Page 38 of Malaise
“What did you get HD for?”
“Theft.”
“Oh.”
His eyes drift the length of me. “Told you that you knew nothing about me.”
I cross my arms over my middle and look away from his intense stare. “I know what I need to.”
His bed is big, but not enough so that the two of us can sleep on it without ending up on top of one another. But the room is narrow, and with a dresser and freestanding wardrobe in here, there’s stuff-all space on the floor. “Who’s sleeping where?”
“People generally sleep in beds, Meg.”
“Alone, yeah, unless they’re a….” I wind my hand about, hesitant to voice the ludicrous concept. “A thing.”
“Are we a thing?” he teases, stripping the tank off to reveal his perfectly moulded torso.
So not fair. “Funny, Carver. Real hilarious.”
“If that’s the only way I can get you to stop being such a prude and get into bed for the night, then we can rectify our ‘thing’ status right here, right now.”
Oh my God—is he serious? “Uh.”
“Just get out of those clothes and into bed, would you? Looking at you in my sister’s stuff is kind of creepy.” He drops his jeans in one fell swoop and steps across to the bed in only his boxer briefs.
Thick thighs, a trim waist, and wide shoulders have my thought processes back to front, and I try to step out of the jeans without undoing them. Nice move, Meg. My face flames as he chuckles at my faux pas.
“Shut up,” I murmur, fumbling with the button at the top. The scarring on my fingers seriously impedes my dexterity these days, the tight skin pulling when I bend them too far.
“Would you like a hand?”
I hold up my injured one. “Yeah, that might be nice.” I didn’t even think when Tanya helped me do the damn things up that she might not be around when I wanted to take them off.
Carver jerks his head, indicating I should walk to where he lies on his side of the bed. I make my way over, unsettled by the quiet intensity he watches me with as I round the foot of the mattress. He reaches out from his laid-back position and hooks his fingers in the waist of the jeans to jerk me closer when I stop too far away.
My mouth goes dry, my throat tight. His fingers are hooked in my pants. They’re so close to there. It’s the most intimate touch anybody’s given me since the awkward fumbling session with the exchange kid I had in Year 10.
“You look like a deer in the headlights.” His thick fingers make light work of the stud button, his bright blue eyes fixed solely on mine.
I make a move to step away, yet his left hand holds the jeans captive, keeping me in place as he moves on to the zipper. Lord, give me strength. Does he know how aroused this has me? Can he tell what his touch is doing to me down there? Most of all: is he doing it on purpose?
“Relax, Meg. What do you think I’m about to do? Jump you?”
I shrug, not sure if I open my mouth right now that proper English would come out, or if that sick swirling in my gut is a result of the alcohol or him.
“You’re not here for that reason.”
And just like that, all my inhibitions and preconceptions about how awkward this could be are thrown out the window, because he’s an adult and I’m a kid. Thanks for the slap back to reality, buddy.
I step back, the jeans tugging as I break his hold, and head to the far side of the room to undress. It still doesn’t seem private enough.
“Are you finished?” I snap.
“Meg….” He frowns, probably realising how cutting what he said was. Yeah, he spoke the truth, but way to pick a moment to be an arse about it.
“I meant are you finished with the light on?”
“Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and he frowns.