Andrew had no such restrictions. He went on and onand onabout how dangerous Brodie’s career was because of the constant spotlight on him. He ranted about the harassment Brodie endured from paparazzi and then waxed poetic about some truly hair-raising stalker-fan incidents he’d had over the years.
I knew, deep down, his intent had been to warn us that we’d acted foolishly. In reality, all he achieved was making me want to deliberately leave campus against his orders. Well…that, and he made me fall ten times harder for Brodie Orgasm-King Keller. Considering all he’d gone through already in his life, it was beyond belief how shockinglynormalhe was.
Throughout it all, Ethan glared absolutedaggersat Brodie. Somehow, I suspected his sour mood was less to do with thepotential danger and more to do with the embarrassingly obvious hickey on my neck.
Eventually I cracked, screamed in Andrew’s face that he didn’t own me and to shove his rules straight up his ass, then stormed upstairs to my room. I made a point of locking my door, because as much as I’d love to spend more time in bed with Brodie, things were tense. Real tense. And I had assignments that needed doing.
Brodie checked on me, sweetheart that he was, but I assured him I was fine and he left me to sort out my classwork.
To my surprise, it was Haze who knocked on my door around lunchtime, asking if I was hungry. Curious, I let him in and was touched to see he’d made me a sandwich and fresh juice.
“How’s your Economics of Crime assignment going?” he asked, glancing around my sparsely decorated space. It was a huge room, but the only furniture I had was my bed and a chest of drawers. I’d been studying on the floor in a patch of sunlight, and Haze frowned deeply at my scatter of notes and textbooks.
I hummed thoughtfully, sitting on the window seat to eat the sandwich he’d brought. “Not too bad actually. I’m almost finished. What’s everyone else doing?” It was Sunday but the guys rarely all hung around the house doing nothing.
Haze shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. I was thinking about fixing those tiles in the spare bathroom.”
It was a project I’d been planning on doing myself, but hadn’t got around to it yet. I was surprised Haze was interested. “I’ll help,” I said, taking another huge bite of my sandwich. “I should have my assignment finished in like twenty minutes or so.”
He nodded, expressionless. “Okay.” Then he left my room. Strange man.
Amused, I finished eating, then tied up the remainder ofthe assignment. I frowned, wondering how Haze had known what I was working on without me telling him. Maybe he’d guessed based on the books I had laid out? That seemed plausible.
For the rest of the afternoon, we worked together in near silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though, until I slipped with a grouting knife and somehow managed to slice my hand open.
“Ow,fuck!” I hissed, dropping the knife with a clatter and grabbing my palm.
“What happened?” Haze barked, returning to the bathroom workspace with an armful of tiles to replace the cracked ones. He set down the pile so hard, I was sure I heard some break, but then he was all up in my personal space and all logical thought fled by brain as he grasped my wrist with his huge hand.
He. Touched. Me. Skin to skin, fingers wrapped around my wrist as he tugged me gently to the sink and turned the tap on with his free hand.
“You need to wash it,” he growled, guiding my cut hand under the water.
I yelped as fresh pain bloomed, and my blood painted the sink bright red, but still Haze didn’t release me. His eyes remained locked on my wound, making sure all the little flakes of grout were cleaned out before turning off the water.
“Hold still,” Haze murmured when I flinched as he prodded the edge of the cut. “I don’t think you need stitches. Wait here.” Then he released my wrist as abruptly as he’d grasped it, disappearing from the bathroom in a puff of imaginary smoke. He could movefastwhen he tried.
Frowning at my bleeding hand, I tried to flex my fingers, which only made me hiss with pain as more blood dripped out. “That was dumb,” I muttered to myself, gritting my teeth.
Haze came clattering back up the stairs a moment later,first-aid kit in hand. He gestured for me to sit on the edge of the bathtub, which I did. Then he dropped to his knees in front of me and opened up the kit with confident determination.
Neither one of us spoke as he disinfected my cut, then bandaged it up with gentle touches, and it felt like I held my breath the whole time.
“Thanks, Haze,” I whispered when he was done.
He concentrated on packing up the first-aid kit, not meeting my eyes. “You’re welcome, Eve. I’ll tidy up in here.” The dismissal was crystal-clear, and I wasn’t dumb enough to push the issue. So I nodded and slipped out of the half-finished bathroom once more.
Anxious and confused about the whole interaction with Haze, I opted to go downstairs rather than be alone with my thoughts. Andrew was seated at the dining table, his laptop open as he worked on…something. He glared at me when I entered, but I ignored his presence and made a beeline for Ethan, who was standing by the stove, instead.
“Need help?” I asked in a small voice, offering a metaphorical olive branch.
His response was to drop the wooden spoon he’d been using and grab me in a tight hug. The pure tension radiating through his body as he held me close left me speechless, and I just looped my arms around his waist to hug him back.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured after the longest time. His face was buried in my hair, his words muffled.
I drew a deep breath, inhaling his spicy scent as I felt myself relax right into him. Our fight had been bothering me, even as I’d ignored it in favor of focusing on my time away with Brodie.
A sense of rightness returned in this moment of reconnection, but I knew it wasn’t enough to completely wipe the slate clear. “We need to talk,” I whispered against his chest, and his response was to tighten his hold further until he released a sigh.
