Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(53)
Willa throws her hands back, chest out, glorying in the moment as her teammates jump her, then quickly disperse, four of them bending over halfway, locking arms, to form a flat surface. Rooney holds a hand over her ear and with the other mimes DJing at a turntable. Willa drops and pulls a few swirls of her hips that immediately tighten things beneath my zipper. Then she kneels, leans on her shoulder and pulls a breakdance move.
Everyone in the living room cracks up except for Mom. Swedes detest hotdogging, any form of arrogance or pride, really. She cocks her head like she’s trying to understand what could possibly motivate a human to behave how Willa is.
“Interesting choice of celebration,” Mom says.
My laugh is breathy, straight through my nose. Taking my hand, Mom leverages herself to stand and cups my cheek. “Well, you might not be home as much, but you certainly are smiling more.” Her focus swivels to the TV, then back to me. “Whatever’s keeping you happier is a good thing in my eyes.”
That immediately raises my suspicion. It’s almost like Mom knows that I’m connected to Willa. As Mom walks off, I search the room for Aiden. He’s the only one who’s invested in me and Willa. If he’s blabbing to Mom about her, overstating the nature of our relationship, I might finally have to beat the shit out of him. It’ll have been a long time coming.
Our eyes meet. His widen. They dance over to Mom who still has a coy smile on her face as she leaves the room, then they find mine once again. Slowly, Aiden disentangles himself from Freya on the couch and starts backing away.
I glance at the TV. The final seconds dwindle to halftime, so I won’t miss a thing. Perfect time to pummel him. Aiden seems to realize this, and sprints out of the room. I give him a second before I’m hurdling the couch, chasing after him. But it doesn’t make a difference. The pain in my ass is finally going to pay.
“How about this—if we win the championship, I get to shave your beard.”
Willa pokes my arm. Since the hike, I have to make myself count to three before acknowledging her when she speaks to me. It takes mental preparation to look at her without betraying that complex knot of feelings that tightens my chest. It also has the added benefit of pissing her off.
“I know you hear me, Lumberjack.”
Finally, I turn her way. Tipping my head, I feign thinking about it and then mouth, No.
“Come onnnn,” she whines.
Aiden gives her a look. He sprung another pop quiz on the class. We both finished already, but not everyone’s done.
I unlock my phone and type, You do realize telling me that it would please you to see me beardless is all the incentive I need to grow this thing indefinitely, right?
Willa rolls her eyes and types back, Nothing about looking at you pleases me. I just want to stop having nightmares about Sasquatch and deranged, closed-lip Vikings.
Been dreaming about me, have you?
Willa’s cheeks pink as she reads it. Clearing her throat, she straightens in her seat and types, Yeah. They’re my anti-spank bank material. When I see a man so hot I just want to jump him, I think of that gnarly animal tail on your face, and my libido shrivels up, just like that.
I narrow my eyes at her, then type, Who are these hot men you’re borderline jumping?
She smirks, idly twirls a curl of hair around her finger, and doesn’t answer.
Willa.
Completely ignoring me, she writes, We need to peer review our individual reports on our happy couple hike before we turn them in to Mac. I don’t have a ton of time to go back and forth, so can we just meet at your place and go over them at the same time?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, then type, Fine. Tonight or I can’t until the weekend, which is your game, so…tonight.
Perfect. Fair warning, Coach promised to make us wish we’re dead at practice today, so I’ll be cranky and ravenous. I’d like to submit a formal request for the Sulking Swede’s famous meatballs.
I’m not sulking, I type. You’re just not answering my question.
Aiden collects quizzes and starts discussing the reading assignment I already did. Willa pretends deep concentration in what he’s saying, before finally turning back toward me when Aiden finishes. Holding my eyes, she sweeps her books into her bag and zips it up. When she stands, I see her whole outfit for the first time and swallow thickly.
Dark jeans hug her muscular legs, sitting low on her hips. A sliver of tan skin peeks out beneath a tight tank top with tiny flowers in all the colors that make me think of Willa—gold, russet, crimson, caramel. Her cardigan’s creamy white and slips off her toned shoulder. She’s pulling that sexual teasing shit again. I scowl because it worked. I’m going to have to sit at this desk for a few minutes once she leaves to cool things down.
Smiling, she hikes her bag higher on her shoulder. “Bye, Mountain Man. Gotta run.”
I stare after her and have to bite my cheek not to groan because Willa’s got an ass and it is in its element in those jeans. Turning back to my desk, I scrub my face.
After a very important minute in which I visualize the most revolting thing I can think of—and with six prank-inclined and vindictive siblings, I have plenty of material—I stand without embarrassing myself, then leave.
I can’t tell you why I cross the quad when I otherwise typically go straight home and eat lunch after this. I can’t tell you why I wander toward the campus café that offers smoothies and decent coffee and fresh salads, the spot where I know Willa eats her lunch on this day because then she has Feminist Literature soon after and there’s no time for her to go home and cook, and she hates soggy sandwiches—all packed lunch ingredients, actually—with the passion of a thousand blazing suns…