Kiss To Forget (Blairwood University #2) - Anna B. Doe Page 0,38

of her hand, I walk to the dresser and pull open a drawer. Grabbing the first shirt on the stack, I close the drawer and turn back toward Yasmin, offering it to her. “If you want to change. And if you leave your clothes by the door once you’re done I can get them washed so they’re fresh in the morning.”

Her brows rise. “Now all you have to say is that you’ll wake me up with a cup of coffee, and I might actually start to like you, Cole.”

“I thought you already did,” I say, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. My thumb brushes over her cheekbone, and I can feel her skin pebble under my touch. My words unnerve her. No matter how hard she tries to cover it, it’s written all over her face. A grin spreads over my lips at the thought. Not wanting to give her a chance for a comeback, I take a step back. “Goodnight, Yasmin.”

Chapter Sixteen

YASMIN

Slowly, I come to my senses. It’s as if I’m waking up from a long dream. Only I don’t sleep long enough to actually dream. Or maybe I do, but I just never remember them.

Extending my hands above my head, I stretch my body. My muscles resist the pull, the ache in my back growing to the point of pain, until I force myself to relax once again.

At the back of my mind something feels off, but I push the thought back, wanting to enjoy this moment for as long as possible. One moment of nothingness before all the worries that have been pushed to the back of my mind come rushing back.

It feels so good not to be awoken by the irritating chime of my alarm clock. I don’t remember the last time…

Then it all comes back to me.

My car dying. Nixon picking me up. The phone call. Photo of a girl. Drive all the way to the middle of nowhere. Which actually turned out to be Nixon’s house. His sister. Mother. Cancer.

I snap upright, the covers falling in my lap as I take in the room.

Nixon’s room.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I look around the dim space. The early morning light is peeking behind the shutters, and when my eyes fall on one of those old-school alarm clocks that’s sitting on the night table, I see that it’s six-thirty in the morning.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, I get up. It’s not even surprising that I’ve slept well. Nixon’s bed is huge and so comfy it was like I was sleeping on a cloud. But then again, compared to the beds in the dorm, everything is better.

A shiver runs through me as my bare feet touch the floor. Nibbling at my lips, I look at the drawer on the other side of the room. The same one Nixon pulled the shirt I’m currently wearing from last night.

It isn’t snooping if I’m trying to preserve my toes from freezing and falling off, right?

Screw it.

Crossing the room, I open the first drawer and find stacks of t-shirts neatly put away. Closing it, I open the second one and score. Socks and underwear each take half of the space. I grab a pair of socks and close the drawer. Going back to bed, I sit down and pull them onto my cold feet. Once I’m set, I look at the door. The house seems quiet on the other side. I should probably stay here until Nixon comes to find me, but now that I’m awake there is no going back to sleep even if I try, and I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Besides, my body craves caffeine.

Do I seriously want to go around a stranger’s house—no, not a stranger’s, Nixon’s house—all on my own?

My stomach grumbles in protest, reminding me that with all that happened I didn’t have dinner.

Guess I do.

As quietly as possible, I get to the door and pull it open. Just as I suspected, the hallway is dark and empty. On the tips of my toes, I go outside, slowly closing the door behind me.

I walk down the hallway, all the time expecting somebody to jump from one of the rooms and demand some kind of explanation, but nothing happens.

I finally get to breathe in relief once I’m on the ground floor, which is equally quiet and empty.

Yesterday was a blur, and I didn’t get a chance to properly look around, so I do it now as I’m looking