Believe (True Believers #3)(14)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“No, no, I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry. I was just awake and going to make coffee and your phone keeps buzzing. I wasn’t being nosy, but when your screen lit up I could see that Tyler has texted you like four times.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry.”

I shook my head, swallowing hard and tossing my hair out of eyes. I still felt groggy. “No, it’s cool. Thanks. I hope I didn’t scare you.” I knew I had, though. She had curled back up inside herself, and when I moved to push the sheet back, she flinched.

My thought had been that it would be easier if she was afraid of me, but it wasn’t. I despised it.

“No, it’s fine. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.” I searched her face. For what, I wasn’t sure. “You hungry? I could make you breakfast.”

“You cook?” Her arms dropped. “Really?”

I gave her a half smile, pleased that she seemed to have forgotten her fear. “It was either that or starve, so yes, I can cook. Sort of. I’m no Iron Chef, but whatever.”

“Oh. Cool. That would be great. I’ll start the coffee.”

Swinging my legs out of bed, I reached for my phone as she went down the hall. There were four texts from Tyler. He seemed to think I was in trouble since I hadn’t come back to the house. I appreciated the concern, but I wasn’t going back until Robin was sick of me. This might be my only chance to hang out with her.

It’s fine, bro. I’m with a girl.

He just didn’t need to know which girl.

She was in the kitchen, and now that she was wearing a tank top and tiny stretchy shorts, I could see her body much better than when she had been swimming in that T-shirt and denim shorts. It was enough to get my blood pumping without coffee. She didn’t seem to realize how hot she was though, just giving me a shy smile as she reached for two mugs, the tank riding up to expose her smooth skin.

Fuck.

I went into her fridge to see if there was any food in there at all I could do something with and to get a blast of cold air. Plus hide my hard-on.

“Do you ever eat?” I asked her, eyeing the pathetic selection in her fridge. It was mostly filled with condiments and string cheese. There were eggs, though, and a loaf of bread that when I squeezed it, felt a little stale.

“Of course I eat. I just don’t cook. I eat simple stuff.”

“Do you have syrup?”

“Yes. For my frozen waffles.”

“Those taste like cardboard,” I told her, pulling out the eggs and bread. “I’ll make you some French toast then.”

“Really?” She looked dubious.

“Sure, why not?”

As I cracked eggs into a bowl I found in the cupboard, she poured out the coffee. “Do you want cream and sugar?”

“No. Just black.”

“So do you have to do anything today?” she asked.

“No. I can find a ride home, don’t worry about it.” Even if I was making her breakfast, I had probably outstayed my welcome.

“I was just thinking that if you’re not busy, maybe we could go to Eden Park. There’s a free concert there, and I was going to go and sketch.”

My hand stilled as I was about to dip a slice of bread in the egg. “I don’t have any plans, no,” I said, my throat suddenly tight. “That sounds cool.”

She shifted a coffee mug toward me on the counter, and when I looked up at her, she was smiling. “I have an extra sketchbook if you want to borrow it.”

Oh damn, I was in trouble. If I had any sense at all, I would get the hell out of there and never come back. But a cactus isn’t going to tell a rainstorm to go f**k itself. I had never had anyone offer me this sort of innocent friendship. I wanted it like the greedy motherfucker that I was.

“Cool. Thanks.” Then I took a huge sip of my coffee, knowing I was going to scald the shit out of the roof of my mouth. I wanted to. I wanted the pain to ground me. “Shit,” I cursed, when the liquid burned tender flesh.

“Are you okay?” She looked alarmed. “Do you want some ice?”

“I’m fine.” Which wasn’t true at all. Focusing on scraping my tongue over the raw spot, I finished making the French toast, flipping it from one side to the other as it cooked, then dropping to the kitchen floor to do some sit-ups to burn off the anxiety I was feeling.

“What are you doing?” She gaped at me.

“Just some crunches.” I liked to sweat, to work out. It made me feel above my body. I pushed hard, knowing she probably thought I was a complete tool, but figuring this was the reality of it. I shouldn’t hide the fact that I was not a well-adjusted, middle-class college student like the guys she probably usually hung out.

But for some reason, she just bent over and touched my knees. “You’re moving too much. My high school track coach would make you redo all of those.”

“You were on the track team?” I asked, slowing down my crunches and sucking in some air. She was right. It was harder when you couldn’t move your legs at all.

“Yep. Distance runner.” Her hands were firm on my skin, showing the strength I didn’t expect her to have given she looked so fragile.

But as I bent up, my abs burning, I spotted using her lips, those perfect plump, cherry lips that made me want to suck on them. She was smiling, and she didn’t look vulnerable. She just looked beautiful.

“Think you can do a hundred?” she asked, the challenge in her voice unmistakable.

I would do it or die trying. “No problem.”

“Let me turn the burner off.” With one hand she reached back and turned the knob. “Okay. Go. One. Two.”

“I already did at least fifteen,” I protested.

She readily agreed. “You’re right. Okay, sixteen, seventeen.”

But somehow that meant I had a point to prove. When she reached a hundred, I was in pain and out of breath, but I pushed on to a hundred and fifteen to make up for the ones I copped an attitude about.

When I came to a stop, laying down on the cool floor, breathing hard, she eased her grip on my knees. “Wow, that was awesome. Good job.”

“Thanks.” I peeled myself off the floor, knowing I was going to be wincing every time I moved for the next two days. But at least I had proved I was badass. Mental eye roll.

Robin transferred the French toast to plates and put them on the table. I carried our coffee mugs behind her. The kitchen was huge, with one wall sporting a cutout that overlooked the stairs. Robin’s bedroom was on the third floor with the living room and a bathroom, but the kitchen and two larger bedrooms were on the second floor with another bathroom. Robin’s room was tiny, and it seemed to me that she had a lot of privacy even if the living room was down the hall from her, because how often would her roommates go out of their way to come upstairs? They would probably end up spending half their time hanging out in the kitchen.