In Harmony (Fenbrook Academy #2)(27)
Author: Helena Newbury

And we realized it was one in the morning.

“I’ll call a cab,” he said.

I knew he couldn’t afford it. And I didn’t want him walking from the subway station—not in his neighborhood. “You can stay here,” I said as casually as I could.

He already had his phone in his hand. “Are you sure?”

I nodded at the couch. “Jasmine’s slept on it before. I’ll get you a blanket.”

I went to my bedroom to search for a blanket. Friends let friends stay over all the time, right? Even male friends of females. It didn’t mean anything.

I found him a blanket and a still-wrapped toothbrush and took them through to the lounge, then stood there looking up at him, the bundle clutched to my chest. “So. Um. Anything else you need?”

He looked at the bundle—the bundle…or my chest? Of course the bundle. “No. That’ll do me fine. Thanks, Karen.”

I nodded and stood there like an idiot. Tell him! Tell him! He’s standing right here in your apartment and he’s about to spend the night! There’s never been a better time!

“Goodnight,” I said quickly and almost threw the bundle at him, then went to my bedroom without daring to look back.

I thought that once I was safely in my room, that would be it. It wasn’t—I had to figure out when to undress. Normally, I’d have stripped off and thrown on an old t-shirt to sleep in before brushing my teeth. But did I want to pad around the place bare-legged and with my panties on show? What if I ran into him? On the other hand, if I stayed dressed right up until I dived under the covers, would that seem weirder?

Possibly I’m overthinking this, I thought.

I started to undress. When I was down to my panties—as nak*d as I was going to get—I stopped for a second and looked in the mirror. I tried to see myself as a man would see me—as Connor would see me. I knew my br**sts were too small, my shoulders too wide. Was it even possible that he could find me attractive, next to all the busty actresses and lithe dancers at Fenbrook?

I imagined his eyes on me. I was sure I’d felt them in the practice room a few times, but what did that mean? Men will look at any woman. Had he kept looking? Did he want to see me? Did he want me?

I touched my hand to my cheek, watching myself in the mirror, and trailed it down over my br**sts. My n**ples were already stiffly pointing, almost too sensitive to brush against. My hand slipped down over my stomach. Lower….

There was a knock at the door. “Karen?”

I whirled to face the door. Adrenaline was suddenly crashing through me, my heart thundering in my chest. My mouth opened and a big, big part of me wanted to call out, “Come in.”

“One sec,” I said, and pulled on an old, soft t-shirt. I looked down at my bare legs and then dived into bed, pulling the covers over me. I took a second to run my hands through my hair. “Okay.”

He cracked the door open and then swung it wider when he saw I was decent. “Hi,” he said.

He was shirtless, his chest smooth and magnificent, broad pecs leading my eyes down to hard abs and a narrow waist. I’d had the image burned into my mind ever since his dressing room, but remembering it and seeing it were two different things.

“Hi.” The covers were around my waist. I suddenly wondered if he could see that my n**ples were hard through the thin t-shirt, but didn’t dare glance down to look. Instead, I let my eyes rove down below his waist. He was in black jockey shorts, and his legs were thickly muscled and dusted with curly black hair. I dragged my eyes back up his body and sat there waiting for him to tell me why he was there.

“Sorry to bother you. But,”—he paused, staring into my eyes, and my chest clenched tight—“…do you have any floss?”

I stared at him, thinking I’d misheard. “Floss?”

“Dental floss.”

“I know what it is. Yes. There’s some in the bathroom cabinet.”

He nodded. “I thought so. I just didn’t want to go looking in case…you know.”

I made a quick mental list of everything in the cabinet. I wasn’t on the pill. I wasn’t on any medication. Nothing he shouldn’t see. “Thanks. It’s fine.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

He hesitated for another second on the threshold and then backed out and closed the door behind him. I stared at the white-painted wood for several minutes. Had that been for real, or just an excuse to come in, to see if I was…what? Naked and ready? Had I avoided embarrassment by diving under the covers, or missed some massive opportunity?

I put a pillow over my face and screamed into it as loudly as I dared.

***

An hour later, I was still awake.

It didn’t matter that he was two rooms away. He was there, right in my apartment, as warm and alive and real as he could possibly be.

I imagined going in there and gently shaking him awake. Connor, I have to tell you something. But what if I was wrong? He was the man…why wasn’t he making a move, if he felt the same way?

I thought of how he’d looked at the door, how those smooth slabs of muscled chest would feel under my palms. How solid and unyielding he’d be if I pressed my body to his, all the way from lips to toe. I wanted him, more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

I let my hand, under the covers, find the softness between my thighs. Not rubbing, exactly, just…resting there. I imagined it was his hand, or the hard outline of his c*ck through his pants, and that was all I needed for the heat to start building.

He could be here, right now in this bed. All I have to do is go and talk to him.

I remembered the way he’d nearly kissed me, in the storeroom, and my whole body went weak. I wanted him to take me. I wanted him to—

“Fuck me.” My whisper was as quiet as I could make it, barely audible, but it was there. And hearing it, hearing my own mouth form that deliciously hard “k”, sent a wave of heat down my body, oily black and dangerously addictive. My hand was moving now, thin cotton pressed tight against my moistened lips.

All I have to do is go in there.

It was a game, almost. An edgy fantasy, because it could so easily become real. I rolled over onto my stomach, my hand beneath me. My cheek was pressed against the pillow, eyes on the door. What if I just went in there, right now, and told him? My h*ps were moving in small, firm little arcs, grinding myself against my fingers, faster and faster—

I suddenly tore back the covers and swung my legs out of bed. Three quick steps across the room and I had the door open.

What am I doing?!

The floors were new, solid polished wood. They didn’t make a sound as I crept towards the lounge.

All the time lying awake had let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I could see the outline of him stretched out on the couch, the blanket I’d given him down around his waist. His bare chest rose and fell softly in the glow of the streetlights.

I stepped closer.

This is weird. And stupid. And stalkerish.

Closer still. Close enough to touch him, though I didn’t dare.

What am I doing here? Am I going to wake him up?!

I stared down at him. It wasn’t just the sex, I realized. It wasn’t just wanting him. It was what had hit me after the ice skating, what had been building slowly for weeks—maybe even since I first met him, on some level. I was in love with him, and I had to tell him.

There was a voice in my head that sounded a lot like my father. He’s your one shot at the future you’ve always wanted. You have a chance—a slim chance—to save your career, and you’re going to throw that away for…what? A stupid infatuation with a man who’s done prison time for hurting people?

I gazed down at him. I couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. I was only a few feet from him, now, and I squatted down until our faces were at the same height. I could lean forward right now and wake him with a kiss.

I waited there, feeling it all boil through me. The lust and the fear and the love.

What if he wakes up? What if he wakes up and sees me like this?

Then my stomach lurched. What if he’s already awake? What if he’s lying there faking and he knows I’m watching him?

I went absolutely still and listened to his breathing, deep and rhythmic. Was he lying there with every emotion screaming, desperate to scoop me up in his arms and pull me to him?

Or was he completely unaware of my existence?

Very slowly, I stood and walked back to my bed.

***

The next morning, I crept into the shower super-early so I could be sure of being dressed before Connor woke up. I stood there under the spray and told myself over and over that I’d made the right decision. Until I knew how he felt, I had to keep my own feelings hidden. Well, fine. I could do that. I could be the perfect, innocent friend.

It occurred to me that the shower was turning into one of my epics, so I got out, wrapped myself in a towel and opened the bathroom door, only to find Connor standing there. He was maybe a foot from me and, with tousled hair and a little extra stubble, he looked if anything better than the night before. I suddenly realized that my towel wasn’t much bigger than Jasmine’s hooker dress, only covering me from br**sts to thighs.

We stared at each other. “It’s all yours,” I told him.

He nodded, but he wasn’t looking at the bathroom. He was looking at me.

“I’m dripping,” I told him.

He just stared at me. And then reluctantly stepped aside to let me past. I walked to my bedroom on trembling legs, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. I shut the door and stood with my back against it, breathing hard.

It’s just because he’s in your apartment, I told myself. Once you’re rehearsing again, everything will be fine.

***

We had coffee and chatted about Belfast. He had two brothers, one of whom was in prison.

“Now that I know about me,” he said, “I’m wondering if he’s dyslexic too. He dropped out of school when he was a kid. I was lucky: I had my music.” He sipped his coffee and looked at me. “And I have you.”

I tried to will my hand to be steady, but the surface of my coffee rippled and shivered.

***

Later, at Fenbrook, we rehearsed again and things weren’t back to normal. They weren’t even close.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him: the way his fingers worked the strings, the frown of concentration as he got to a difficult section, even the way he stretched his back when we took a break, his chest flexing under his t-shirt.

For the third time in a row, I missed my cue and came in late. “Sugar!” I said under my breath. “Sorry.”

When I looked up, he was quaking with silent laughter. “What?”

He went to speak, but started laughing again. “Sugar?!” he said eventually.

I flushed, but it didn’t bother me as it would have done a month before. I wasn’t intimidated by him anymore. “It’s what I say.”

“We need to teach you to swear; fortunately, you came to the right place. Give me a good, strong ‘Bugger’”

I looked at him. “Bugger,” I said tentatively.