails to suck in the excess water from the tub. “Please, I just need a minute.”
I look around wildly. I have to get dressed before Tate breaks open the door. I can’t face him like this. When he kicks me out, I at least want to be wearing more than my birthday suit.
I scramble out of the tub toward my pile of clothes. The doorknob rattles again and I know I’m running out of time. After a second of hesitation, I grab the robe Tate left for me and pull it on. I pick up my clothes and feel the jeans pocket to make sure the fractured pieces of my necklace are still there. Then, I square my shoulders. It’s time to face the music.
Chapter 10
Tears stream down my face as I flip the lock and twist the doorknob. Tate’s going to hate me. He’s been so nice to me, rescuing me from the forest, taking me to the doctor, and letting me stay here. And how did I repay him? By flooding his apartment. It’s just like Father always says. I can’t do anything right!
I yank angrily at the door, and the sudden motion jars my ribs even as the door flies open.
“What the—” Tate gapes and the flooded bathroom floor. His sneakers and jogging-pant clad ankles are soaked and there are soap bubbles everywhere. The entire hall is filled with them, and I’m pretty sure the same goes for the living room. I remember the pristine, expensive-looking white rug on the floor by the couch and my heart lurches.
“I’m so sorry!” I wail, taking a small step back.
I can’t fix this. I’ll never be able to pay for the water damage, let alone replace that expensive-looking rug. I don’t even think Father could afford to pay for the damage on his coach’s salary…not that he’d ever spend his hard-earned money on a mess like me. I’m legally an adult. I’ll probably end up in prison and I’ll definitely end up homeless.
“Roonie!” Tate takes a step forward.
“I didn’t mean to. I swear it was an accident!” I cry, scrambling away from him. The floor is slick and wet, and I lose my balance. I throw my arms out to regain purchase and my jeans and sweater slip from my fingers. They plop loudly onto the flooded floor while my feet continue to slip and slide.
“Watch out,” Tate cries, grabbing me before I can slam into the counter. Somehow, he manages to keep us both upright. He pulls me against his chest, hard, and I cry out as pain reverberates down my ribs and back.
Tate instantly loosens his grip, but that doesn’t lessen the pain. Then, the door across the hall bangs open and I feel like I might throw up.
“What did you do?” Charles shouts, splashing through the water to get to us.
I start to back away again, but Tate’s grip keeps me in place. When Charles reaches us—dressed in a pair of black boxer briefs hugging thick, muscular thighs—I have to force myself not to stare. I start to look up, but my eyes lock on his huge, muscular chest.
What kind of person does this make me? I just destroyed the apartment, and what am I doing? Ogling the beast’s perfectly sculpted pecs.
Charles takes in the flooded bathroom floor and then his gaze locks on mine. His huge, beastly beard makes it hard to tell just how angry he is…which must be very, very angry. Livid, even.
I brace myself for the shouting and accusations. It’s the least I deserve.
Tate tightens his arms around me, as if sensing my urge to escape, but Charles doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow before spinning around and splashing his way back to his room.
“I’m so sorry,” I shout after him, but Charles keeps walking. He can’t stand the sight of me and after what I’ve done, and I can’t really blame him.
“Roonie.” Tate grabs my shoulders. “Look at me.”
“N-no.” I whimper. I try to push him away, and his grip tightens.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
“How can you say that?” I cry. My entire body starts to tremble, and I struggle to catch my breath. “I ruined your bathroom and probably your entire living room. I might have ruined your apartment! Then, you’ll be homeless too…and…and…”
“Hey…hey!” Tate scoops me up into his arms.
“Let me go. Please!” I struggle to break free. I can’t let him toss me out without Mom’s necklace.
“Roonie, stop! I don’t want to drop you,” Tate warns, keeping his grip firm as he carries me into the living room.
The curtains are pulled back to reveal large floor-to-ceiling windows. The balcony doors are closed, keeping out the chilly night air, and the overwhelming scent of vanilla in. I take one look at the flooded floor, with the soggy white rug submerged in bubbles, and slam my eyes shut. I ruined everything!
Another sob escapes as Tate splashes to his destination. I wait for him to open the front door and toss me out. It’s the least I deserve after what I’ve done, and I have no right to ask to go back for Mom’s necklace.
Tate takes a few more steps and sets me down. My eyes fly open, expecting to see the door, but I’m surprised to find myself in front of the kitchen island. Tate faces me and I wait for him to start shouting.
For a second, I worry he might hit me, just like Father, then shake off the absurd thought. Not everyone is like that, especially not Tate. And if there’s a villain in this story, it’s definitely me.
Tate takes a step forward and I cringe instinctively. “I’m so sorry, Roonie,” he whispers, pulling me into a tight hug. His body feels warm and solid, but I don’t let myself enjoy being wrapped in his arms.
“I’m the one who flooded your apartment,” I cry, trying to pull away. Tate doesn’t let go.
“I should have turned off the water,” Tate whispers against my ear. “I shouldn’t have left you alone after what you’ve been through.”
“I was the one who wasn’t paying attention. It was all my fault, Tate.”
“No, it wasn’t. You’re injured and you took all those painkillers. And I had my headphones in, so I couldn’t hear anything.” Tate hugs me tighter. “I should never have left you alone like that. You could have drowned!”
“Drowned?” I shake my head against his chest. “Tate, I’m fine.”
Tate hugs me tighter. My ribs barely hurt now, and my tears slowly subside. His arms feel strong and warm and comforting, and I let myself relax against his chest. I even start to snuggle closer when Charles lets out a loud, pointed cough.
I jump away from Tate and spin around to face the Beast. Charles is still barefoot, but instead of those tight, black briefs he was in earlier, he’s wearing a pair of black silk shorts and a silky black t-shirt.
Despite his beastly size and wild beard, I find myself drawn to Charles. When he gives me a
pointed once-over, my body floods with heat. He takes in my robe-clad body, and then his gaze drifts up to my matted hair and tear-stained face.
My heart sinks. Charles isn’t checking me out. He’s probably taking in every messy inch before he tells me to get out.
I take an instinctive step closer to Tate and only then notice the items in Charles’s hands. A tablet and a handful of chocolate bars. He sets them down on the counter and then turns to Tate. “Can I talk to you?” he asks. At Tate’s nod, he adds, “Over there?”
Tate hesitates but Charles doesn’t wait for him to make up his mind. He grabs his roommate’s arm and drags him across the living room. They splash their way through the bubble-filled moat, releasing more of the vanilla scent into the air. It would make for a great song, if I felt like singing. Which I don’t. Not after what I’ve done to their beautiful apartment.
I stand there, holding my breath, as Tate and Charles stop next to the couch. Charles scowls and Tate sends me a wink, but I’m too freaked out to respond. I know exactly what will happen next. Charles will tell Tate that I have to go, or worse—that he called campus security or the police.
My heart races as I listen as the deep, beastly timbre of his voice as he starts to speak. He’s too far away for me to overhear, but whatever he says, Tate doesn’t agree. He shakes his head and starts to whisper something in earnest. He sends me a few furtive glances, and I wonder if he’s trying to defend me or if he’s changed his mind and is telling Charles I have to go. Whatever he says, Charles doesn’t agree. His huge hands bunch into fists and he starts to argue with Tate.
The two of them go back and forth for a while and Tate’s expression darkens with each passing second. First, to a frown, and then to a full-blown scowl. He glances at me, and I shrink back as a lump forms in my throat. He’s finally realized the extent of the damage. I’ve destroyed his apartment and he hates me. He really, truly hates me.
I force back tears as Charles suddenly spins around and stalks toward me. My heart hammers in my chest as he takes large, purposeful steps. Instinctively, I retreat, and my back hits the bar. I wince.
Then, Charles is right there, towering over me. Crowding my personal space. Staring at me with a feral look in his eyes. Before I can react, he grabs me around the waist. I barely hold back a scream. Then, my feet leave the ground and my heart nearly explodes out of my chest.
“You alright, Roonie?” Charles asks gently as he sets me down on the barstool.
I nod as the tension slowly seeps out of me. Charles isn’t like Father. He’s not going to hit me. He might ask me to leave, but he wouldn’t physically hurt me.
Charles regards me for several seconds while I hold my breath and wait for him to tell me to leave. He doesn’t. He walks past me and takes the barstool to my left while Tate splashes toward us and takes the seat to my right.
Chapter 11
The two of them crowd me in and I feel like I might faint. I should be focused on the impending conversation. I have to explain that I can’t fix what I’ve done to their apartment. I have to admit I can’t pay for the damage and then Charles will probably announce he called the police.
The stress must be getting to me, because most of my attention flits back and forth between their rock hard chests.
Their shirts cut off at their biceps, showing rippling muscles off to perfection. I’m mere inches away from Charles’s huge, powerful arms and Tate’s perfectly sculpted muscles. They’re so close I can practically feel the heat radiating off them.
My pulse picks up and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. They’re too close. Every movement away from Charles brings me brushing up against Tate, and every movement away from Tate causes my arm to graze Charles’s huge one. No matter which way I go, I end up squished against a very large, very tempting guy.
Then, Charles reaches toward me. I gasp. For a second, I forget to breathe.
“Eat,” he orders, picking up a chocolate bar off the counter.
“What?” My lips part in surprise. I just turned the apartment into a drenched, vanilla scented mess, and instead of sitting me down for a serious conversation, Charles is offering me chocolate?
He doesn’t reply. He takes my hand in his much larger one, flips it over, and places the chocolate bar on my palm. My pulse spikes as he leans in, but he reaches past me to pick up the tablet. He powers it on and starts scrolling. After a few seconds, he tilts the screen so that Tate and I can follow along.
Charles has a menu open, with pictures of various foods. There are large red plus and minus signs next to each dish, and Charles scrolls down until he reaches the dessert.
“What flavor do you like?” he asks gruffly.
“Ice cream?” I whisper. Why are we sitting at the kitchen counter talking about ice cream when the damage to the floor is getting worse with each passing second?
“Great idea, Charles.” Tate smiles like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “Do you like cookie dough, Roonie? How about chocolate?”
I’m too confused to reply. After a few silent seconds, Charles taps the plus signs next to both flavors. “Anything else?”
“Why?” I whisper, trying to put my confusion into words. Then, my stomach growls.
“You’re hungry.” Tate touches my hand gently through my thick robe. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I…I need to clean up the water.” I start to scramble off the bar stool, but Tate tightens his grip on my arm, and Charles places a huge hand on my shoulder. I freeze.
“What you need is to eat,” Tate says. “What would you like?”
“You don’t understand,” I whisper, trying to fight back tears. “If we don’t clean up all the water, it’ll cause permanent damage. It could flood the apartment below!”
“It’s fine.” Tate smiles gently.
“No, it’s not! Don’t you see? You could damage your neighbor’s furniture and get evicted!”
“We won’t. Charles already called it in. The college is sending a team to clean everything up.”
“They are?” I ask in surprise.
“They should be here any minute, and they said they’ll take care of everything.” Tate lets go of my arm and reaches over me to try to grab the tablet. “Now, are you hungry? Because I’m hungry.”
“What we need is Chez Caviar.” Charles pulls the device out of Tate’s reach. I blink. Is that a euphemism for something?
“Oh, come on. We need real food, not your delicate little ballerina bites.”
“Smoked salmon, black truffle pâté, and fresh oysters are not ballerina bites,” Charles retorts as his large fingers glide across the tablet.
Tate groans. “Where’s JJ when you need him?”
“Who’s JJ?”
“Our other roommate. When he cooks, we don’t have this problem.”
Charles grunts in agreement. He pauses to scratch his beard and Tate takes the opportunity to snatch the tablet away. He reaches past me to do it, and his arm grazes my chest through the robe. I inhale sharply, but Tate doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy gloating as he holds up the tablet triumphantly and starts tapping away.
“Roonie, how do you feel about a gourmet thin-crust pizza? And mushrooms stuffed with goat cheese? And maybe figs wrapped in pancetta?”
Tate’s question goes way over my head. Pancetta sounds like something you’d get treated for at the hospital. The rest is probably edible—delicious even—but it doesn’t matter. I can’t let them buy me food after what I’ve done.
Even though my stomach growls in protest, I still say, “I’m not hungry.”
“Too late.” Charles grabs the tablet from Tate, his large muscular arm grazing my chest, too. My breathing goes heavy and Charles’s eyes darken but stay focused intently on the screen. I can’t tear my eyes away from his large powerful hand.
He moves it up and down the screen, swiping with huge fingers and tapping on a few food choices. When he’s done, he regards Tate triumphantly. “I ordered from Chez Caviar.�
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“Oh, yeah?” Tate grabs the tablet back, taps the screen a few times, and hands it back to Charles. “I ordered, too.”
“And you charged it to my card,” Charles mutters as he glares at the screen.
“Guess I did.” Tate grins back and turns his attention to me.
“You didn’t have to order so much food,” I whisper, pulling my robe tighter around my body.
I practically invited myself to stay. Then, I flooded their apartment. I don’t deserve to eat some gourmet meal that probably costs a fortune. As if reading my mind, Charles jumps to his feet and storms off without a word. His footsteps are loud splashes and I swallow the lump that forms in my throat.
“Roonie,” Tate whispers my name as a loud splash echoes from the vicinity of the bathroom. He leans forward and tucks away a strand of my hair. His touch is gentle, and his fingers feel warm against my skin. I shiver, mesmerized by his nearness, while my brain struggles to focus on a single thought.
“Roonie,” Charles barks in my ear.
I startle and instinctively jerk away from Tate. My face flames as I spin around to face Charles. I didn’t even hear the splashing sound of his return, and yet here he is…holding a blanket?
He raises one eyebrow, and when I don’t take the hint, he spins my chair around so he can drape it over my shoulders.
“Do you want some tea?” Tate asks. Before I have a chance to reply, he slides off his bar stool and rounds the counter. “It’ll warm you up.”
“Um…” I whisper as Charles slides onto the barstool next to mine and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, just like Tate did. I know I shouldn’t read into it. My hair is probably a huge mess if they both feel the need to fix it.
I reach a hand up self-consciously, but when Charles moves his giant palm to gently cup my cheek, I forget everything else.
He stares at me, his dark eyes boring into mine, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat and swallow nervously. Then, Charles’s gaze shifts lower, locking on my lips, and he starts to lean in. My pulse hammers in my chest like my heart is about to explode.
