but he doesn’t pick the spatula up. I can’t even see him breathing.
Shit.
I turn around and lean against the counter. “Anything you want to talk about? You have a roomie now, you know.”
I look at his broad shoulders, imagining them in a jersey. Bare and goosebumped while he stands on a surfboard. I imagine them tucked around me last night... the way he pressed his face into my hair.
I have the urge to wrap my arms around his waist again, but I think of his reaction last time at the grow house. And that’s how I know I should.
Is this what he does with other girls, too? Just fucks them, and if they make him laugh or wrap their arms around him, they get pushed away?
I put my hand on his back, then realize I want more and press my cheek against it.
He goes very still. So still I can hear his heartbeat.
I kiss him through his shirt, and then I wrap an arm around his waist.
“Don’t be pissed,” I whisper. “You seem sad. I like hugging you... I’m a hugger.”
I smell something burning, and I lean around him to find the pancake smoking.
I slide my arm from around his waist and kiss his bicep. “I didn’t mean to make you burn the food.”
“You didn’t,” he says gruffly.
I walk around the bar and take a seat on the stool right in front of him. I find myself waiting for his eyes to meet mine. He looks everywhere but at me as he finishes the pancakes, smears butter on them, and brings out a small cup of hot syrup from the microwave.
He puts three on a plate for me and sets it in front of me, still without looking in my eyes. Then he turns around to open the refrigerator. He takes out some fresh-looking strawberries and sets them in front of me as well.
“Thank you,” I say, as he finally looks me in the face. “Are you going to have some too?”
He shakes his head and mumbles something about working out.
I puzzle over this as he walks slowly toward the living area. He opens a door that looks like a closet door, situated between the kitchen and the living room, and disappears into it.
I eat slowly.
Should I ask him about football? Should I tell him what I saw? And what I read? I want to know the answers to my questions, but do I really have to have them? He’s clearly in a shitty mood. I don’t want to make things worse. Although of course, I want to know.
I finish eating, clean and wash my plate, and when he’s still not back, I can’t help myself. I follow him through the door, which leads down to a basement.
At the bottom of the stairs, I find a nice home gym, and Kellan running on a treadmill, pouring sweat.
He glances at me, then straight ahead. I’m not sure if I should feel irritated by how he’s acting, or sorry for him. I go with sorry. If I knew him even just a little better, I would ask what’s up. As it is, I stick my hands in the pockets of my robe and stand there feeling like some awkward stalker.
“This is really nice down here. I guess this is how you stay in shape for soccer.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you guys have a game in a few days?”
“Yeah.” His gaze flicks to mine, and I see effort on his face. He’s trying to be... not an ass. Which I appreciate, even as I wonder why he has to try so hard. “You a fan?” he asks. His voice is rough, the words slightly panted.
My throat tightens with the secret I’m keeping—about his past. “I’m a fan of how you look in your uniform,” I say slyly.
“Is that right?” He slows his pace.
I nod as the air around us starts to prickle. “I used to appreciate you as eye candy even though I thought you were a jerk.”
“And now?” He steps off the treadmill and closes the distance between us with three steps. He seems so tall. He looks very serious, considering we’re teasing.
“Now I don’t know.” My heart gives a long, unsteady beat. “You seem... really hard to read. I don’t know what I think of you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, folding his arms. Any emotions I might have seen on his face are locked away now. “Tonight, we’ll be going somewhere. It will be a chance for me to show you another aspect of