Page 21 of Fractured Heart

“I…I need to clean up the water.” I start to scramble off the bar stool, but Tate tightens his grip on my arm, and Charles places a huge hand on my shoulder. I freeze.

“What you need is to eat,” Tate says. “What would you like?”

“You don’t understand,” I whisper, trying to fight back tears. “If we don’t clean up all the water, it’ll cause permanent damage. It could flood the apartment below!”

“It’s fine.” Tate smiles gently.

“No, it’s not! Don’t you see? You could damage your neighbor’s furniture and get evicted!”

“We won’t. Charles already called it in. The college is sending a team to clean everything up.”

“They are?” I ask in surprise.

“They should be here any minute, and they said they’ll take care of everything.” Tate lets go of my arm and reaches over me to try to grab the tablet. “Now, are you hungry? Because I’m hungry.”

“What we need is Chez Caviar.” Charles pulls the device out of Tate’s reach. I blink. Is that a euphemism for something?

“Oh, come on. We need real food, not your delicate little ballerina bites.”

“Smoked salmon, black truffle pâté, and fresh oysters are not ballerina bites,” Charles retorts as his large fingers glide across the tablet.

Tate groans. “Where’s JJ when you need him?”

“Who’s JJ?”

“Our other roommate. When he cooks, we don’t have this problem.”

Charles grunts in agreement. He pauses to scratch his beard and Tate takes the opportunity to snatch the tablet away. He reaches past me to do it, and his arm grazes my chest through the robe. I inhale sharply, but Tate doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy gloating as he holds up the tablet triumphantly and starts tapping away.

“Roonie, how do you feel about a gourmet thin-crust pizza? And mushrooms stuffed with goat cheese? And maybe figs wrapped in pancetta?”

Tate’s question goes way over my head. Pancetta sounds like something you’d get treated for at the hospital. The rest is probably edible—delicious even—but it doesn’t matter. I can’t let them buy me food after what I’ve done.

Even though my stomach growls in protest, I still say, “I’m not hungry.”

“Too late.” Charles grabs the tablet from Tate, his large muscular arm grazing my chest, too. My breathing goes heavy and Charles’s eyes darken but stay focused intently on the screen. I can’t tear my eyes away from his large powerful hand.

He moves it up and down the screen, swiping with huge fingers and tapping on a few food choices. When he’s done, he regards Tate triumphantly. “I ordered from Chez Caviar.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tate grabs the tablet back, taps the screen a few times, and hands it back to Charles. “I ordered, too.”

“And you charged it to my card,” Charles mutters as he glares at the screen.

“Guess I did.” Tate grins back and turns his attention to me.

“You didn’t have to order so much food,” I whisper, pulling my robe tighter around my body.

I practically invited myself to stay. Then, I flooded their apartment. I don’t deserve to eat some gourmet meal that probably costs a fortune. As if reading my mind, Charles jumps to his feet and storms off without a word. His footsteps are loud splashes and I swallow the lump that forms in my throat.

“Roonie,” Tate whispers my name as a loud splash echoes from the vicinity of the bathroom. He leans forward and tucks away a strand of my hair. His touch is gentle, and his fingers feel warm against my skin. I shiver, mesmerized by his nearness, while my brain struggles to focus on a single thought.

“Roonie,” Charles barks in my ear.

I startle and instinctively jerk away from Tate. My face flames as I spin around to face Charles. I didn’t even hear the splashing sound of his return, and yet here he is…holding a blanket?

He raises one eyebrow, and when I don’t take the hint, he spins my chair around so he can drape it over my shoulders.

“Do you want some tea?” Tate asks. Before I have a chance to reply, he slides off his bar stool and rounds the counter. “It’ll warm you up.”