Constructing Us (New Adult Romance) (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

“Hey you.” 

Tragan turned and saw Andy across the street,
walking a couple of paces behind him.  The combination of moonlight and street lamps seemed to cast an angelic shimmer over her blonde hair.  “Hey there.  Where were you tonight?” he asked conversationally, stopping to wait for her.

“
Boylston Street.  Girls’ Night,” she explained as she caught up to him.  Tonight her hair was pushed behind her shoulders and she had a knit cap on her head. 

As the
temperamental March wind kicked up, she rubbed her hands together.  Tragan noticed her fingerless gloves, right before she buried her hands in her pocket.  She looked adorable, half frozen, sweet, cute.  “Girls’ night, huh?”

She nodded.  “It was our friend Madison’s birthday, so we took her out on a bar crawl.”

“Bar crawl, haven’t done that in a while.  How many did you hit?”

“Only two.  W
e lost the motivation once we got comfortable.  Plus one of the girls got a little wasted and started crying, so that sort of put a cloud over the night.”

“What? 
Crying during a bar crawl?  That’s terrible.  That’s a waste of effort and booze, right there.”

“I agree,” Andy said
with a grin.  “She was upset over some guy, of course,” she added with an eye-roll.

“I can un
derstand that,” Tragan offered, as they approached their building.  “Let’s be honest: guys are assholes.”

Andy’s face lit up.  “Yes!  T
hat’s what I said!” she replied enthusiastically, tapping him on the arm. Tragan chuckled as he opened the door for her--and tried not to dwell on her touching him.  This was the second time she’d done it.  “How was your evening?”

“
Enh.  I lost.  But that’s just how it works,” he continued as they climbed the stairs.  “You know the golden rule of casinos, right?”

“Um…let me think…bad
cell phone reception and no clocks?”

“Hey,
that’s true,” he said, smiling.  “I’m impressed.  That’s not the golden rule, though.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“The house always wins,” he said, enunciating each word. 

“But you won the other night.”

“Well, sure, you can win--of course--otherwise you wouldn’t be back.  But you’re not going to
keep
winning--consecutively.  You always have to be making money for the house, not losing it.”  He turned the key to their apartment and again, held the door for her. 

Stepping in, Andy asked, confused, “I don’t get it.  Doesn’t it all pretty
much depend on luck?”

“Luck?” Tragan repeated flatly, then shut his eyes and shook his head.  “Andy, please, you’re killing me right now.”

“What?” she said with a laugh.  “I’m wrong?”

“It’s a combination of strategy and how much the house needs you to lose.  And, yes, luck plays a role, too,” he conceded.  “Because I understand all that and
play strategically, I do well overall.”

Andy nodded, assessing him with a teasing squint.  “I see now.  What you’re basically saying is that not only are you lucky, you’re also astute and talented.  Is that it?”

“I mean…”  Cocking his head back a little, Tragan made a gesture of mock humility.  “I don’t want to say all
that
--it would sound arrogant.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” she replied with saccharine sweetness and he laughed.  Their eyes held for a moment.  Andy’s mouth curved open a fraction like she was about to say something, but then didn’t.  He just looked at her--and she looked back. 
He couldn’t read her expression other than to say she was watching him, too.

Tragan felt his adrenaline rise.  This was a moment.

Everyday he saw Andy his interest in her seemed to intensify.  He’d gone from idle thoughts of touching or kissing her, to wanting to grab her, devour her, fuck her.  Though he tried to ignore it, his physical attraction to her was only getting stronger, and it was frustrating as hell.  Especially since she seemed so oblivious to his desire.  And what relief could there ever be living in close quarters with a woman who drove him crazy, yet saw him only as her platonic roommate? 

Then again…

There were moments like these.  When it seemed almost like they shared something--an awareness.  A spark.  Moments when Tragan thought maybe she felt something, too. 

Until
it would pass way too quickly, and he’d be left thinking maybe not.  Like now.  Andy suddenly cleared her throat.  Turning away from him, she shucked off her coat and hung it on the rack.  “So, uh, what’s your game anyway?” she asked.

“Blackjack.
”

“Is that the one with the dice?”

“You’re thinking of craps.”

“Oh
.  Wait, is blackjack the one with the big wheel?”

He
smirked, before patting her condescendingly on the shoulder.  “Um, that’s roulette.”

“Well, I think we can see that I’ve
exhausted all my casino knowledge,” Andy stated airily.  She braved a glance into Tragan’s eyes once more to say goodnight.

“Wait,” he blurted as she walked down the hall. 

She turned back.

“Going to sleep already?  I
was hoping to showcase my talents tonight.”  He suddenly realized how that sounded and amended, “Playing
Mario
, I mean.”

“Hmm
…showcase or show off?”

“
That depends,” he said, grinning.  “Is there a difference?” 

Andy paused, as if to mull over the decision
: go to her bedroom or stay up late with him.  With a soft sigh, she gave him an answer, not the one he wanted.  “Honestly, I think I’m still a little tipsy.  The smart idea would be for me to call it a night.  I’ll…see you tomorrow.”

“
‘Night,” Tragan said, watching her go. 

Well, hell. 

What was he thinking would happen? Still…he felt unreasonably pissed with the world at the moment, as he crossed the living room and headed to his bedroom. 

Granted he wasn’t an expert when it came to the opposite sex, but
he could usually tell when a girl was into him.  Andy was different, though.  When he was with her, he felt the undercurrents of mutual attraction, but was usually left wondering if he’d imagined it.  He just couldn’t get a read on her. 

Then again, why even try?  She had a boyfriend already, he reminded himself.  Who needed the drama?  Maybe all Tragan needed
was to meet someone new.  A hot, available girl he could have fun with--so he could start thinking straight, and stop sweating his roommate, once and for all.

A couple nights later Tragan and his friends were dominating the living room
, along with beer bottles and empty fast food containers, being rowdy and loud without meaning to, in that way that only “virtual combat” could inspire.

Now
Matt was trying to steer his controller, looking intense as he tried and failed to survive.  “Winter, you suck!” Pellican shouted when the words
Player 2 dead
flashed across the screen in blood red font.

“
No,
you
suck!” Matt told him.  “I did exactly what you said!  Your strategy is crap!”

“You did it wrong,” Pellican
said, scrubbing the auburn bristles on his head with frustration. 

“I did not.  Your strategy is crap,”
Matt repeated.

“My strategy’s awesome!
” Pellican insisted.  “You just didn’t use the right thumb pressure.”

Tragan
, who was slouched in an armchair, burst out laughing.  “
Thumb pressure?
  Get the hell out of here, Pellican--” 

Just then the door opened. 

Tragan’s facial expression transformed and tone softened as soon as he heard Andy enter the apartment.  “Hey.”

“Hi,” she said
in return.  As she walked past the back of the couch, she smiled to the group, acknowledging them, “Guys.”

“Hi, Andy,” Bardo said
, turning around in his seat on the sofa and straightening his glasses.  “Remember me?”

“Sure, of course.  Jamie,
right?”

Bardo gave a self-satisfied smile to the room.

“And this is Matt and Dan,” Tragan told her, introducing his other friends.  “Hey, wanna play?” he asked her, acting on impulse, even though this game was too violent for Andy’s tastes.

She smiled again, but weakly.  “Um, I don’t think so, but thanks.”

“Are you okay?” Tragan blurted, concerned, surprising himself and earning a side-eye from his friends. 

“I don’t feel well.  It’s nothing,” she insisted.  “Just a headache.”

“That sucks,” Bardo threw in.

“I’m going to go to bed.”

“Do you want us to leave?”  Tragan ignored the
what-the-fuck
look he was getting from Pellican.

“No, no--you’re not bothering me.  I’ll see you tomorrow.” 
Without another word she walked to her bedroom, clicked the door shut. 

It only took a few seconds for Tragan to set down
his beer and stand up.  “All right,” he said, gesturing for his friends to do the same, “let’s go.”

“Go?” Bardo questioned
, even though he stood up to follow.  “Where?”

“We’ll go to
Matt’s,” Tragan said.  “Is that cool?”

“Sure, okay,”
Matt said at the same time that Pellican said, “No.”  Tragan glared at Pellican, who went on, “Tray, why do we have to leave?  We’re right in the middle of a game!”

“
You heard. Andy’s got a headache.”

“So what
?  That’s
my
problem now?”

“So
let’s just go, so we’re not keeping her up.”

“
But she just said we weren’t bothering her,” Pellican argued.  “And, you know, we’re in the middle here.”

“Well,
Matt’s not,” Bardo pointed out.  “He’s dead.”

“Yeah, thanks
,” Matt remarked, coming to his feet.  “Last time I checked, your man was cowering behind some barrels.”

“It’s called: waiting for the gunfire to stop,” Bardo
explained as though it should be obvious, then pointed to the other guys in an educational way.  “See, now
that’s
a strategy.” 

Meanwhile, although Tragan felt impatient, he wanted to appear casual.  “What the hell’s
the big deal, all right?  Let’s just go to Matt’s.”

Reluctantly
, Pellican filed out behind his friends, but not before complaining again.  “What, just because she’s got a headache
we
have to leave?  If this were a guy, you wouldn’t give a shit about his headache.”

“It’s got
nothing to do with that,” Tragan snapped. 

“Ri
ght,” Pellican muttered, glowering as he grabbed his hoodie off the back of the couch.  “Just like you made us put our beer on coasters.  I suppose she’s got nothing to do with that either?”  Tragan didn’t bother answering that, because Pellican was sort of right about the coasters.  When Tragan had found them waiting in a neat stack on the coffee table yesterday, he figured: if Andy had bothered to buy them, he should at least try to use them.

Impatiently now, he
looked over his shoulder to make sure Andy’s door was still closed.  Then he dropped his voice.  “Look.  She’s sick, okay?  She’s got…a condition.”

At that,
Pellican froze, appearing suddenly dumbstruck.  “Sick?” he began, flustered.  “With what?”

Dismissively, Tragan whispered,
“I don’t know, some shit, whatever.  The point is, if she doesn’t feel well, let’s just go to Matt’s.”  He wasn’t about to get into more details, but he did want his friend to shut up and get over his bullshit.

It seemed to work.  Uncomfortably, Pellican swallowed. 
“Fine, I didn’t know that,” he said defensively.  “You know, I didn’t realize she was sick or whatever.  I was just saying, you know, I was about to do a strategic maneuver.”    

Matt
barked a laugh at that.  “C’mon, I thought we already established: your strategy is crap.”

“Hey now--
don’t hate on a man’s ‘thumb pressure,’” Bardo joked, as he, Pellican, and Matt followed Tragan out the door.

~

Tragan awoke at three a.m.  Too many beers.  Half asleep, he went to take a leak.  Only as he left the bathroom, did he see the light coming from the television, casting a glow on the living room.  Clearing his vision, he blinked and noticed Andy sitting on the sofa, her knees to her chin.

“Hey,” he said gruffly,
absently scratching his jaw.  “What are you doing up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

As he came closer, he found the real answer.  With her eyes still fixed on the TV screen, she gripped the Wii controller with both hands.  “Oh, I see what’s going on here.  Couldn’t sleep, sure.  More like jonesing hard for those gold coins.”

For a bashful, guilty second, she buried her face in her knees.  “I can’t help it!  This game is
so addictive!  Sorry--did I wake you?”

“No.  Want any help while I’m here?” he offered and sat down next to her. 

“Really?  You’re not too tired?”

“I can stay a minute. 
How long have you been up?”

“Mmm, since about
1:30.”

“Wow,” he said with a slow nod.  “
And only on World 3, huh?”

“Okay, nobody needs your pity,” she told him impatiently and he chuckled.  As she played, Tragan noticed her chewing on her
lower lip and white-knuckling the controller.  “Oh, no!” she whispered, frustrated.  “Wait--no!” 

“You gotta swim faster than that,” he told her.

“
How?
”

“Here--”  He leaned over to take the controller, but she didn’t automatically release it, so he ended up covering her hands with his as he showed her how to maneuver the thing better.  As far as skin-on-skin contact went, it was G-rated--but the feel of her soft feminine hands still registered wit
h him and sent a signal straight to his cock.

“Thanks,” she said when he let go, and focused on the game.  The bluish glow from the
TV screen now washed over her face and made her already-blue eyes look almost electric.  Tragan couldn’t help being physically aware of her and how close her body was to his.  Only an inch apart.  Maybe he should shift over so they were touching--test it out--but something told him not to.  It would be different if she were his girl.  Then he could run his hand up her leg and keep going.  He would be sliding his fingers up the inside of her thigh, stroking her through her panties to get her excited, and then shifting the fabric over so he could really touch her.  He’d kiss her mouth and tongue her neck as he drove his fingers deep inside her. 

If he did that to Andy, would she
let her head fall back and move against his hand… would she want it faster or slower…would she want him just to pull her underneath him, strip off her panties and take her hard right here on this couch--

“Am I doing this right?’

“Huh…?”  It took a second for Tragan to clear his lustful stream of thoughts and answer her. “No wait, here’s a bunch of gold coins hidden in those blocks,” he pointed out.

Fuck. 
He should just go back to his room and stop torturing himself.  His cock was beginning to throb, and obviously it wasn’t going to get any relief out here.  But for some reason, he couldn’t make himself leave yet.

Time passed as Andy played and Tragan sat beside her, occasionally giving her tips, cheats, or helping her learn the nuances of the controller.  As she fell into a rhythm with the game, Tragan’s eyelids began to fall.  He leaned deeper and lower into the cushion and sighed.  Really, the heavier the weight of tiredness, the more reason he had to pull himself off the sofa and go flop in his bed. 

Apparently he waited too long, though.  Sitting next to Andy, he eventually fell asleep.