If I can’t leave this apartment, then what’s the alternative? Victor is right about finding out who I am if I stay. No way am I going back to Mom’s apartment.Never.
I’d rather move to the dorms, which will put some needed distance between me and Victor. But I doubt Alek will consider it. How can I stay here and avoid Victor? How can I not screw up everyone else’s life?
I’ll stay here, but that means I have to find the money to pay back Charlie. Will he hurt me or harass the others? Maybe he’ll leave them alone if I stay.
Think, Tia, think.
Since I don’t have a car, I’ll have to work on campus. And if I can’t earn the money, then… My stomach churns, and I place my hands over my aching chest. My body—that’s what Charlie wants. He’s made it clear as he marked me that he’ll take what he wants, and he wants my virginity.
Victor helped me realize the scar on my shoulder gives me purpose, but I am the one giving meaning to that purpose. I’ll fight and I’ll stay.
Who would I become if I stay?
Chapter Twelve
The kiss didn’t happen. I want to pretendnothinghappened.
But it did, and I’ll have to face Victor at some point. He deserves better.
That kiss—I’ve never felt such a connection to another human being.
I need to shower and unpack. My suitcases are downstairs. No avoiding Victor now. I open the bedroom door and almost trip over my luggage. He brought them up for me. His thoughtfulness makes it even harder to stay here.
I run the distance between my room and the bathroom. How will I be able to share the bathroom with two dudes? But they keep it clean. The water is steaming hot when I step in, and I drop my head back and enjoy the heat scorching my skin.
I close my eyes, and images of a half-naked Victor flood my mind. Some hot water droplets spray on my lips and I lick them. Victor’s kiss felt that hot. My hand slides down below my stomach and I touch myself, thinking about him. His constant touching. His way of communicating with me through music. His mouth on mine.
A tiny noise draws my attention and I immediately snap my eyes open. I gasp at the sight of Victor at the bathroom doorway staring at me. The stupid shower curtain is see-through. He gasps and I stop breathing. How long has he been standing there? The dark eyes and the stunned face tell me long enough. I slightly turn my body to hide it.
“Get out, Victor,” I yell.
I’m sure the flush that creeps across my cheeks can be seen from the moon.
He jerks out of his trance. “I’m so sorry.” And he closes the door behind him.
But he doesn’t sound like he is.
Ohmigod.My face is flushed, and my knees lock together. I need to get back to my room before I collapse here.
* * *
Ilocked my bedroom door last night so there were no visits from my brother or Victor. I had three hours of restless sleep.
I drag myself downstairs and my gaze lands on the kitchen table—on it sits a coffee mug and a plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. My heart somersaults, and my stomach growls as soon as the delicious aroma hits my nose. The breakfast isn’t for me, is it? I sit down and read the yellow sticky note next to the coffee cup. “I’m sorry I walked in on you in the bathroom.” I blush. I mentally accept his apology and dig in.
I’m finishing my last bite when Victor enters the kitchen—panting, half-naked, with only running shorts on. My food gets stuck in my throat and I clear it by coughing loudly. Can I be more obvious?
Victor grins and as he walks, his muscles ripple and flex in a way that has my core tighten with unwanted sensations—the same ones I felt last night under the shower. It shouldn’t be allowed for him to wear shorts so low his six-pack is in full view. I steal a glimpse—fine, I blatantly stare—at the shining ink of the bull tattoo. Somehow it’s perfect on him. I’m fighting the sparks and chemical reactions occurring in my body—pulse quickening, blood rushing to my head, heart ready to burst. I swallow my last bite of eggs along with my pride and decide it’s best if I don’t talk about last night.
I shake my head—once, twice, three times, but I’m still staring at his hard body.
“How’d you sleep?” He passes by me, sweaty and all. Why does his sweat smell so good? I’m so weird.
“Hi.” I clear my throat. “I want to talk to you about something.”
“Okay. But first, coffee.” He smiles pleasantly and pours himself a cup.
Sitting next to me at the table, and only after brushing his knee into mine as usual, he says, “What’s up?”
