You're to Blame(29)

“Good luck waking her.” Rachel plops down on the couch, clutching the tote to her stomach. “Dare I ask what you’re really doing here?”

“It’s probably safer if you don’t.”

“Fair enough. Hers is the door on the right.” Rachel chuckles.

I snatch the bag from her and ease down the hall, careful to be quiet.

Like a creep, I stand right outside her room and watch as she wiggles and shifts under the comfort of her light pink, floral blanket. The exhausted part of me is dying to climb underneath with her, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine.

The floorboards creak when I step inside. Charlotte rips the blankets off her body, and she scans the room with wide eyes. When they finally spot me just a step inside the door, she pinches her eyes shut and grunts.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” I dangle the bag from my fingertip. “I come in peace and hangover remedies.”

Charlotte sits up, slow and calculated, and rubs her temples, groaning as her muscles shift. Someone hit her drink limit last night.

“What time is it?”

“A little after nine.”

“How do you know where I live?”

“I dropped Jacob off once.” At the mention of his name, an uneasiness settles between us. He’s the unspoken barrier, at least for me. I can’t speak for her. What I do know is the attraction isn’t one-sided. Jacob or no Jacob, given the chance, we’d rip through each other’s clothes.

“So, whatcha got in there?” She wiggles her fingers for the bag, needy for whatever may take away the searing pain inside her head. I drop it on her lap and turn away.

Her shelves hold dozens of frames with photos of real smiles which mock my own upbringing. Over my shoulder, I see her set random items on the table beside her, darting glances at me.

“You know, Duke, you’re getting awfully close to being my friend.” The warmth of her smile mirrors in her voice.

“These your parents?” I pick up a blue frame and show her the picture. A man and woman flank her sides on a porch swing. Charlotte’s legs are tucked underneath her, and a grin worth a million dollars is plastered on her face.

“They are,” Charlotte slips from the comfort of the bed and looks over my arm.

I gape at her tiny, striped, spandex shorts and tiny tank top. When she moves just right, a large portion of her stomach peeks out. Her nipples harden under my watch, and she covers her chest with her arms.

I thumb the frame. “You guys are close?”

“As close as you can be.” She takes the frame and sets it back on the shelf.

“You’re lucky.” I can’t remember the last time my parents took a photo with me where it didn’t serve a purpose. Genuine love isn’t something my parents are capable of providing.

“And you’re not?” Charlotte slips back onto her bed, her legs extended in front of her, and pats the spot beside her.

“Depends on the day. I’ve learned the family you pick is sometimes better than the one you’re born with.” Our legs graze against each other, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability sparks when we touch. The easiness between us makes me want to spill all my fears to her and pray she has a way to ease them.

“Derks, Lydia, and Randy are your family. Nothing wrong with that, and then you have the fraternity.” She stretches forward, placing a hand on my knee to steady herself. The top on the Gatorade is twisted off, and she guzzles half of the drink.

“The fraternity is only a means to an end.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a legacy, meaning my father and grandfather, and every other known ancestor of mine attended Greystone and rushed Sigma Nu.” I shake my head, ashamed I’d fallen into the trap. “At first, I only pledged to stick it to my father, but then after a while, I realized I could use being a brother as a way to build connections.”

“Networking,” Charlotte whispers. “That’s what Jacob use to say. I just never really understood why it took up so much of his time. His whole entire world revolved around that damn house. He was always running off to God knows where.”

“Some take it more serious than others.” Now would be a good time to tell her the truth about her precious boyfriend.

“Well, then he must have been granted the golden star of participation because he was always away.” Charlotte’s lips press into a thin line, and animosity rolls off her like rain on a windshield, blinding me from seeing what she’s really trying to say.

Angry Charlotte is a sight to behold. She rings her hands together, and her knuckles turn white under the pressure. How horrible of a person do you have to be to be turned on by anger?

“It’s not like I expected him to spend every minute of his day with me, but I do expect someone to want to be around. He just seemed so distant closer to the end,” Charlotte rambles, her words quick, but well thought out. She’s been desperate to get this off her chest.

“I get it. I do.” My attempt at being understanding earns me a laugh. “What?”

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Her brow furrows. She already knows this answer.

“Well, not exactly.”

“Come talk to me when you’ve invested your whole life in someone, and then you realize he hasn’t done the same. That’s when you’ll understand.” Charlotte pushes off the mattress, and her chin trembles enough for me to notice. Oh shit, is she gonna cry? Please don’t let her start crying. Tears make me nervous.