2B or Not 2B (Roomies Series) (18 page)

"You don't understand, Bridge." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I don't want you to leave. I want you here with me at home."

My heart went into a frenzy at his words and at the truth I could read in his eyes I'd never seen so soft looking at me. I squeezed his arm again and pulled away my hand, but he tried to keep where it was. I needed to break this skin-to-skin contact with him.

"But why? You'd be better without me here. Less drama and more fun."

"I've never had so much fun since I’ve been back from Afghanistan than since you’ve been here. You bring life in my days, and I don't feel so empty." He turned his back to me. "I don't even know what I'm saying."

"What would you do if I fell for you?" I asked breathless, my throat closing up.

He turned around again facing me and gave me his mischievous smile that was so devastating. "I'm not afraid. You're the most anti-love girl I've ever met." He cocked his head to one side. "Stay."

And like the dumb
, boneless girl I was turning out to be, I nodded. He smiled brightly at me and started to take a step toward me before he caught himself, waved at me and went in the bathroom, locking the door behind him. I let myself fall on the coffee table. I was unable to respect my decision.

I fumbled in my pocket to find my iPhone and dialed Macon. "I need an emergency audience with your highness."

He chuckled and turned off the music in his room. "Alcohol mood or sugar mood?"

"A mix of both."

"We'll start with some sugar rush, Baby. I'll be there in five minutes."

"I'll wait for you in the parking lot."

"I guess you had a fight with your sexy roomy, then."

I groaned and hung up the phone. I was in for a long talk with Macon
, and he wouldn't spare me. Why did I have a romantic-at-heart best friend who found his match? I stood up, grabbed my handbag on the high stool at the kitchen counter and didn't even check my hair before I walked out of the apartment at the same time Byron turned off the shower in the bathroom.

Chapter Twenty

DAY 46

Macon was still gaping at me after I recounted my previous night. And it'd been that way for the last five minutes. It's quite impressive how minutes could be
so long when your best friend wasn't talking or moving and whose eyes didn't stray from your face.

"You slept several times with him," he finally muttered with a slack mouth, his eyes still unblinking.

"So?"

"You never sleep with guys,
baby." He took my hands in his, forcing me to abandon my perfectly yummy piece of chocolate cake that was melting on my tongue.

"Eliott is a guy last time I checked,’’ I replied and arched my eyebrow. Playing dumb was my favorite thing these days, but lying to my best friend left a ba
d taste in my mouth.

He rolled his eyes, not even biting it. "You slept with him as revenge against Byron
, and we both know it."

I bit on the inside of my cheek before I told him the truth. I never thought I'd hide something from Macon
, and yet, here I was, not telling him that in fact I faked sleeping with Eliott when I was unable to go through with it.

"What do you want me to say
, Macon? It's not my fault if he is so hot and skilled to seduce me." I shook off his hands and ate the last couple of bites of my cake. It would go straight to my ass, but I didn't care. I would never be thin like my sister, and apparently it didn't prevent me from ending in a hot guy's bed.

"Are you that ruined by that Ryan asshole to not even acknowledge the truth?" Macon said, his voice harder than before. Even his face still partially hidden by his facial hair was not as soft looking as earlier. He hated thinking or talking about Ryan
, and even if he was proud of my latest stunt against him, the scars he left behind would always be there. Even if they would fade away at some point to leave only a thin trace of what it once was, they would still be there.

"What are you talking about?"

He leaned closer to me above the table, not caring that his black scarf was going into the frosting on his cake. "You have feelings for Byron."

I sneered at him and closed my hands in tight fists. "Right now, the only feeling I have is to knock you out cold." I wasn't in love and didn't have any kind of
feelings
besides lust and maybe a weird kind of attachment for Byron due to the fact that we were living together.

"Baby, you're way past the lust level."

I shook my head. I didn't want to hear this, and I sure didn't want to think about it and start questioning and second guessing myself. Not about this.

"No, I'm not. I can't be."

"Because you're afraid to hurt." He completed with a defeated sigh as he sat straighter on his chair, playing with the sugar next to his plate.

"Because I
will
hurt," I stressed out. I already had my heart beating madly in my chest, and my chest started constricting. A lump appeared fast in my throat, and everything in my body was going back and forth between cold and hot.

"You don't know that,
baby."

"I know it. We're not meant to be
, and he's probably not even interested."

"Then, why did he beg you to stay at his place?"

I opened my mouth and closed it. I didn't have an answer, and I wasn't in the mood to play some kind of witty banter with Macon. I sighed and sagged on my chair, hiding my face in my hands as a silent scream was tearing me apart. Frustration as its finest.

"I'm ready for some alcohol now," I mumbled before standing up and waving at Macon to do the same.

He grumbled and followed me outside, his arms finding my shoulders for a side hug. I wasn't a very cuddle-like kind of girl, but at this moment with Macon so close to me and so comforting, I wanted to hug the hell out of him and never let go. I was that troubled.

"I'm driving you back home. Alcohol isn't such a good idea,
baby." He kissed the side of my head near my hairline. His scruff scratched my temple, and I made a face. He needed to shave or soon he would look like a Crusoe modern live version.

He clicked open his car
, and I grabbed his hand before he walked to his side of the car. My nails dug into his skin, and he tried to shake me off. I had a good grip, and I wasn't ready to let him go just yet.

"You told me you'd go with me to a bar for a few drinks."

He nodded and shrugged. "That was before you told me everything."

"I don't see what the difference is," I replied with a stern voice that sounded so much like my mother's that I cringed. Of course, Macon found it quite hilarious even if he was trying to swallow back his laughter.

I pinched his side, and he lost his smile. He massaged his ribcage with his free hand, shaking his head at me. Obviously, he thought I was hopeless.

"Think about it for a minute. Since you've met Byron, every time you dr
ank something happened with him. The kiss, the sex, again the …"

I punched him in the stomach
, and he groaned. At least, he shut up. "I get it." I released him and opened the car door. "I guess you're right."

He mumbled something about me
, and with the frown on his face and the tenseness around his mouth, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he was saying. Ignorance was sometimes the best thing you could ask for.

He turned on the car
, and before he drove away from the little diner, he turned his head toward me, a smile I'd qualify as dangerous on his face. "Was it as good this time around?"

I nodded and groaned when he laughed at me and finally drove away, a big ass smile on his face. Was he really my best friend
if he enjoyed my poor predicament so much? Seriously, couldn't he, just a little bit, be understanding instead of getting off on my weird life?

"I hope one day you'll question yourself
, and that you will open your eyes, baby. And I hope it won't be too late."

"What do you mean this time? I should make peace with love and embrace a potentially casual sex life with my roommate?" I said with annoyance. I was starting to get nervous at the minute.

"Forget it," he mumbled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "But don't ruin everything just because you're scared."

"Ruin what?"

"Play dumb, you're right. After all, you are blonde," he replied with a smile to soften his words, but I knew he wasn't very pleased with me at the moment. We would never see love and relationships with the same eye, and he should accept it already. He knew me after all these years, and he was there for my heartbreak after all.

* * *

DAY 46

I climbed the flight of stairs like I was heading to a death trap. In a way, it was just like it. I felt my heart getting
trapped, tighter and tighter as days were passing, and it scared me. I didn't want to tell Macon about this, but I knew, I just knew that staying in this apartment would lead me to really opening my heart to let Byron in, despite my fears. There was something in this guy that called out to me, that drew me in for more than just his sexy look. It was him, all of him that got to me, and that was even more dangerous. Byron didn't even know it, but he could destroy me if I wasn't more careful and if I didn't put more distance between us. It would be tricky living under the same roof and still trying to stay away from him.

I unlocked the door
, and before it was fully open, I was attacked by a big muscled body. The attack was so strong that it almost tackled me to the ground half in and half out of the apartment. I wasn't sure, but I thought I heard a weak squeak coming from me, but I'd deny it if someone asked. It was too pathetic of a sound.

I was trapped in a vice grip, though the strong arms around me were of a soothing kind, which shouldn't be. After a couple more seconds to gather my bearings after this tackle-hug-that-never-ended, my brain kicked in
, and my eyes took in Byron's buzzed hair, the only thing I could see at the moment.

His loud breathing was fanning my exposed neck
, and I shivered. His big calloused hands were firm around my back, settling on my hips. His chest and hips were glued to me, so much so that I could feel his every breath, his every shake, his every muscle so tensed. What happened?

“Uh
… what's going on?" I mumbled, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

He pulled away as suddenly as he attacked me, but kept his hands on my shoulders like he was afraid I'd vanish into thin air. Obviously, I was missing something. His eyes, more silver than blue, were anguished. His lush lips were more of a straight line than the usual sin looking bow. And his jaw was ev
en stronger looking than what I was used to. Even his scar looked redder for some reason, or maybe it made me think that way because his face was devoid of any color.

"You turned off your phone," he said with his deep growl of a voice, laced with what I thought was
… fear? It was weird.
So very weird
.

I tried to shake him off, ignoring the warmth of his hands that was already awakening my body
—
traitor
—but his grip tightened on me, his frown deepened. He wouldn't let me go. I frowned, too, and crossed my arms, trying lamely to win some stance back. "I didn't turn it off. It's probably dead."

Not looking anywhere else
, giving me the full force of his gorgeous eyes locked with mine, he leaned closer to my face, reducing the space between us way too much for my heart sake. "I thought you left."

I blinked. “Uh
… I left."

He shook his head and released one of my shoulders to run a finger along his scar. Again and again. For the very first time, he was showing the full force of his fears and how it really impacted his life. He wasn't hiding it at this moment. He was shaking, tracing his scar repeatedly, biting his lip
, and his eyes looked so frightened that it mellowed me. I knew he wasn't unharmed from what happened to him when he was overseas―his scars attested it―but he was trying to hide the fact that he barely slept, tried to keep on lock down his temper, and the walls around him were there because of this. Though, I never realized how vulnerable he truly was. I had been dumb enough to believe that it was nothing; that his hang-ups were easily manageable for him.

"You don't understand! I thought you left! For good!" he replied angrily, his mood switching fast, way too fast for me to follow.

He stepped away and took several deep breaths, trying to calm his fast breathing, and probably his nerves. With one hand, he massaged his neck while the other one held tightly to the dog tags around his neck.

I put down my handbag near the door inside the apartment and closed the door
behind me. No alcohol on the coffee table or in the kitchen, which meant that he was sober—and not experiencing some kind of weird bad trip. I shook my head at my own thoughts.

"All my stuff
is still here. I wouldn't have left everything here," I said, trying to bring some sense into him.

He stopped his massage, but kept his hand around the dog
tags. "You could have asked your sister and Macon to pack everything." He sighed and closed his eyes, his face tilted upward. "What do you think it felt like to step out of the bathroom and find the place empty just after you told me you wanted to move out? I tried to call you a dozen times, but nothing. And I don't have Macon's number." He re-opened his eyes, but didn't glance my way. He walked to the wall next to the door and punched it once. I cringed, but saw no blood. At least, he didn't put all of his strength into it. "I was about to call my brother to have your sister give me Macon's number. Fuck!"

"Calm down, Byron. I'm back
, and I told you I'd stay."

"You don't even care." His voice was suddenly flat, like all of his fight left him at once. His head hung between his shoulders as he leaned against the wall he punched seconds before.

I was out of my depth. I couldn't really understand him and how he felt when I was out. I didn't even understand why he would panic that way. It wasn't like him. It wasn't like him to look so … attached to a woman, and even less when that woman was me, someone he had met not even two months ago.

"You believed that I'd leave without a word?" I ran a hand in my pixie hair cut. "I would never do something like that. Not to you." And I said too much! Sometimes, it would be amazing to knock myself out cold. Just saying.

His head snapped back at me, and his body visibly tensed once again. It was very impressive. "Why not? Because you had sex with me? Because you care about me?" he said, taking a step with every question, taking my breath away. His head tilted to one side, his eyes traveling to and from my mouth and my eyes. "Answer me."

I shivered at his command. I closed my eyes, unable to keep my eyes locked with his. But with my eyes closed
, everything else felt ten times more intense. His warmth was not just body heat; it was a full on furnace slowly licking me from head to toe and turning me into a volcano ready to explode. His smell was not just any smell; it was a heady cocktail of fresh laundry, and his own scent that was all male, calling out to the female—quite brazen—that I could be with him. His closeness wasn't just a fact of how many inches were separating us; it was about how these inches were sizzling between us, charging the air with an electricity that was boiling my blood.