Make Me - Tessa Bailey Page 0,11
but that had been months ago. He did everything in his power to keep their interactions as far away from a bed as humanly possible. But he remembered every detail of her room, and it definitely hadn’t looked like a NASA command center the last time he’d been there.
He gestured to one of the whiteboards. “What is all this?”
Abby sat on her bed, surveying the mess with what appeared to be detachment, but there was tension around her eyes. Still, she shrugged. “Work stuff.”
Something about her tone, less upbeat than usual, bothered him. “Working some overtime lately?”
“A little.”
Why was she being so vague? A series of flashbacks from the last few weeks hit him one by one. Abby falling asleep beneath the fireworks, Abby not able to make it through a two-hour movie without passing out on his shoulder. Abby showing up late to the Longshoreman, still in her work clothes. “How much overtime are you working, exactly?”
His slightly harsher tone seemed to break her out of a trance. “Russell, I love that you’re always angry with me, but can it wait until tomorrow?”
Too much to process at once. “Always mad at you?” That was not true. Was it? Russell felt the sudden need to sit down. It seemed his life would be flashing before his eyes tonight because he flipped through every memory of Abby and couldn’t recall a single time he hadn’t been harsh with her. Of course, his attitude had only been a way to hide his sexual frustration. He’d never been mad at her, but she didn’t know that. “Why would you love my being angry with you?”
She eased off her work blazer, letting it fall behind her on the bed. Just like that, he was a trapped animal, feeling the equal need to pounce and blow the joint at a full-out sprint. “Everyone is always happy with me.” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “That sounds vain, doesn’t it? It’s true, though. I do what is expected of me. What I’m told. I say the right thing and dress in an appropriate manner for all occasions, despite your opinion of my footwear. I’m predictable. People don’t have any reason to get mad at predictable. But you . . . do. You get mad.”
Russell was so focused on the words coming out of her mouth, he didn’t realize she’d been unbuttoning her blouse until it came off . . . revealing a white tank top. Thank God. Eyes up, asshole. She’s telling you something important. Russell heard himself swallow. “Predictable people don’t take a chance on two strangers as roommates, letting them move in the same day. Predictable people don’t almost get blown up. Or did you forget about that part of your day?”
Her lips twitched. “I have a feeling you won’t let me forget.”
“I don’t like that you think I’m always mad at you, Abby. That makes me feel like a dick.”
She yawned again, tipping to the side. “Yes, but you’re my dick.”
Aw, shit. He knew—he knew—she’d meant that in the most innocent way possible, but it didn’t stop his stomach muscles from knotting into a series of intricate patterns and pulling hard. Which made him a complete tool because the girl was clearly exhausted, eyes fluttering with the need to close. Worry beat back the majority of his desire as he surveyed the cluttered room once again. Was it normal for someone in her position to work so hard? Had she gotten a promotion?
“Russell, stop thinking so hard and put on a movie.” She inched her way backwards on her elbows and collapsed back onto a pillow, making her tits bounce. Come on. What had he done to be tested like this? Grabbing the closest distraction like a lifeline, Russell leaned down and placed the bag of frozen peas on her ankle, adjusting it so it would remain in place. She was wearing nylons, but no way in hell was he taking those off, so the ice would have to do its job through the sheer material. When he looked up at Abby, she was smiling that my hero smile at him. It put the fucking sun to shame. “Wet Hot American Summer is on demand,” she said around a sudden yawn.
“We’re watching it in here? What about the couch?” Code fucking red. Come up with an excuse to get her out of here. “Look at me.” He gestured to his grimy construction clothes. “I can’t lie on your white bedspread like this.