His Royal Highness(62)

“And don’t call me again!” I shout into the phone before hanging up. “Damn telemarketers.”

Derek tilts his head, an amused smile accenting his adorably sleepy features. “Do you always take phone calls in the closet?”

I hold up my phone. “Better reception. Something to do with all the walls, I think. Anyway, good morning. I was just going to get my clothes on and get out of your hair.”

I walk past him and into the bathroom to find my bra and panties. They glare up at me from the counter as if to say, We know what you did last night.

I berate them in my head before collecting my jeans and sweater.

Derek is standing at the door of the bathroom, leaning against the frame. Arms crossed. Cool as a cucumber. Even with bedhead, he’s so damn cute, I want to lick him. Kiss him. Hug him until our bodies stick together like hot glue and popsicle sticks.

I do none of those things.

“Well, aren’t you going to turn around?” I twirl my finger in a circle so he gets the idea.

His shoots me a glare that says, I’ve seen it all anyway, but then he obliges, turning his back to me.

Smooth tan muscles taper down to his waist where gray pajama pants sit low on his hips. I stare a beat too long before swapping his boxer shorts for my panties. Then I tug on my jeans. While his back is still turned, I fold his boxers neatly in half, then again, and again until they’re small enough to stuff into my pocket. Hopefully he won’t miss them. They’re mine now.

“Where are you off to so early?” he asks.

“I have a big day. Work and all that.”

“Heather’s having someone fill in for you.”

“Who?” I demand.

“Does it matter?”

I guess not.

“If you’re freaking out over what I said last night…”

I freeze with my sweater halfway on, covering my eyes. I can’t see a goddamn thing.

“What thing?” I ask tentatively through the nylon-polyester blend.

His hands suddenly yank my sweater the rest of the way down so his gaze meets mine. Oh good, eye contact. My favorite thing.

“That I’m falling for you. You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Ah, yes. Okay. So that really did happen. I wasn’t sure.”

“Do you have any thoughts about it?”

“Love? In general? I think it’s good.”

“Whitney…”

“I don’t know, Derek.” I feel caged in in his bathroom, put on the spot. He’s blocking my only exit and I can’t really go out the window seeing as we’re a million stories off the ground in a freaking castle. “I need time to think about things. Yesterday morning we were fighting and then last night…well, I can’t even look in the direction of your shower without my knees going weak. Now you’re asking me to break down my emotions?” I tap my temple. “It’s a jumbled mess in here. Chaos, really. I’m trying not to worry about Cal, trying not to make the wrong move with you. I thought about leaving before you woke up so I’d look cool, but you ruined that.” I toss my hands up in defeat.

“Sorry?” he says, bemused.

“Apology accepted.” I start to move around him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see Cal one more time before I go back to my dorm—”

His palm stops me in my tracks, flat against my chest. He’s not exerting pressure, really, but his hand is steady and big and the gesture is clear: Stay put.

“I won’t leave you again.”

I’m a tiny bird perched on a wire, ready to take flight at a moment’s notice.

“What?”

“I won’t do what I did eight years ago.”

My heart beats against his palm as he stares down at me expectantly. Yesterday, we supposedly put this behind us, didn’t we? That fight on the float was about me not giving him a clean slate.

I should laugh this off. Minimize the ache.

Derek continues before I can.

“Back then, you opened up to me about your family. That day in the coffee shop when you cried? Do you remember? Your parents weren’t coming down for Thanksgiving and you felt alone and you opened up to me about it. I was your friend and, through my own thoughtlessness, I hurt you when you were at your most vulnerable. I left and didn’t even say goodbye. I sent you an email.”

I don’t flinch. I remain perfectly still like that tiny bird, wings at the ready.

“I know we said the past was in the past, but that’s not how life works. I hurt you then and I’d like to make up for it, to earn your trust again.” He tilts his head. “Won’t you say something?”

The muscles around my throat are constricted. Speech is an ability I don’t possess at the moment.

“Whitney,” he says, lifting my chin gently to get a better look at me.

His soft brown eyes are marred with worry. He’s just cracked himself open for me, and though more words fail me, I do manage a quick, “Yes. Okay. I’ll try,” before lifting up onto my toes and kissing him. Then I stay there, my face pressed against his so we’re cheek to cheek. We’ve slept wrapped up in one another and it shows. We carry the same scent. His soap mingles in the air between us.

I brush my cheek against his rough stubble, enjoying the burn for a moment before stepping back and taking his hand so we can go check on Cal together.