“Yes,” he says. “I can tell you’re really torn up about it.” Then he cocks one inquisitive brow at me. “What do you want, Juniper?”
“I want my brain to stop hurting,” I say. “Everything that’s been happening is buzzing around in there.Like flies. Like a million puzzle pieces from a million different puzzles have spilled, and now I’m trying to put them back in the right boxes. Like…” I trail off, biting my lip as I stare absently at the papers on his desk. “Like everything I know is floating, hovering just above my head, and I have to grab all those thoughts before they drift away, lost in the wind.”
I turn to him, opening my mouth to speak again, but I freeze at the expression on his face—some sort of interested amusement.
“What?” I say. I abandon his desk and begin wandering aimlessly around the room, taking in details. I point at his face as I walk. “What are you doing?”
He shrugs as he sits on the edge of his bed. “Just waiting,” he says, his eyes following me with interest.
I blink at him. “For what?”
He continues to watch me, still looking intrigued. “To see what you’ll say next.”
I snort, trying to avoid blushing through sheer force of will. Does that even work? Is that a thing? I should look it up. It might be a useful skill to have. “I’m just rambling,” I say, drifting toward a large chest of drawers. I pull the top drawer open, peeking inside—shirts. I close that drawer and move on to the next one—socks, all folded neatly, mostly argyle.
I bet he has one row in his closet dedicated solely to tweed blazers.
When my hands close around the knobs of the third drawer, he speaks again. “Not that one.”
“Third drawer down is the underwear drawer,” I say with a nod. “Good to know.” Then I move my hands to the fourth drawer.
“Juniper,” he warns, and I turn around. “Cut it out.” His eyes narrow on me as he goes on, “Are you one of those peoplewho likes to annoy everyone else when you’re bored? You know that’s the worst kind of person, right?”
“Do you have two underwear drawers?” I say, staring down at my fingers on the knob of that fourth drawer.
“Juniper.”
I sigh, abandoning the chest of drawers. “I’m aware, yes. But I don’t think I’m that kind of person. I’m not bored right now. I just can’t figure anything out.”
He nods. “Great. So you’re someone who doesn’t want anyone else to be at peace if you yourself can’t be at peace either. That’s probably worse?—”
“It’s not that,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “Ugh. You’re misunderstanding me on purpose. I just need to talk things through with someone, and you happen to be the lucky winner.”
“Then stop poking around and start talking,” he says. He sounds just as exasperated as I do.
“You explicitly agreed that I could invade your privacy in your room,” I say.
“I—yeah, I did,” he begins, running his hand over his hair, “but?—”
“However,” I cut him off. “I will let you off the hook.If.”
He’s still sitting on the bed, but now he straightens, angling his body toward me. His eyes narrow. “If…?”
“Ifyou show me one tattoo.” I hold up a finger. “Just one.”
He lets his body relax again, a lazy smile flitting over his face. “Deal.” He stands up without any further prompting, lifting his shirt.
And…holy abs.
“Wildly unnecessary.” It pops out of my mouth before I can stop it, but come on. If you look that good in a stuffy tweed blazer, you shouldn’t also look goodshirtless. It’s just rude. “Where’s the tattoo?” I say, rallying every last brain cell at my disposal.
Aiden points to a littlexright over his heart. His lazy smile has turned into that signature smirk, but I don’t even call him out; he’s earned this one.
Yep. Smirk away, my friend. That is afineset of abdominal muscles and alovelypair of pecs.
“Xmarks the spot?”
He nods, letting his shirt drop—sad.
