and personally, I want it to happen again. But you have a boyfriend—”
“Exactly!”
“Exactly what?”
“I have a boyfriend, Leo.”
“I’m aware of this, Mia.”
She shakes her head, mumbling, “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed.”
I heave out a sigh, try not to let my frustration show. “I have an idea.” I lean back in the chair, letting it rock my weight back and forth. “And just hear me out before you say no, okay?”
She’s quiet a beat. “Why am I scared of whatever you’re about to say?”
I face her, smirking. “You should break up with your boyfriend.”
She snorts when she laughs, which yeah, would be hot as hell if she wasn’t laughing at me. Her features level, and she goes silent when she realizes I’m not even close to kidding. “You’re serious?”
“Yep.”
“Leo...”
I shrug. “You should break up with him.”
“No,” she deadpans.
“No?”
“No.”
I stop rocking. “Why not?”
“Because I like him.”
“Uh-huh, you sure liked him a lot when you were grinding your pu—”
“Leo!” She’s shaking her head. But I can see it there, in those wide eyes of hers, in the way she can’t look at me for more than a second. The lust is there, hidden behind her portrayed outrage and innocence. And damn if I won’t use that to my advantage.
I shrug again, try to play it cool. On the inside, my pulse is racing, thumping against my flesh.
She stutters when she speaks, “I-I-just wanted to talk to you because I…” She looks down at her lap, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t want you to think…” She swallows, nervous.
“You don’t want me to think what?”
Her gaze meets mine again. “That I’m a whore.”
“Mia.” I almost laugh. Almost. “I don’t think that of you. I’ll never think that.” Then I stand, start for the door. Hand on the knob, I tell her, “Besides, if you were a whore, you wouldn’t have left my room. You would have stayed, let me strip you naked before throwing you on the bed.” When I glance at her, her eyes are huge, mouth open in shock. “And then you would’ve let me fuck your boyfriend’s existence right out of that pretty head of yours.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Leo
Mia’s a silhouette in the middle of the barn door, nothing but shapes and angles. “Do you ever relax?” she yells over the music coming from an old stereo I’d found under one of the beds.
It’s been three days since our little “incident,” and we haven’t had any more mishaps since. After I made her blush fifty different shades of red, she disappeared for a couple of hours, and when she returned, she made us lunch, and then sat me down and gave it to me straight. She told me she was in a serious, committed relationship, and because of this, she took full responsibility for what happened that morning. And while she didn’t deny that there was—in her sleep-haze moment—a part of her that wanted it too, she shouldn’t have let it get as far as it did, and she was grateful that I had it in me to stop it before it got too far, because the last thing she wanted was to ruin her relationship. Her relationship made her happy.
Even though sitting there and having to listen to every word she said was my equivalent to getting a screwdriver in the ears, again and again, I could tell how hard it was for her to say those things to me, in person, and I had to respect that. And that’s what I told her. Then she smiled, offered me her hand, and asked, “Friends?”
So, that’s where I am currently: friend-zoned.
I haven’t wanted to be just friends with Mia since before I first spoke to her. I was thirteen.
With studying and the work in the barn, I can keep my mind occupied for a good, oh, three seconds before I want to put my head through a brick wall.
It’s dope.
Mia walks toward me in her classic Mia style: flip-flops, denim cut-offs, and a loose tank. She dropped the fancy wardrobe and makeup the second day she was here. I, for one, will not miss them. Maybe the heels, but that’s my dick speaking.
She stops a foot in front of me, her head tilted back to look up. “I need the barn.”
I glance around. “I’m kind of doing stuff, obviously.”
Her loaded smile is sugary sweet and completely fake. “Can you do it later?”
“What do you need it for?” I say, squaring my shoulders and looking down my nose at her.