“I’ve dreamed of what you’ve had in here.” He says, wistfully, looking to my bed.
My cheeks flush.I will not look at the bed where I called out his name.
“Oh, yeah? Some boyish childhood fantasy about where I keep my underwear?”
Laughing, Hayes nods, picking up a discarded sweatshirt. He doesn’t seem to fear my things, wrapping it around his fist. “Why fantasize about that, when I know exactly where you keep it, viper?”
“Prick.”He does not.
“Do you sleep with the animals?”
Defensively, I step in front of my bears, dogs, and a few rabbits. “They’re mine. I got them when I was in the hospital.”
“But do you sleep with them?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because if we’re sharing a bed, it’s just us. I don’t share. Especially with stuffed creatures.”
Snorting, I can’t help but poke fun. “Jealous of my stuffies, Hayes?”
“If they keep me from what I want?” His gaze lashes against me, a raging wave crashing into the shore and I hold my breath for impact. “Most definitely.”
I might not like his tone—that’s a total lie—but my body does. Everything fires, nerves dancing across my limbs, core fluttering. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, quick retort frozen becausewhat the hell?
Inhaling shakily, I grab on to my fleeing logic. He’s Hayes—my sister’s best friend. He’s here to keep me from marrying Bruno. That’s it.
Even if I’ve had a crush on him for years. Even if I orgasmed to the fantasy of him.
Collins, no.
Smirk in place, he looks to my mirror. “Not a fan?”
Shifting, I clear my throat, avoiding his gaze. “No.”
He only takes a moment before nodding once, and moves on. If I thought he’d say something, offer weak words of encouragement about my looks, I’d be disappointed. He doesn’t say anything.
Oddly, I appreciate it. I don’t want the fake comfort, or being told‘you’re beautiful’with halfhearted sincerity. It wouldn’t work anyway. It’s hard to tell your mind something when it’s only been mean to you. It wouldn’t compute.
“The closet has better organization than the weapons room.” He gestures to the hangers. “Everything has a place, all the colors match. Watch one of those organizational shows?”
“I like organizing,” I defend.
He points to his clothes. “It’s cute, but I’ll need to take over some of that space.”
Duh.My room is now his space.
Going to the wide, walk-in closet, I shuffle my things, adjusting shelves as he unpacks, trying to keep the pattern the same. He doesn’t have much. A few pairs of jeans, some shirts, his broken-in brown leather jacket, two suits, and very little else.
Sloane would weep over his abysmal clothing. I find itfreeing. I’ve never been big on clothes. I hide behind drab fabricsand simple styles—not because I’m fashion-less, but because I hide every flaw with masks. I always have.
He goes back into our room, placing his laptop on my desk, craving a spot of himself into my things, touching everything as if it belongs to him. I want to hate it—but it’s natural. Almost like it was always supposed to be like this.
“Let’s go over it again,” Hayes directs, gaining my attention. I release my shirt, climbing on to my bed. Grabbing a bear, I hold it to my chest, much to his annoyance.
“Right. The story.”
We spent the afternoon discussing our dating history. It has to stand up to my older sister’s scrutiny. I’m not sure what that entails, but Hayes does. He knows her better than me.
“When did we have our first date?”
“Three years ago,” I reply. The best lies have a kernel of truth; three years ago, Hayes saw me for the first time atThe Dock. “We went out for drinks.”
