This One’s For You Read online

“His name?” Amelia was begging for more information, but unfortunately, I didn’t have much more than that.

  “Well, I never got it,” I said. She gasped and gave me a look that said I should be ashamed of myself. “After getting irritated with him for glaring at me, I barged past him. He stopped me to apologize, and I accepted and headed inside. Then he followed me in and he asked my name, but the elevator doors closed before I could ask for his. The end.”

  Amelia was quiet for a moment, letting my words replay in her head. Then she gave me a look that said she wasn’t done with me yet. I laughed softly. “Okay, I’m not satisfied,”

  she said. “I need the deets. Does he go here? How tall was he? Eyes? Hair? Did he have a nice ass? C’mon, don’t hold out.”

  I shook my head. The girl was something else, but I obliged to her need to know every detail of an encounter that lasted under five minutes.

  “He was coming out of the door, so I’m assuming he’s a student. He was a foot, maybe a foot and a couple of inches taller than me. His eyes were interesting—green with traces of yellow—”

  “The school colors, how fitting,” she muttered.

  “I’m not sure if he had a nice ass or not—I didn’t make checking it out a priority. But I did manage to briefly touch his torso, and I could see through his shirt that it was chiseled—which is a good thing.” I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. “There is only one problem, though,” I continued. “His hair.”

  This piqued her interest, and she sat upright, focusing her eyes completely on mine, waiting for me to explain. “His hair reminds me of Justin Bieber . . . in the early days.”

  “Uh-oh,” she said, giggling to herself. “Houston, we have a problem.”

  I watched as she pushed herself off the floor, yawning, before walking toward her side of the closet without saying a word. I averted my eyes as she began to undress without warning. She finished and moved toward her bed, wearing a thin silk nightgown that barely covered her assets. She climbed into bed, pulled the covers up, and flicked off the lamp resting beside her.

  “It’s only hair . . . that can always be fixed,” she said. And then, quick as the flip of a switch, she drifted off to sleep.

  Her sudden slumber took me by surprise—it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet. One minute we’re talking, gushing about the dreamy guy I ran into, and the next she’s climbing into bed, falling asleep. It was strange.

  I wasn’t tired; my mind was still reeling about the mysterious guy downstairs. It was annoying. I laid back on the bed, realizing I was still in the uncomfortable too-small dress, and got up to change. Making my way through the dark to my suitcase, I stubbed my toe and stifled a pained groan. The moon shone faintly into the room, but it cast just enough light for me to fumble through my suitcase, and find some pajamas.

  Once I was dressed, I climbed back onto my bed and moved around until I could get comfortable. Sleep evaded me as I ran through the details of the day.

  The morning began with me saying good-bye to my parents and Trevor as Damon stood waiting; Trent, meanwhile, had refused to see me off. The drive down was uneventful. Mostly silent the entire way. And then, I met my roommate—the rest of the day spoke for itself.

  I tossed and turned on the bed, trying to get into a comfortable position. It was useless. I glanced at Amelia’s desk clock and saw that it was 2:00 a.m. I decided to go search for the bathroom—I hadn’t looked for it before, nor had I asked Amelia where it was—so I was left to my own devices.

  I tiptoed across the floor, trying my best not to stub my toe again, or wake up Amelia. I grabbed a cardigan resting at the foot of my bed, pulled it on, made my way to the door with my toes still attached, and did a sort of celebratory dance. All was going well until I stubbed my toe . . . on the wall. I winced, hopping on one foot, and tried to caress the pain away. Finally, after almost falling on the ground several times, the pain subsided enough to put pressure on it.

  I wrapped my hand around the cool metal knob and braced the door with my other hand. Slowly, I turned the handle and pulled it open. I stepped out and, turning around, gently started to close the door. A soft moan came from behind me in the hallway, startling me, and I slammed the door shut.

  I came face-to-face with the last thing I wanted to see—two people practically getting it on in the middle of the hall. One of them was a redheaded girl, and when she moved her head to the side, my jaw dropped, and bile rose up in my throat. There he was, the guy from earlier, pressing his body against some bimbo and leaving a trail of kisses along her neck. I could feel the color draining from my face, and my eyebrows pulling together. I couldn’t look away.

  “Let’s go inside,” the girl said, her voice thick with desire.

  The guy chuckled against her skin and muttered, “You know the rules—I don’t let any women into my room.”

  My breath hitched, and I thought my jaw hit the floor. There was no way that the door they were leaning against could possibly be his. Not the one directly across the hall from mine. Room 311. No. Way. In. Hell. He had to be talking about the room before his, Room 309, he had to be.

  The redhead whined in protest, and began to practically beg to be let in. He laughed and shot her down again. I scoffed, the noise louder than I had intended. The guy’s eyes shot open and suddenly locked onto me. He quickly pushed the redhead away. The girl glared at me. She muttered something to him before planting a sloppy kiss on his lips, and then sauntered down the hall.

  “You,” he said. I cringed at the harshness of his voice. What was it with this guy and this attitude he had toward me? I wasn’t the one in the hall with my tongue shoved down some chick’s throat.

  “I’d be careful,” I said. “Looks like your girl is watching us.” I nodded down the hall to where the girl was walking slowly backward, her eyes glued to us.

  “She isn’t my girl,” he snapped, almost a little too quickly.

  I laughed. “So do you make it a habit to go about macking on chicks, pants practically at your feet, out in hallways for everyone to see?” I asked.

  “Macking?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You know, shoving your tongue down her throat, kissing, swapping spit . . . whatever you want to call it.”

  His chuckle was deep enough to vibrate in my chest. It was hearty, smooth, and gave me goose bumps. “Most people call that making out.”

  “Well, I call it macking. Is that a problem?” I challenged.

  “No, no,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just never heard it put that way.”

  Silence fell over us as we stood there in the empty hallway. The redhead had disappeared in the elevator, leaving us alone. I shivered as a pricking sensation washed over me, the hairs on my neck standing up again, and looked to the guy across from me. His face looked pained, confused, and I wasn’t sure if he felt what I was feeling. Although he just had his lips all over someone else, I had the sudden need to press them against mine. I had the urge to see how his body felt pushing into me, and the desire to taste his mouth . . . . I gave my head a slight shake, pushing the thoughts away. What the hell was going on with me?

  I said nothing as I turned to head back into my room, no longer feeling the need to track down the bathrooms. I started to open the door when his voice stopped me.

  “That’s your room.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  I glanced over at him. “And apparently that’s your room,” I retorted. “Isn’t it great, we’re neighbors? Let’s try to keep the stray animals out of the hall. Some people would prefer not to see that every night.”

  His face dropped, and his body tensed. Smiling to myself, I opened the door and closed it behind me. I sighed, leaning up against the wooden frame behind me. I had no idea what just came over me. I had never been able to be as catty as I was with him.

  Now, I’m a sweet girl, and while I’ll admit things had changed over the last several months, it
wasn’t as though I hadn’t seen something like that before. It just felt dirty. Wrong. And it made me like him less than I already did.

  He irked me. His rudeness, his abrasiveness, his lack of decency about bringing girls into his room—all of it bothered me. And yet there was this other problem—this strange power pulling me toward him. Despite all the things that made me angry at him, I’d never wanted to kiss someone as much as I did in that moment. My hormones seemed to be flying on autopilot, and I didn’t know if I could regain control.

  None of it made sense.

  And now, here I was, stuck with him across the hall. The idea that I’d probably never see him again, shot right out the window. For some reason, I knew that with him being across the hall, it wasn’t going to be a good thing. But what reason was that? I had no idea, and I definitely didn’t want to sit around to find out. As I drifted off to sleep, I promised myself that I’d do everything I could to ignore this mystery guy—this stupid guy and his obnoxious macking in the hallway, his jackass attitude, his abrasive yet sometimes-sweet voice, his dangerous eyes, his rock-hard chest—I’d do everything I could to fight this strange power pulling me inexplicably toward him.

  THREE

  “OKAY, SO THERE ARE a couple of things you should know about me,” Amelia said from across the room.

  I was sitting on top of my bed, legs crossed, making a list of things I still needed to get for the room—the first being curtains of some sort. It was early in the morning, but the sun was beating down relentlessly and blinding me every time I tried to look in Amelia’s direction.

  “The first and probably the most important thing to know is . . . do not attempt to speak to me until I have had at least two cups of coffee in the morning,” she said. I glanced at the mini-Keurig machine that I hadn’t seen yesterday, now resting on top of her desk. She looked at me through the mirror as she got dressed and flashed me a wicked smile. “I mean, unless you enjoy getting your head bit off first thing.”

  “Got it,” I said, laughing. “Two cups of coffee, or get my head chewed off by crazy woman over there.”

  Amelia chuckled, and held up a long-sleeved, floral-print shirt to her chest. She was currently wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a white bra, unable to decide what top to wear.

  “Also, I hate the color orange. So if you have any in your wardrobe, you better hide it now, or else I’m throwing it out,” she added. I shook my head, my laughter rumbling throughout the room. “I’m serious. Orange is the plague. It does no good for your complexion, and you look like a traffic cone wearing it. No thanks. I’d rather cars didn’t get me confused with a cone.”

  The girl was ridiculous.

  “Have you ever seen those Snickers commercials?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, I get like that if I don’t eat. So if you hear my stomach growling, get me to food as quick as you can.”

  “Food for the crazy lady,” I acknowledged.

  She sighed, throwing the shirt in her hands to the ground. She grabbed a black camisole, slipped it over her head, and then pulled a sheer black shirt with a floral design over it. “And finally, I never, ever think before I speak. I wasn’t born with a filter and say whatever comes to mind. So I may embarrass you from time to time, but you can’t say I didn’t give you any warning.”

  “You forgot one thing,” I said. Amelia turned to look at me. “You talk in your sleep . . . a lot.”

  It was true. After the second run-in with mystery guy last night, I came back into the room and, after I was back in bed, Amelia decided to start blabbering in her sleep. Eventually, I was able to ignore it and fell asleep, but not before hearing things I’d rather not hear again anytime soon.

  Amelia shrugged her shoulders and took what seemed to be her usual place on the floor in front of me. “I know, just didn’t think that was important.”

  I shook my head. It was all I could do. The more I got to know her, the more I was starting to realize that she reminded me of someone—yet I wasn’t sure if that was entirely a good thing. There was only one Reagan in my life, and I only had room for one best friend. But it was almost painful how similar Reagan and Amelia were turning out to be. Still, I swallowed my tongue with pride, and decided that she deserved a fair shot. Besides, Reagan was pretty kick ass; no one could completely replace her.

  Wanting to get my mind off Reagan, I brought up the first thing to mind—and instantly regretted it. “So, Mr. Sex-on-legs¸ just so happens to be across the hall—as in his room is directly across from ours.”

  Amelia cocked an eyebrow. “Mr. Sex-on-legs?”

  “I couldn’t think of any other way to describe him,” I said, feeling heat rushing to my face. But it was the truth—he was like pure sex on a set of legs. He was mouthwatering, jaw-dropping gorgeous, and all I could think about since last night was how it would feel to have his lips on mine.

  “You’re talking about the guy you ran into last night, right?” she asked. I gave my head a little tilt as a response, and the loudest shriek exploded from her mouth. I winced, quickly covering my ears. I didn’t know hitting such a high frequency was even possible until now. “It’s a sign you know,” she added after her excitement came down a notch.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, unsure I wanted to hear what she had to say.

  “That you two need to hook up and get your freak on!”

  “Negative on that one,” I answered quickly. I gave her a brief rundown of what happened last night, and then waited patiently to see what she made of it.

  “I’m not saying you have to marry the guy,” she finally said. Her response was not what I was expecting. “Just have a little fun. He obviously likes to have fun. Where’s the harm in a causal hookup?”

  Did Amelia forget to mention she was on crack as well?

  “He’s a pig,” I said. “Did you not hear the part where he was practically devouring this girl in the hallway and refused to allow her into his room because of some rule he has? Who does that? Besides, hooking up with the guy across the hall is not a good idea. Not for me at least. I can’t do causal hookups—mainly because in order to have them, you have to have one in the first place.”

  Amelia gasped. I clamped my mouth shut, unable to figure out why I just spilled one of my little secrets. I brought my knees to my chest, buried my head, and felt my cheeks turning pink.

  “You mean to say that you still have your V-card?” she asked. When I wouldn’t answer she pressed me some more. “Brennan, that . . .” she began, and I braced for impact. Here it comes . . .  “That’s awesome!”

  My head shot up, completely shocked by her reaction. I was ready for the bashing, the jokes about being eighteen and still a virgin. It’s nothing I hadn’t heard before. Everyone in high school gave me hell about it, which was precisely one of the reasons I still was a virgin. All the guys were always hitting on me, practically begging to be the one to pocket the card. And I just never met someone who didn’t care that I was still a virgin. Someone who wouldn’t pressure me. Someone who respected me as a person. At this rate, I was beginning to think that I was going to remain a virgin for the rest of my life.

  “Seriously, Brenn,” Amelia said. “Not a lot a girls can say that. You should be proud of yourself, and the level of self-respect you have. Sometimes I think, if I could, I’d go back in time, and change it.”

  “So you’re no—” My words hung in the air. Of course she wasn’t. It was a stupid question to ask.

  “Oh hell no,” she chirped. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s pretty freakin’ awesome that you are still a virgin. But I love sex way too much to give it up.”

  Warmth rushed to my face again. The conversation was making me uncomfortable, and I was ready to move on to something else. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t know why I made such a big deal about it, but to me, and the way I was raised, sex wasn’t for fun. It was an intimate moment that was to be shared only between two people in love. That always has been and alwa
ys will be my belief.

  “I was thinking about going shopping today,” I said, changing the subject. Amelia’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “I didn’t bring a bed set—just a small pillow and the fleece blanket I have on my bed. Also, I was thinking about getting some curtains to keep that damn sun from permanently blinding us.”

  She smiled, then pushed herself off the ground. “I think that’s a grand idea. Get dressed, and then we can head out.”

  For the first time this morning, I remembered what I was wearing. I grabbed the pillow beside me, pressed it to my face, and groaned. I looked absolutely ridiculous, which meant I had looked like this in the wee hours of the morning out in the hallway. In my defense, it was dark, and I could hardly see what I was grabbing out of my bag.

  Still, here I was, sitting on my bed, in the most outrageous outfit I had seen. I never took off the navy cardigan I slipped on before leaving the room last night. So far, so good. Until you add on the fact that I had it pulled over a bright lime-green tank top and a pair of bright, neon-pink shorts that barely covered my rear. Throw in a pair of mismatched socks, and I was one hot mess. I probably looked like a fool in front of the guy across the hall. I fell back on the bed and groaned again.

  “Brenn?” Amelia said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I muttered into the pillow. “Just realized how big of an idiot I am.”

  I felt my bed dip as she sat down. She pulled the pillow away from my face. “Care to elaborate on that?”

  “See what I’m wearing?” I asked. She quickly gave my outfit a once over, and nodded. “Well, I just happened to also be wearing this earlier this morning.”

  She was quiet for a second, putting the two of them together, and then started to laugh. Her body shook, bouncing the bed up and down. I snatched the pillow from her hand, and chucked it at her face.

  “I . . . I’m . . . sorry,” she said, gasping for air. “It’s just that . . . if this is what you looked like when you ran into him out in the hall, then it’s not just your clothes you have to worry about.”