He stood beside me, looking into my face. “Hey, are you okay?”
And ridiculously—and as much a surprise to myself as anyone—I burst into tears. This would be more shocking to people who had known me my entire life, who knew that I never cried. Not when my pet turtle died at thirteen—though I had felt so sad and full of regret that I’d wanted to cry. Not when Derek had broken my Nintendo DS that I’d saved up birthday and holiday money forever to be able to buy.
No, my signature emotion was usually anger and my drive came from determination.
I didn’t succumb, I overcame. And to me, crying was succumbing. It was weakness.
But right now, I was bawling my eyes out, much to my humiliation.
“Kat, hey.” He pulled the cup from my hands and set it on his dresser. Then he put an arm around me and I immediately buried my face into his chest and proceeded to stain his pajamas with my tears and snot. There was nothing pretty about these tears. No it was damn hideous, this ugly cry—complete with hiccups, sobs and a guttural wail here and there. He stood stock still and weathered it all.
After a few minutes, I calmed down enough to notice things. The way he held me, a hand lightly rubbing my back. Back and forth, from one shoulder blade to the other without a word. So patient.
I started to sniffle, and that’s when I knew I needed to go diving for the tissues. He anticipated me, pulling away to grab a box from the dresser. I buried my face in a wad of them, blowing out enough snot to float the goddamn Titanic in the process. Without a word, I went into the washroom and washed my face, checking myself out in the mirror above the sink.
My eyes were puffy and nose was swollen. I blew into the tissue few more times so I could breathe more easily. Though I suspected that if I fell asleep soon, I’d be snoring like a hibernating grizzly. Not a good look to share a bed with my hot pretend husband.
When I returned to the room, I got my own glimpse of some unexpected skin as Lucas had pulled off his wet pajama top. Shirtless, he went to the dresser to pull out a replacement top. I stopped and watched him. He had a nice body—not rugged, but definitely athletic, defined and firm from years of rowing crew for high school and college. His arms were amazing, which made me think those weights sitting on the floor in his den weren’t just there for decoration. And his chest… wide shoulders, firm pecs.
Oh. My. Yum.
Hair lightly dusted his chest and gave him a clearly defined happy trail across a flat stomach and straight down to his pajama bottoms. Drool. He noticed me as he pulled the shirt over his head, hesitating before putting his arms through. He’d caught me ogling him, and instead of being embarrassed and trying to hide it, I smiled at him.
Tit for tat. He’d gotten his eyeful earlier. Except he’d seen my tits, and I still hadn’t seen his tat. As the brilliant white t-shirt slid across his stomach, he returned my smile with a small one of his own.
“Feel better now?” he asked.
I nodded.
We stood there in an awkward pause, apparently neither one sure what to say next. So I attempted to explain myself. “I’m sorry about that.”
He shrugged. “You can’t control your brother.”
I shook my head. “No, I mean… that was more than an ugly-cry. It was a repulsive-cry. And you let me slime you.”
He shrugged. “I guess you had a lot to get out.”
I sighed and approached, coming to a halt when the bedframe pressed against my shins. We stood facing each other with only the bed between us. “Thank you.”
He patted a shoulder. “It’s a half decent shoulder to cry on.”
I shook my head, still watching him with this wide-eyed sense of wonder I hadn’t stopped feeling toward him since he’d chewed out my idiot brother on my behalf. “No, not that—I mean—thanks for that, too. But I meant the other… No one has ever stuck up for me like that before.”
His eyebrows rose. “No one?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Not even your parents?”
I huffed a dry laugh. If he only knew. “Especially not them.”
He frowned. “What, they just let him walk all over you like that?”
I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. “They let him walk