We both still, not realizing that Kira has separated herself from the group of girls she’d been standing with.
Her tongue darts out to moisten her pink-slicked lips as she whispers, “Can we talk before class?”
If my body weren’t pressed against his, I probably wouldn’t notice the tension that now fills his muscles.
“Ummm...” He gives me a bit of side-eye. “Now isn’t really a—”
Before he can force out the rest, I untangle myself from the death grip he has on me before stepping toward the tawny-haired girl. “I think you and I should have a conversation.”
Kira’s blue eyes flare as if she wasn’t expecting me to take control of the situation. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting it either. The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them. But then again, maybe this is exactly what needs to happen. Maybe it would be easier for Kira to hear this from me, girl to girl.
I loop my arm through hers and continue walking. When her feet remain rooted in place, I tug her along until we’re far enough away from the football player that he can’t overhear our conversation. Even though she’s unwittingly dragged me into this situation, I’m not looking to embarrass her.
And neither, I realize, is Brayden.
He could have easily been cruel or told her to get lost, and he hasn’t. Quite the opposite. He probably could have banned her from his house. Instead, he’s been keeping her at a firm distance, hoping that she would eventually turn her attention elsewhere. As much as I don’t want to unearth any admirable character traits in him, I can’t deny that I’ve already found one.
Maybe even a few.
Since I wasn’t expecting to have this chat with Kira, I’ll have to wing it. “I know we spoke a little bit at the party on Saturday but—”
“You and I don’t have anything to say to each other,” she cuts in, color riding high on her cheeks.
That might be so, but she’s going to hear me out.
“Then let me do all the talking,” I continue, undeterred by the anger wafting off her in heavy waves. “I know my relationship with Brayden looks like it came out of the blue, but we’re together now and I would really appreciate it if you could respect that.” There’s a beat of silence. “Just like I would respect it if you two were involved.”
Kira nibbles at her bottom lip. Instead of holding my gaze, hers skitters away. Emotion flickers in her expressive blue eyes. “It’s hard. I’ve liked Brayden for a long time. There are always so many girls vying for his attention, I thought that if I were,” she pauses, as if trying to find the right words, “bolder, he would give me a chance.”
I nod. At any given time, there are dozens of girls buzzing around Brayden like drunken bees. In a way, I can understand why she felt the need to draw his attention with outrageous behavior. There’s a lot of competition when it comes to the guys on the football team. They’re like the rock stars of Western University.
Personally, I’ve never felt the need to chase after anyone like that. Maybe it’s because I’m also an athlete. And it’s kind of irritating to watch all these girls clamor for their attention. My life has always revolved around my sport, not chasing guys who play them.
But to each their own, right?
“I’m sure it hurts to see him get serious with another girl,” I say carefully. I’m not a totally heartless bitch. I get it.
More importantly, I want her to get it.
Kira’s gaze jerks back to me. “It sucks to be hung up on someone who doesn’t want you.”
The more I talk to this girl, the less crazy she sounds.
“You’re right,” I sigh, “it does. I’ve been there.” And here I thought that Kira and I wouldn’t have anything in common. Turns out that we do. We both, at one time, crushed hard on Brayden.
Her eyes widen as she scoffs, “Oh, come on. You couldn’t possibly know what that’s like! Not only are you gorgeous, but you’re a really talented soccer player. You can have any guy you want!”
I almost snort. “It might seem that way on the outside, but trust me, that’s not the case. I’ve struggled with relationships. In fact,” I admit, “I wasn’t interested in getting together with anyone after my last boyfriend. I was going to take a much-needed break from men.”
Her eyes go a little dreamy. “And now you’re with Brayden.”
Umm, right.
I blink, remembering that this is nothing more than a part I’m playing. “I guess what they say is true—when you’re least expecting someone to come into your life, that’s when it happens.” When she remains silent, I continue. “There are plenty of guys on this campus who would be thrilled to be with you. Do yourself a favor and don’t chase after someone who can’t see how amazing you are.”
Kira draws in a deep breath as her gaze meanders to something—or, more than likely, someone—over my shoulder before she jerks her head into a nod. Emotion flickers across her face before her gaze returns to mine. “Thanks, Sydney. I appreciate you talking to me.”
“Just remember, you and I aren’t adversaries.” I shift my weight and say gently, “At least, we don’t have to be.”
One corner of her mouth hitches as she nods. “You’re right. We’re not enemies. I’m going to head to class. I’ll see you inside.”
“Sounds good. Bye, Kira.”
She raises her hand in a wave before walking up the wide stone stairs and disappearing through the glass door inside the brick building.
I don’t realize that Brayden has snuck up on me until he says, “Wow. That went better than expected. I was half-afraid a cat fight was about to break out.” There’s a pause. “What did you say to her?”
I spear a glance in his direction. “That you were on your third round of antibiotic treatment for a particularly stubborn case of chlamydia, and that she can do better.”
His mouth falls open but not a sound escapes. It takes everything I have inside to rein in the laughter that bubbles up from my lips before walking away.
I get about three steps when he calls out, “You better be joking.”
“You wanted her to leave you alone. I’m pretty sure that did the trick.” I give a little bow. “You’re welcome.”
With a smile simmering around the edges of my lips, I follow Kira into the building, leaving Brayden to stand outside all by his lonesome.
Chapter Fifteen
Sydney
The light rap of knuckles against the door has the nerves bursting to life inside the confines of my belly as I jump from the couch and jog to the tiny entryway before pulling open the door. It’s not a surprise when I find Brayden standing on the other side of the threshold.
“Hey,” he says in greeting, dark gaze piercing mine.
I tamp down any attraction attempting to fight its way to the surface, all the while pretending it doesn’t exist. Every time we see each other, it becomes increasingly more difficult to do. Brayden and I have never spent this much time together. When we’ve been forced into close proximity, I’ve always made a concerted effort to battle back the unwanted feelings he rouses inside me. Now, it’s happening on the daily, and it’s a little more than I can handle. Everything feels like it’s building inside me and I’m afraid of what will happen once it reaches a pinnacle.
I blow out a breath and push those unruly thoughts away. Nothing will happen that I don’t want. “Thanks for coming over.”
He shrugs. “Got to hold up my end of the deal, right?”
Yes. That’s exactly what this is. A deal. I’m not sure why I have to keep reminding myself of this. It shouldn’t be difficult. I spent years hating on Brayden. Snarling at him whenever he wandered too close. Now that it’s no longer the case, my emotions are strangely scattered and I’m uncertain what to make of them. There’s a part of me that detests the confusion. It was so much easier when I knew what to expect or how to react to him.
Brayden shifts his stance before clearing his throat. “So, you gonna let me in or what?”
I snap to attention and hold th
e door open so he can walk inside the apartment. As he moves past me, his body brushes against mine. He steps inside the small hallway before moving further into the cramped dining/living room combination. There’s a small, round table stuffed into the space. Brayden removes his backpack from his shoulder before setting it on the wood surface. It lands with a thud.
For a heartbeat, we stare before his fingers grip the hem of his navy T-shirt and yank it up his chest, revealing a tantalizing strip of washboard abdominals in the process.
My eyes widen. “What are you doing?”
“Stripping.” His brows draw together in confusion. “Why? What does it look like?”
A gurgle of nervous laughter bubbles up in my throat as I wave at the living room. “Oh my god, not here!”
As soon as he releases the cotton material, it falls back into place, covering his hard, sun-kissed flesh. “All right. If not here, then where?”
I point toward the open door. “Let’s do this in my bedroom.”
When a slow smirk curves his lips, I roll my eyes. “So I can sketch you properly, perv. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
The knowing smile remains in place. “Please. You’re just trying to get me naked so you can have your wicked way with me.” He taps the side of his head with his finger. “I know exactly what’s going on inside that dirty little mind of yours.”
It’s reluctantly that I snort out a laugh.
Had he accused me of this even a week ago, I would have taken offense to the comment and snapped at him. Now, I understand that Brayden is doing nothing more than goofing around. “In your dreams.” Although, he’s closer to the truth than I’m comfortable admitting, even to myself.
The humor dancing in his eyes dies a quick death as they turn flinty. “Maybe.”
That one word, murmured in a deep voice, is all it takes for desire to ignite within me. Almost mercilessly, I stomp it out before it can settle like a heavy stone in my core.
I need to focus on the sole reason Brayden has turned up at my apartment this afternoon. And that’s so I can do a preliminary sketch. This isn’t a date, and we’re not friends hanging out. Just like he quipped earlier, he’s holding up his end of the deal.
I trail behind him at a safe distance as he saunters into my room. We both fall silent as he studies my personal space. It’s a little surreal to have him here. Who would have ever thought I would willingly invite Brayden into my bedroom?
Certainly not me.
The normally spacious area shrinks around his large form, making it feel surprisingly small and cramped. It’s almost as if there isn’t enough space for the both of us. Instead of staring at him, I rip my gaze away. It skitters around, taking in everything he must see.
There’s a queen-sized bed pressed against the far wall. Next to it is a nightstand with a fuzzy turquoise lamp shade that I’ve had forever. Fairy lights are strung across three of the walls and a fluffy greenish-blue comforter covers the bed. I love the color. It makes me think of the Caribbean Sea and I find that soothing. Especially when I’m working on my art.
A white desk that doubles as a makeup area is situated across from the bed. Framed posters of the Louvre and MoMA decorate the plain white walls along with a few of my own pieces that Mom was especially proud of. Brayden gravitates closer to one of the sketches before carefully studying it.
His silence is enough to have my nerves growing taut. If they stretch any further, they’ll fray and snap. It shouldn’t matter what Brayden thinks of my artwork. We aren’t friends. We’re not...anything, really. Our relationship has morphed into something new, but I’m unsure what label to slap on it.
It’s disconcerting to realize that his opinion actually matters. Maybe it’s because I’m going to draw him, and I want Brayden to be impressed by my skills. I want to assure him that he won’t turn out looking like a stick figure.
When he glances over his shoulder, his dark gaze skewers me in place. “Is this yours?”
I jerk my head into a nod as my mouth grows cottony, making it impossible to swallow.
“It’s really good.” He leans closer as if trying to absorb the details.
“Thanks.” Forcing out that one word takes a Herculean effort on my part.
It’s like Brayden is at a museum as he moves from one framed piece to another before studying it with an equal amount of intensity. My fingers twist as I keep my lips clamped together. Standing by idly while people judge my work has never been comfortable. Even though I tell myself that it doesn’t matter what they think, deep down, it does. Art comes from within and to have someone form unfavorable opinions or criticize a piece that has taken hours to create can be brutal. I’ve spilled a lot of tears because a teacher tore apart a painting or drawing. A few times, I’ve even been tempted to quit. The problem is that the passion you carry around inside you doesn’t just go away. It stays with you, searching for an escape route. Being creative isn’t a choice. It’s a necessity.
“I had no idea that you were this talented,” he says with his broad back to me.
“I’m really not,” I reply hastily, air leaking from my lungs. It’s a kneejerk reaction. I’ve always been uncomfortable accepting praise when it comes to my work.
He twists around to capture my gaze before tipping his head toward the wall. “This says differently.”
I shrug as heat engulfs my cheeks. I hate that he makes me feel so unsure of myself. Why does everything have to feel different with Brayden?
He turns fully toward me so that we’re once again facing each other before cocking his head. There’s about ten feet of space separating us, and I need every inch of that distance. “Why aren’t you majoring in art?” He points to the drawings. “This seems like a lot of talent to waste.”
My breath escapes in a slow leak as I break eye contact. When did this conversation morph into something genuine?
Instead of giving him a bullshit excuse, I tell him the truth. “My parents didn’t think it would pay the bills.” And after hearing it enough times, I believed them and gave up the dream of being an artist. “Since I’ve always been good with numbers, accounting seemed like a good fit. My father owns an accounting firm, and one of my older brothers has been working there since he graduated college. I’ll still have time for my art.” Then I tack on the refrain I’ve heard hundreds of times before. “It’s more of a hobby than a way to make a living.”
He regards me with an excruciating amount of intensity. I imagine it must be similar to the way he studied my artwork only a handful of moments ago. It’s so tempting to squirm beneath his scrutiny. “Is that what you want? To work in an office and for your art to be a hobby?”
The question is like a knife to the heart. It’s unexpectedly painful. It’s also something I would prefer not to dwell on. Especially when I’m already having doubts that accounting will make me happy in the long run.
I clear my throat, not understanding how we veered so far off topic. “What I think is that I’ll have a well-paying job waiting for me after graduation.” It’s a pat answer. One I’ve rattled off dozens of times. One I’ve tried to convince myself is the truth. It’s only now, as I inch closer to graduation, that more doubts are mushrooming up, creating uncertainty. But Brayden doesn’t need to know that.
“Hmm.” A skeptical expression settles on his face as if he’s not convinced.
My eyes narrow. I don’t need him prodding beneath the surface of our relationship. He needs to do us both a favor and stay in his lane. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” he says innocently.
Too innocently for it to be sincere.
“You made a noise,” I point out.
He presses a hand to his chest. “Oh. Am I not allowed to do that? Is that a rule or something?”
Irritation bubbles up inside me as I fold my arms across my chest. “Look, I don’t want to talk about my degree or my future plans.”
Am I being defensive and acting like a bitch?
Probabl
y.
But I can’t seem to rein myself in. Brayden has picked up on an issue that hits a little too close to home. I haven’t spoken to my family about this. I sure as hell don’t want to talk to him.
“I didn’t say a word about it.”
“You’re judging me,” I mutter.
Oh my god, since when do I care about anyone—let alone Brayden—judging me?
He’s twisting me up inside and I don’t like it. More than that, I don’t want it. I need to work harder at keeping him at a safe distance. That’s the only way I’m going to get through this.
“Nope, not at all.” There’s a beat of silence. “You’re just really talented.” Again, he points toward the wall. “I’m surprised you couldn’t find something where you can incorporate and utilize your talent.”
His explanation has some of the stiffness draining from my shoulders. “Talent doesn’t always cut it. And it certainly doesn’t make money.”
“That’s true, but it would be a real shame to waste this. Maybe you need to explore your options while it’s still a possibility.”
His words circle viciously through my head before I pick up my sketch pad, but I push it away, refusing to dwell on it. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. “It’s getting late. We should probably get to work. I’ll need at least two hours, maybe more.”
Instead of continuing the conversation, he drops it. Brayden doesn’t know me well enough to understand what my art means to me or to realize that I’m having doubts about my chosen career. I’m in my last year of classes and majoring in accounting with a minor in fine arts. It’s a little late to change course at this point.
Had I arrived at this decision freshman—or even sophomore—year, I could have done something about it.
Now?
I’m stuck. An imaginary weight settles on my chest. Before I can get mired in thoughts of the future, Brayden yanks his shirt up his chest and over his head. The material lands with a soft whoosh near my feet.
When my gaze collides with his, he smirks. “Sorry, were you expecting more of a striptease? I just assumed you’d want me to remove everything as quickly as possible.”
Campus Heartthrob (The Campus Series Book 2) Page 10
