Tessa

“Stop that,” Drea hisses for the third time. “It hasn’t even been an hour. Now put your damn phone away and act like you’re happy to be here.”

“I am happy to be here.” I smile at Bart who shoots a sideway glance in my direction when he hears me and Drea whispering. There’s a speech being made at the front of the room and we’re being major assholes by talking over it.

Drea opens her mouth again, but Scott notices and gestures for her to zip it. Miffed at being told what to do, she sticks her tongue out at him when he’s not looking, but remains silent until the speech is over.

After that, things get a little better. The dance floor is cleared for actual dancing, and Bart keeps peering over at me like maybe he’d like to participate but he’s just not sure if I’m the sort of full service date who can be counted on in the dancing department. Guess I’m going to have to help him out a little.

“Are you going to ask me, or what?” I tease, tipping my head toward the dance floor.

“Just didn’t want you to feel like you had to,” he says, taking my hand and leading the way. “What with Drea setting this up and all.”

“Bart, you know you could have invited me yourself.”

He looks surprised. “I could have?”

“Well, yeah.” My brow twitches the way it does when I’m not sure I know where the conversation is going. “We’ve been friends for ages.”

“Right.” He nods, understanding. And now, so do I.

“You...Drea said...I’m sorry,” I stutter, making what was meant to smooth things over a stumbling mess of words which only serve to make things more uncomfortable.

“It’s totally fine, Tessa,” he assures me, forcing a smile.

“Do you still wanna dance?” I ask, torn on whether I’d prefer a yes or no at this point.

“Yeah, why?”

“We’re kind of just standing here,” I point out, doing my best to avoid the awkward glances we’re getting from the other couples doing their best to maneuver their way around us.

“Sorry.” He starts to sway us, but we’re completely out of sync with each other and the music, and it’s only increasing the level of attention we’re getting out here.

“You know, I’m parched. How about some water?” I don’t wait for his answer, just take his hand and start dragging him toward the bar and away from prying eyes.

For a while, we stand in silence, sipping from our fancy water bottles and doing our best to avoid making eye contact.

“It’s the nice guy thing, isn’t it,” he huffs just as I was starting to think we could get past the weirdness.

“Huh?”

“I’m a nice guy. Not an asshole, like Casey or Jason, both of whom Drea’s friends can never get enough of, literally. Do you have any idea how many of you have had the same dick in your mouths in the same night?!”

Ew.

“First of all, nice guys, don’t say shit like that.” I take a step back. “Second of all, my mouth has never been anywhere near their dirty dicks, thank you very much.” Lastly, my hand comes up, pointer finger stabbing angrily at the air between us, “And third, for your information, nice guys are usually full of shit. It’s the good guys I like. And you, Barf, are clearly not one of them.” Then I stomp the hell out of here without looking back. Drea can figure things out for herself. I know the only reason she even made me come here tonight, was to try and stir shit up between Lane and I. Except, it backfired. Because I’m more convinced than ever, I’ve got the best deal to be had. It may not be conventional, but it’s a hell of a lot more enjoyable than this bullshit.

“I have a question,” I blurt out as soon as he answers his phone. “Are we the kind of roommates that bail each other out of really shitty dates?”

“Yes.” It’s simple and straight to the point. And exactly what I needed to hear.

“I’m standing outside, feeling exceptionally grossed out right now, so I’ll be pacing, trying to walk off the funk until you get here. These shoes aren’t really made for that, so I’d prefer you hurry,” I joke, trying to make light of the situation, but he’s not biting.

“Did something happen?” The sound of keys and the door slamming shut are a clear indication he’s taking the hurry up part to heart.

“I called Bart Barf.”

He laughs, though I can hear a nervous waver in it. “I almost called him that myself tonight. Well, I did, several times. Just not out loud. Until after you left.”

I exhale, letting go of the last few minutes while I soak in the comfort of his voice and the delight I get from hearing him be silly when it’s just the two of us.

“Thanks for...” I get derailed halfway through when I catch a glimpse of Bart heading my way out of the corner of my eye. “I’m getting a ride, you can go back inside,” I call over to him, hoping he’ll stop and turn back without ever reaching me.

“Who are you talking to?” I hear Lane in my left ear, while the right is tuning in to Bart, who’s still approaching.

“Don’t be like that, Tessa. Just come back inside.”

“Look, it’s fine, okay. You and I will go back to being buds. I just think we need a day or two to cool off. Let this go, you know?” I’m not completely convinced I’ll be able to, but I’m willing to give it a shot. I’ve always liked Bart, I’d hate to think one bad night could taint that forever.

“Tess,” Lane gets louder.

“Come on, don’t make me go back in there by myself,” Bart pleads, playfully trying to take my hand to lead me back inside.

“Not tonight, Bart.” I hold my phone out in case he missed I was on it, “I already called a friend. He’ll be here any minute.”

Bart’s eyes darken. “He? Does he know he’s just a friend too? Or do you get off on stringing guys along?”

“That’s it,” Lane snarls on his end, and I hope for Bart’s sake Lane’s getting stuck at every red light on the way here, otherwise, it’s just a matter of seconds before dealing with me is out, and facing off with him is in.

“You know, you’re really starting to piss me off,” I snap, thinking it’s time for the good girl to call it a night and my inner bitch to handle her business. “I came here tonight, thinking we could have a good time. Clearly, our ideas of what that might entail don’t exactly match up, but that gives you no right to be a total shit to me. Fine, you got your ego bruised a bit and maybe the rejection stings when it’s combined with the humiliation of having your date walk out in the middle of the party in front of all your friends and coworkers, but that’s your own goddamn fault. Next time, maybe you can hold onto your nice guy persona a little tighter and not let the asshole run off with it. You think you’re the first guy to get his panties in a wad when I don’t want to sleep with him?! Get the fuck out of here! I work at the Basement, you dipstick. I get that shit at least ten times a night. I’m not about to crumble or cry or give in when you switch up your angles, trying everything from charming me to being a straight up bully. I’ve heard it all. It does not work on me!”

Bart’s face is nearly purple by the time I’m done ranting at him and I brace myself for the next round.

His mouth opens, his fists noticeably balled at his sides, then, he freezes when a slate grey BMW pulls up beside us and a tatted up, tensed up muscles rippling under his tight-ass tee-shirt, pissed off looking Lane gets out, phone still in his hand.

“Was there any part of what she just said that you didn’t understand?” he demands in his creepy calm, dark voice.

Bart takes a second look at him, then scoffs. “Really? Picking over what Jules leaves behind? You’re more pathetic than I thought.”

“Lot of that going around here tonight, Bart,” I say, with nothing but pity left for him.

It takes a second to sink in, but when it does his face turns sour and he glares at me one last time as if it’s his way of getting in that last word, before he finally turns around to go back inside.

Lane’s arm hooks around my neck as he presses his lips to the side of my head.

When I arch my brow at him he mutters, “Don’t even start with me, that’s totally a roommate move.”

I let out a sigh that turns to giggles halfway through when the anxiety begins to leave my body. “Meanwhile, if this continues to become public knowledge, I’m having a shirt made for you. ‘Did not sleep with Jules’ will be written in big, bold letters, front and back.”

He grimaces. “If this keeps up, I may have that shirt made for myself.” Arm still draped around my neck, he starts toward the car. “But more importantly, can we talk about Drea’s shitty taste in guys?! I mean, Scott seems decent enough, but she’s tried to set you up with some serious douche bags in the last few months.”

“Oh my God, you have no idea!” I laugh, waiting while he opens the door and then helps me inside. I watch from the window as he hurries around to the driver’s side until at last, he’s sitting beside me and we’re headed for home.

“I didn’t think it was a real date, by the way,” I say, long after the previous conversation has ended and I’ve replayed it in my head at least ten times.

“I know.” The corner of his mouth curves up in a way I’ve come to learn means he’s about to make a comment he already thinks is funny. “You probably wouldn’t have promised me the fun task of taking that dress off of you if you had any sort of hopes for you and Barf.”

“You’re an idiot.” And I’m the idiot grinning from ear to ear because of it.

“You can take it back, you know,” he says, sounding suddenly serious.

“That you’re an idiot? No, I think I’m good.”

He reaches over and lightly pinches my thigh. “No, jackass. The dress thing. I know that sleaze ball was making you feel uncomfortable. It’s totally cool if you just want to shower off his slime and veg tonight. They’re having a marathon of that cooking competition you like on the food channel.”

“What, don’t find me irresistible anymore now that I’ve been sleazed on?” I’m teasing, of course, but even I can hear the nerves in my voice. Some small part is worried the day will come when he grows bored with me and our little fling fizzles out.

He doesn’t answer. Just focuses on parking the car. We’re home.

It’s not until he’s taking my hand to help me out of my seat, that he takes me in, eyes sweeping over my body until they land on mine, drawing me into him without physically doing anything. His lips brush mine softly, grazing over them to find my cheek and kiss it tenderly before his mouth reaches my ear and he whispers, “I’m not resisting anything about you, Tess. Quite the opposite. I’m surrendering.” His fingers tenderly twine into mine, and we make our way upstairs, my head resting on his shoulder while we walk. I’m kind of mesmerized by the shift that’s occurring between us and entirely terrified of what it will mean after tonight. And whether either of us will even admit that it’s happened once the night is over.

Lane

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with Tess, but I know I can’t stop it any more than I can stop myself from wanting her for myself every time I look at her. Every time I think of her. And Goddamn it, I think of her a lot.

Even now, sitting here with her curled up in my lap, feeling her breathe in and out against my chest, I’m thinking about her in a million different ways. How perfectly she fits into my side. How tightly she nestles into me. How fucking amazing she smells. How much I love the sight of her in my faded, stretched out old tee-shirt and how badly I want to rip it right off of her.

I wish the thoughts ended there. That’s where they were supposed to stay. They don’t. Because seeing what’s under that shirt isn’t my favorite thing about her anymore. It’s seeing what’s beyond that, seeing her. Every time I catch a glimpse, all it does is feed the addiction. Hook me harder.

“I bet we could make that,” she mutters, pointing at the screen.

I force my gaze away from her to see what she’s talking about. “Those Asian taco things? I’m sure we could. I’m not sure I want to...but given a basket of ridiculous ingredients, I’m sure we could create something just like that.”

She tips her head back to look up at me. “You don’t want to devour that plate?”

I stare back at the screen, just in case I missed something, then back at her. “They didn’t feed you at the firefighter shindig, did they.”

“Not so much, no.”

“Come on,” I half-lift her out of my lap, half guide her upward. “Let’s see what we have here to make.”

Her eyes light up. “Can I pick four random ingredients from the pantry to surprise you with?”

It’s hard not to grin like a total fool just taking in the sight of her. “Uh-huh.”

“Yay!” She claps her hands, speeding up and making a beeline for the pantry. It takes her several minutes and a few quiet discussions with herself, but she finally comes over to the counter, placing down each of her secret ingredients in front of me.

“I have here for you, some bowtie pasta, some artichoke hearts, a bag of chickpeas and marshmallows.”

I glare at her. “Marshmallows? You seriously want me to incorporate those in your dinner?”

She shrugs. “Our pantry is way too cohesive. It was the only thing I could find that would present even the slightest challenge.”

I take the fluffy white sugar nuggets and place them on the other end of the counter. “I’ll come back to those later,” I promise. With chocolate and graham crackers in the desert round.

In addition to what she’s already got out, we track down some fresh greens and tomatoes in the fridge and several cloves of garlic she keeps tucked in the spice rack. Then, we get cooking.

While I manage to stay within the allotted time frame, she dings me for not including the marshmallows, but promptly announces my moving forward into the next round the second she has a bite.

It’s nearly two in the morning when it hits me, lying on the floor across from her, watching her eat a s’more, chocolate sticking to her bottom lip while she laughs at herself trying to lick it off and missing repeatedly.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” I start for my room. “And don’t touch that chocolate.”

When I come back a second later, she’s not even remotely where I left her. “You suck at taking directions.”

“You should know they sound like orders to me and bring out my inner two-year-old, instantly prompting me to do the exact opposite of what you said.”

I point at her face, smirking. “Then why do you still have chocolate all over your chin?”

She grimaces. “Damn it. I thought I got it.”

“Nope.” I unzip the bag I brought out here with me.

“What’s that?”

“My camera.” I take it out and show her, already snapping my first picture.

“Whoa. What are you doing?” Immediately, her hands fly up to cover her face.

“Hands down, Tess,” I order, for real this time.

She makes a face at me, but lowers her hands just the same.

“Good.” I point at the place she was sitting before. “Now go back to pretending the camera isn’t here.”

“Yeah, okay.” She rolls her eyes as she plops back down to her spot on the carpet.

It takes a while, but eventually, she does forget. And I take my sweet time capturing every perfect moment unfolding before me. The way her head dips back when she laughs. How her eyes always travel twice around the room before she can hold my gaze. The way she massages her right thigh when she’s been sitting too long because it gets tight from running all the time. And that contented warmth in her face that surfaces every so often when we’re together, not doing anything at all.