2B or Not 2B (Roomies Series) (6 page)

"And I almost died over there! I saw my friends die
. You're not made for the shit happening over there."

I bit the inside of my lower lip, chills running down my spine. It was the first time he openly talked about what happened to him when he was in the army
, and even if I could see perfectly well his scar on his face, hearing him say that he almost died while he was there made it all the more real. He was the first soldier I met, after all.

"I'm not a baby, Byron. I know how it is."

He shook his head. "No, you don't know. Don't do this, please." Byron ran two fingers along his thin scar from his temple down to his jaw, his eyes darkening. The muscles in his arms jumped. It was obvious he was suffering from his past.

"Listen to your brother, son," their father said with a clipped voice.

Logan sighed and looked down at his father and brother, avoiding his mother. "I don't want to do anything else. I made my choice, and I carefully thought about it."

"For how long?
The two fucking months when you were at the beach with your friends?" Byron yelled and stormed to his room. His chair fell on the ground, but it was the sound of his door closing with force that startled me.

"You don't have to do everything your brother do
es," Mrs. Davis said with tears falling down her face, now broken with anguish.

"It has nothing to do with Byron. I want to fight for my country
, and the least you can do is to be proud. I'll come home later." He stormed out of the apartment, closing the door loudly behind him. Apparently, it was a Davis brothers’ thing when they were mad.

"We're sorry for this family drama, London. We should go, honey," Mr. Davis said, helping his wife up
, who was shaking so badly that she was barely able to stay up without collapsing as her sobs were intensifying. I waved lamely as they left. I sighed and looked at the food, still mostly untouched. Most people would judge me at this moment as I took another taco and began eating it, but Macon and Sydney knew how I was when nervous or sad for someone. I tended to eat more, not that my fat needed it but … fuck it.

Chapter Six

DAY 5

I ran a hand in my pixie cut hair and sighed. I didn't know how to manage someone in a crisis. Macon was always his steady self, taking care of me while looking for new guys to sweep off their feet
, and Sydney was my serious and fun little sister who had a head on her shoulders. Both of them hadn't experienced any kind of crisis, not the kind Byron was in right at this moment.

After his parents left, he never came out of his bedroom
, and it has been almost two hours now. I had enough time to eat more tacos than I should have, considering the weight I should be trying to lose instead of nursing it, and I had enough time to clean up the table and wash the dishes.

I threw the remote on the couch and stood up. It wasn't in my character to just let someone sulk
while I wait patiently. I had never been patient, and I hated sadness with all my might. I walked to Byron's closed door and knocked loudly, my knuckles turning an angry red with the force of my knock. I shook my hand and mumbled a curse at my own idiocy.

"I'm not in the mood, Bridge," he answered. His voice sounded
like it was coming from afar. He didn't even walk to the door. I could bet that he was sprawled on his bed.

I bit the inside of my cheek as warmth spread inside my body. Byron, shirtless and sprawled on his bed, his muscles lit with his bedside lamp. I shook my head to clear it and chuckled soundlessly. Damn it. I was hopeless
, and having fantasies about my roommate wasn't the best idea, not when I was on probation at his apartment.

I tried the doorknob and found the door unlocked. He groaned as I stepped inside, but he didn't yell at me. It must be a good sign. His bed was made, but the covers were all wrinkled now that he was, indeed, sprawled on it but with a shirt on. Too bad. His room was pristine, probably the tidier one. No clothes were on the ground or anywhere in sight
. His bedside tables were free of clutter, and even his small desk next to his dresser was in perfect order; his papers on the left side and the textbooks on the upper right side in order with the thicker one at the bottom and the slimmer one at the top. Even his pens were in a perfect line. He brought a new meaning to OCD. Or maybe it was all this time spent in the army.

I sat on the desk chair and turned around to face him
on his bed. "They left," I said, crossing my legs.

"I can't believe th
e little shit. After everything he …" he mumbled, his index finger tracing his thin scar repeatedly.

"This family gathering was interesting. I feel less peculiar now."

He sat up and frowned at me, his blue eyes hard on my face. "Leave me alone, Bridge. I'm not in the mood for sparing with you."

I sighed and
examined his plump lips lying in a straight line and his thick eyebrows bunched darkening his eyes. "Then I'll be all serious and mature." I uncrossed my legs and pointed at him with my index finger. "You have several months to convince your brother to go to college instead of taking the big guns to shoot the big bad guys. He seems bullheaded, so take it easy and explain to him why he shouldn't do it."

His frown didn't ease one bit
; if anything, his face darkened even more. His strong jaw looked stronger in the dim light, and I felt quite … unsettled. "I'm not one to come in contact with my female side and spill all my guts and cry like a baby, Bridge. Drop it now."

I stood up with a shrug, not that taken aback that he's so closed off. After all, in his mind I was only a nuisance he would have to suffer from for a few months. We weren't friends
, and I was fine with his status of sole star of my current fantasies. Because let's be honest, I was fantasizing about him more and more. "All right then, manly-man. Let's hit the tequila bottle you're hiding behind the pasta boxes and get drunk."

A smile appeared slowly on his face, tugging his lips upward. "That's more like it."

* * *

DAY 5

Sometimes you think drinking is a good idea, and while it often was when I was alone with Macon and we tried to cheer each other up when we were feeling slightly down, it wasn't such a great idea when you were alone at night with some piece of very hot male and you were unable to filter what comes out of your mouth. I didn't know how the talk took that turn, but here we were, laughing our ass off. But … it was strange.

"Weirdest thing a guy told you while coming?" he slurred, handing me back the almost empty tequila bottle.

My head was spinning, and I wasn't even sure exactly how to have my mouth land correctly on the bottle. "Mr. Hudson."

Byron's glassy eyes widened. "Why?"

I snorted and gulped some tequila, my teeth numb at that point. "He was the principal of the high school and was about to catch us. Needless to say I didn't come."

He eyed me up and down, his eyes calculating through the alcohol fog. The muscle in his jaw ticked once
; his eyes hardened, but he wasn't looking at me anymore. "Weird stuff happens to you."

I flipped him off. "Same question. Don't think I'll forget."

He made a face and put the empty bottle on the coffee table. "Mom."

I gaped for a second, unsure my foggy brain was really functioning. "Don't tell me she called her mom."

He nodded solemnly before he cracked a crooked smile. "She did. She was a deranged girl, this one. I deflated right away."

I tried to imagine it, but even in my inebriated state I couldn't. "
Mom.
It's gross when you think about it. Who would think about their parents while fucking?"

He shrugged. "I'm still wondering."

And that's when things shifted without me knowing it. "My turn to ask." I closed my eyes tightly—I thought that it would make me think better—and reopened them slowly, feeling even more dizzy. When the room settled down, I looked back at him. "The weirdest moment when you wanted someone."

He cocked his head
to one side and lost his little smile I found so sexy. "The other day during the party, you looked at me when I was leading a girl to my room. Your smirk got to me."

I bit the inside of my cheek quite hard. He's playing
, and despite my urge to play along, I had to keep my mind on track. I didn't want to go back to my parents' house, so I had to be careful even if his blue eyes were sending sinful messages to my very receptive body.

"It's not working."

"What is not working?"

I wave
d at him, squinting when the room started to spin again. "You're telling me this just to make me blush, but it's a big failure."

He leaned closer to me. "It's the truth, Bridge."

"Huh?" My brain shut down, and the blood rushed to my face.

"And now you're blushing," he said proudly, his shoulders looking broader in my drunken state.

"Not funny," I replied, my eyes narrowed to slits. Through my alcohol haze, I felt ashamed for blushing like a fucking virgin school girl. What was wrong with me? Oh yeah, I was playing with fire with a guy who could have been the one for whom words like sexy and flirt were made for.

"It's your turn, Bridge."

"I think we know each other enough now, thank you very much."

He bit his lower lip and ran a hand in his buzzed hair. My eyes landed on his muscled arms. "I'm not against knowing you better."

I blinked several times, chasing away the dizziness. It wasn't often that I was almost speechless, but apparently alcohol wasn't doing me any good when I had to hold my ground while bantering with Byron, the Lord of my fantasies.

"Do you have to always sound so suggestive?"

He chuckled, his blues sparkling. "Yes, when I want to."

Why was he giving me
the look
? This famous look guys give you, making you weak in the knees just before they ravish your mouth. And Byron was really the Lord, no, the King of
the look.

His blue eyes darkened as they travelled to and from my eyes and mouth. My lips tingled already
, yet he was still too far from me to feel his breath on my skin. I'd love to find something witty to say and break this moment that put me out of my comfort zone. The last time I felt so turned on was with Ryan, and it ended with my heart broken.

I tried to look away, to step away, but I couldn't. My heart was annoying the hell out of me with all this frenzy beating. My hands were embarrassingly sweaty
, and yet it wasn't enough to break the spell I was under. I didn't know how it happened―why it led to this―but Byron came closer to me on the couch. The tip of his tongue dampened his lips, and I was mesmerized. His breathing brushed my skin, my face, and ended on my neck where it sent my body to heaven without even a single touch. That's frightening.

He tilted my head up with his thumb and index finger under my chin
, and for once I complied without a word. He was leading the dance, and I let him. Slowly, I brought my hand to his face, toward his scar running from his temple to his jaw. The thin pinkish lines were like a painting I craved to paint. He tensed at first, but when my fingers came into contact with his scarred skin, he relaxed and closed his eyes, his frown eased and instantly disappeared from his face. The skin was soft and bumpy; I wanted to put my mouth there and feel his stubble against my lips instead of against the tips of my fingers.

He opened his eyes again and ran the hand on my chin along my jaw. I could feel his calloused fingers from his military training against my fair skin. When his hand reached behind my head, in my pixie hair cut, he pulled me toward his face. At that point, I wasn't breathing anymore.

The first thing I felt was the tickling of his stubble, but when my brain registered the sweetness and softness of his lips, I sighed, parting my lips just a tiny bit. His hand behind my head spasmed and tugged lightly on my short blonde hair. I grabbed his broad and oh so firm shoulders to keep me from making an ass out of myself by falling from the couch.

But as soon as his tongue came in contact with mine, the sweetness and softness disappeared and lust and hunger took over. First, his teeth nibbled on my lower lip, teasing me. Then, his tongue played with mine, fighting, caressing it while brushing the roof of my mouth a couple of times, making me moan, and at that sound I couldn't keep inside me
; he growled. Desire rendered me helpless. I didn't want this kiss to end. I wanted him to touch me … everywhere.

He nibbled on my lower lip again and pulled away, his breathing loud and labored. I opened my eyes and met two blue orbs so dark with desire that it almost made me lose all train of thought and strip naked. His lips were red and a little swollen from our kiss. And I'd be damned if I didn't want to nibble on
his
lower lip, too.

"Fucking hot," he whispered, his breathing hitting me again. Goosebumps appeared on my arms.

"You almost gave me an orgasm with your mouth."

He sucked
in his breath and shook his head. A smile turned up his wonderfully swollen lips. "You didn't just say that."

I broke the eye contact and chuckled. Sometimes I needed a filter, and while drunk, even more so. "It's a compliment, Lord."

"Believe me, I knew you enjoyed it without voicing it that way. It was like your body screamed for me to take you."

All too true, but I didn't like it to be told aloud. I arched an eyebrow, something I couldn't do when sober. "I'm pretty sure if I put a hand on your
crotch, you're sporting a boner. It works both ways."

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and never lost his smile. "Go ahead."

My eyes landed below his belt. It was obvious that he wasn't very comfortable in his jeans right now. I'd lie if I said that I wasn't doing a crazy happy dance in my mind, but I lived with the guy. Having some fantasies about him was all right, but acting on them was something else entirely. And he wasn't my kind of guy.
Remember, London, you like preppy guys.

"We're drunk. It's time to stop."

"Afraid of what you might find?" he dared me, suddenly slurring his words less.

I chuckled and stood up, swaying a little on the way up. I took a deep breath and faced him once again. "It's a dick, Byron. That's all."

He gaped at me; his eyes wide open. He nodded once and shook his head, closing his mouth. "And I'm speechless."

I shrugged and walked down
the hall to my bedroom. Over my shoulder I called one last time. "You shouldn't be. This one was easy."

* * *

DAY 6

Maybe calling Macon wasn't the best idea I ever had. I wrinkled up my nose and swallowed my comfort drink, the drink I always ordered when I was suffering from a hangover. Alcohol was the devil.

In the cafe everything was modern. You could almost smell the fresh paint. A couple of months ago, the walls were a weird kind of old orange, but now I preferred the grey and soft blue they choose. Several pictures of the beach were hanging on the walls, and above the small counter that couldn't sit more than four people, a few pictures of celebrities who came here once were hanging. These people were from another era entirely because I didn't even know who they were.