I try to ignore his oozing sexuality and let the mountain air distract me. The thick scent of pines perfume the vicinity with the slight after bite of fresh mountain soil. It’s so pretty here with the tall emerald evergreens, the Sugar Maples with their leaves as wide as hands waving in the breeze. That’s what I should be focusing on, the beauty in nature and not the ode to testosterone next to me who happens to be eliciting an electrical spark in the most intimate part of me with every third step.
We hit the crosswalk just as the light changes and cross the street with an entire herd of people. I’m not used to this mass of humanity. The entire population of the small town I’m from could fit right here in this crowd. A group of girls dressed in short skirts pass us. Their heads turn to check out Bryson, and the lean mean, machine he possesses as his body. The one with long black hair strokes his cheek as we walk on by.
“Looks like all the girls here are pretty friendly,” I muse as we head toward a well-landscaped courtyard with a gilded sign reading,Briggs Apartments, vacancies available! Inquire within.
“Not as friendly as you, sugar.” He gives a quick wink, and my stomach ignites like a burning coal. “Your roommate looked pretty friendly.” He holds the door open for me, as we move into the overly air-conditioned building.
“Something tells me you’ll find out for yourself exactly how friendly she is.”
We step into the elevator and glide on up. Bryson inspects me from head to toe as if he were mapping me out with those spotlight eyes of his. It’s like being under the scrutiny of a microscope each time he glances my way. It’s as if he’s looking straight into my soul, examining the flaws in the fiber of my being while reading my personal history like a textbook. Not that there’s anything of interest to read. My life in general has been boring as toast. That seems to be the only consistency in my world.
God, I hope he’s not some freak with a duffle bag fixation getting ready to chain me to his bedpost in some sadomasochistic lair. And the way that sultry smile keeps blinking on and off, I’m not too sure I’d mind. He’s a bad boy, I can tell. I can spot them a mile away. I’ve got some serious troublemaker radar, and usually my gut warns me to steer clear, but there’s something about this one that makes me want to fall to my knees and give him ten thousand lashes with my tongue in places that neither lashes nor tongues should ever venture. He’s the exact type of guy Cole is forever telling me to stay away from. The kind that want nothing more than to nail me to the mattress, then forget my name by morning.
“Jeanie Waters.” He nods, and I stare into him blankly because, holy shit, he’s already forgotten my name. “That’s your roommate,” he continues. “And, for the record, I’ve already tapped that well.”
I blink back with surprise. “Um, thanks for the info, I think? Andeww. I honestly gave you a little more credit than that. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Greek who reduces women to water bearing vessels.”
“Well you pegged me wrong—twice. For one, I’m not a Greek.” We get off on the seventh floor, and he leads us to the nearest door. “And two, I’m not into degrading women to water bearing vessels, either.” He slips a key into the lock, and the door opens to a clean looking living room with a pair of brown leather sofas, a TV the size of the wall. “I prefer notches.”
“Very funny.” I step in hesitantly. “So, you’ve lured me to your lair. Good trick. Is this where I get to test my rape whistle? Or do you prefer mace? I’ve got both handy.” I pat down my jeans to confirm this theory and come up empty. Double crap.
“Lured you to my lair?” He moans it out as if trying to seduce me. “And here I thought you wanted to catch up on good times with your big bro?” He strides over to the hall and gives a psychotically loud knock over the nearest door. “Wake the hell up. You’ve got a visitor,” he shouts.
“Tell her I don’t want any.” A muffled groan escapes from the other side, and I can peg that voice as Cole’s any day of the week.
“He’s still in bed this late in the afternoon? God, he must really be sick. I bet he’s coming down with the flu or something.” I touch my hand to my chest. “I’ll see if I can get him some soup.”
Bryson’s chin dips a notch, and his eyes give me a smile all their own. “You might want to hold off on the fluids.” He gives another set of walloping knocks over the door. “She says she’s your sister,” he shouts before setting his steel-colored eyes in my direction. A devilish grin rides low on his lips. He points to the door jam that divides the hall from the living room and skims his finger down a series of tally marks running in longitudinal lines. “Cole.” He turns to the other side and points to an equally scratched surface. “Bryson.”
“What’s this?” I step over with caution in the event it’s some frat boy trap that involves innovative ways to seduce braless freshmen.
“These, my friend, arenotches.” He leans in, and I can feel the heat emanating off his chest. His broad shoulders partially block the view of what looks to be my brother’s name scribbled onto the wall.
“What are the notches for?” There’s nothing but rows and rows of tally marks under my brother’s name. “Is this some weight lifting game? Wait, let me guess, this is somehow loosely related to wrestling.” I roll my eyes at the thought. Cole has had an unnatural obsession with the sport since he was six.
“Wrestling?” His eyes hood over, and that lewd grin starts budding on his lips again. “You pegged it.” He twists a smile that suggests otherwise.
A hard steady wallop shakes the walls, vibrating the tiny apartment.
“God.” I clutch at my chest as the banging continues. It’s clearly coming from my brother’s bedroom. “What the hell is he nailing to the wall?”
“Who.” He bleats it out, doing his best impression of an owl—a hotter than hell, amazingly muscular owl, but nonetheless.
“Who what?”
“Whothe hell is he nailing to the wall.”
It takes a minute for what he’s implying to sink in while the loud gunshot-like noises come to a crescendo and the distinct sound of deep guttural groans takes its place.
Everything in me seizes.
“You mean?” I point to the wall and door simultaneously.
“Exactly.” He smears a satisfied grin. Clearly he’s enjoying my newfound horror.
“Oh no.” I take a few steps back to create some metric distance between myself and the perverted scoreboard. It’s like I’ve fallen in some bizarre sexual wonderland, and for a minute I wonder if the plane went down, and I’m lying in a cornfield somewhere just barely clinging to life. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you have the wrong Cole. Obviously some man-whore shares my brother’s name. And, in no way do I want to stand in the way of his daily drilling.MyCole would never carve notches into his wall and have a serious headboard banging session in the middle of the afternoon.”
“Oh really.” He flat lines.
