The Plight Before Christmas(23)

I give her a slow nod.

She gently pulls her hand away and shrugs. “It was a long time ago. And no one should be alone on Christmas. I’m fine with you being here.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” She nods several times as if to convince both of us. Eyes distant, she bites her lower lip pensively before speaking again. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel unwelcome.”

She emphasizes that with another nod. “Forgive me if I haven’t been hospitable, I’m…I haven’t been…”

I set down the pan and turn my back to the counter, gripping the edge of it to give her my full attention.

“It’s been a shitty couple of weeks.”

“How so?”

“Doesn’t matter, and anyway, it would be utterly ridiculous to try and hash out or even entertain something that happened so long ago.”

Translation.

Don’t go there.

I don’t want your apology.

You’re an idiot if you think otherwise.

A warning look is all I’m left with before she leaves me standing there, staring after her. Blowing out a loaded breath, I grab the pan and gaze out of the kitchen window, the tree-covered ridge surrounding the back of the house partially visible due to yard lights. It’s then I vow to drop it for the night, knowing I’ll catch hell in the next week to try and pin her down, much like I did years ago in the beginning.

“Whitney,” I call out, and she spins around, an answering smile lighting her face when she recognizes me. Her ‘I’ve seen you naked’ grin is like a beacon and has me plowing past the crowded campus hall to get to her.

“Hi. Meant to bring your sweatshirt back, but I didn’t.”

I lift a brow. “Why is that?”

She shrugs. “It’s comfortable.”

An instant image of her in my sweatshirt and black thong has my dick twitching. My attraction to her is oddly stronger than it was at the party. But that day had been a clusterfuck, and she’d been the only good thing about it. And if I’m honest, I hadn’t thought about much aside from her since last Friday night.

“Where are you headed?”

“Professor Morales.”

“I had him last year. Marketing major?”

“One of them.” She speaks through distracting, thoroughly glossed pink lips. The fact that she’s intelligent and ambitious—coupled with the plaid sweater brandishing just the right amount of cleavage—ticks more of my boxes. Boxes I’m inventing as we interact. Though I know we’re both pressed to get to our next class. I stall to keep her engaged.

“What’s your other major?”

“You’re full of questions. And I have a full schedule today, so…” she feigns ignorance of my name.

“Eli,” my smirk calls bullshit before I voice it. “But you didn’t forget.”

“You were naked. Hard to forget.”

“I was just an innocent man taking a shower before you bulldozed in and stole my innocence.”

One of her perfect dark blonde brows quirk. “An innocent who didn’t bother to cover his junk.”

“You made good use staring at said ‘junk.’ And I think I was a good sport about it, considering you’re the pervert in this scenario. And yet, you didn’t return the favor or my sweatshirt.”

“What can I say? I had my hands full. Fascinating conversation, really, but I must be going.” She turns, and I grip her wrist. Her lips part as the zing runs through us both, and our eyes meet.

My eyes relay to hers.

Yeah, I felt it too.

“Want to pick this conversation up again sometime? Maybe when you return my hoodie?”

“Not happening.”

“Which part, the convo, returning the naked favor, or my sweatshirt?”

She battles a smile and loses. “More questions. I really need to go.”

“So, you’re going to give chase?”

“I hear you’re good at keeping up.”

A small amount of satisfaction settles in my gut. She knows I ran track, so the curiosity isn’t one-sided. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

“It’s what good students do. This was fun, but I’ve really got to go,” she nudges past me, and I get a hit of her shampoo—a mix of floral and mint.

“Meet me at the coffee shop after your last class.”

She glances back at me. “What for?”

“Because you want to.”

Brenden nudges my shoulder, and I realize I’ve wasted a few gallons of water, the memory cloud dispersing as I stiffen next to him, dreading the conversation. “I was wondering why you stared at the family photo in my living room for so fucking long the day you picked it up.” Through the window, Whitney appears with a drink in hand on the deck, bundled up in reindeer pajamas, a coat, and ridiculously oversized elf slippers. She flips one of the chair covers to clear it of snow before taking a seat and propping her feet on the deck railing—the rounded tips of her slippers my focal point.

“I’m sure I know why you didn’t tell me since she clearly despises you, but seriously, man, I could have used a heads up. Especially now that I know it didn’t end well, which leads to my one and only question. Any plans of repeating that?”