Harder (13 page)

He just stares blearily up at me, and then shrugs. “I dunno. Sorry?”

I fold my arms, trying not to smile. He’s just so easy right now. “Okay big guy. One more push. I need you to stand up for me.”

He groans and pushes up as I wrap his arm around my shoulder again.

“That’s it, you’ve got it.”

He nods at me. He’s clearly exhausted. I hate whoever did this to him. They’ll pay.

I help him to the passenger side, and open the door for him. I ease him in, then take the keys and go around the other side and get in. I’ve never driven such a nice car before. I put the key in the starter and turn. It purrs. It freakin’ purrs.

I guess driving this car sort of makes up for all the trouble. I’m just hoping that me getting him home safely helps him forgive me for being such a jerk to him earlier.

This is why I don’t hang out with nice guys. I don’t get them, and I just end up hurting them. I remember where he lives, because I’m good at remembering things like that. If it’s a picture, I can remember it.

Plus, I tend to memorize the route to anywhere I go, so that if I need to bolt, I know my way back.

I should have gotten the drinks for us. I should have watched them. I pull up at the bottom of his drive and look up. What am I going to tell the parentals? I know he’s twenty, but it still doesn’t look good to bring him home roofied.

Do parentals still care at twenty? Damned if I know. Do I need to take him for a drug test? I don’t see how, and I don’t know what’s in his system, whether he could get in trouble if he couldn’t prove he didn’t take it on his own.

Ryan snores lightly beside me. I won’t take the chance by calling the police. Hopefully Amy and her mom handle that part of it.

I gotta get him in either way. I drive up as close to the front door as I can. I get out and knock on the door.

No answer. They have to be asleep. Then I remember. They’re deaf. I drop my face in my palm and laugh. That’s in my favor. As long as I don’t hit the doorbell, I should be able to get him in without anyone noticing that their perfect, smart, straight-edged son is acting like he’s had about a billion drinks.

I brace myself, ‘cause this is gonna be a workout, and pull him out of the car. I take him up the steps, use his key in the front door, and get us in. I’m guessing his bedroom is upstairs. The staircase is huge. Not sure how I’m going to do this.

But I do it like I do most of the tough shiz in my life. I grit my teeth, bear down, and see if I can be stronger today than I was yesterday if I just try hard enough.

I do it like I left my marriage, I do it like I moved out here to get away from it all. From Zach.

Ryan and I reach the top of the stairs. I have to use my instinct for this one. I’m guessing he’s to the right since the one to the left looks bigger.

I drag him to the door, trying not to thump too loudly, since that’ll wake people. I shift his weight so I can open it, and use my one last wind to get him to his bed. His bed is huge. Not a twin. I try to get the covers out from under him but I can’t so I give up and just stare at him, on his back, one arm over his head. Hair spread around him like some kind of halo.

My breath catches. Looking at him just does something to me.

I don’t have any way to drive back to Amy’s. I think I left my phone in Big Blue. I guess I’ll stay here till he wakes up, and then sneak out. I don’t think anyone’ll mind.

I can’t sleep, so I stare at the wall for a while. I don’t sleep anywhere that’s not home. I can’t. Nightmares. Loss of control. I run a hand through my hair. Something goes bump down the hall and I jump and go rigid. I stay tensed till a hand tousles my hair.

Ryan.

“Come up here,” he mumbles groggily, trying to pull me up by my shoulder.

He’s super ineffective but he’s not giving up, his arm flapping while his body stays still, so I stand for him. He grabs my hand and yanks me down next to him.

I gasp and lie still. He puts an arm around me and pulls me in, like I’m a stuffed animal. I go still. It’s so warm. So soft. I can hear his heart beating in his chest against my cheek. I rest my hand on his stomach, which is firm but relaxed. Male stomachs feel awesome.

I wait for him to go back to sleep. Maybe he’ll let me go.

Maybe I don’t want to go.

He falls back asleep and his arm goes loose but stays around me. I sigh before I can stop myself.

I grunt once just to make up for it. I take his arm and hold it around me like a blanket. I could get used to this. It’s warm, and quiet, and the room is awash in shades of blue.

But this, this is the problem. This peace is the problem. It makes a person stupid. Makes them settle in and feel safe, and then when it’s robbed away, it hurts too bad to ever want it again. I touch his hair again, so soft, and then brush my finger over his forehead, then down to lightly run across his lips.

Damnit, I feel like a super perv.

I lay my head down against his chest. I’ll deal with all of this in the morning. I’m just too tired right now.

But I’m happy too. Happy to just be here, with my best friend.

I smile and close my eyes.

Chapter 10

I wake up late, with sunlight shining painfully in my eyes, which feel tired and sticky. I blink a few times. My arm bumps something as I move.

Ally, beside me.

In my bed.

I jump back, trying to be quiet. I put my fingers up to my temples and try to remember. I look down at my chest. Shirtless. I glare down at Ally in her dress, my shirt over the top. Nothing happened, right? I lean forward with a sigh.

I remember now. I took my shirt off and gave it to her before I left. And then what? My hair is everywhere, and I pull it back, realizing not for the first time how obnoxious it is to manage. I wonder what it’s like to have short hair, like Ally’s?

Ally looks peaceful next to me, mouth slightly open, elven features relaxed and calm, silvery blonde hair spilling across her smooth forehead. One toned arm is raised above her head, the other rests across her.

I prop myself up on one hand and watch her, knowing I should wake her up and end the moment instead.

I reach out to touch one silvery piece of hair, but pull back. She didn’t give me permission for anything like that. I sigh deeply and touch her shoulder, not sure how much it takes to wake her.

She snores and turns over. I shake the same shoulder gently, and she swats me away with one long, delicate hand. I exhale, unsure what to do.

“Sighing’s not manly,” she mutters, sitting up, head in hands. She yawns and stretches her arms wide to each side, small muscles flexing, then glares at me, eyes half open, deeply lined underneath. No longer peaceful.

“You look like you had a hard night,” I say.

She glares at me flatly. “You could say that.”

“You got me up here?”

“No thanks to you, gettin’ your ass roofied.”

“I got roofied?” It’s the last thing I expected, but I guess it makes sense since I didn’t drink anything and can’t remember anything since walking out of Amy’s last night.

“Do you even know what that means?” she scoffs.

“Of course.” I hate that she thinks I’m that naive. My legs feel like lead as I push on to them and stumble to the closet. Each movement makes my head hurt, like my brain is water and hates being shaken. I brace myself on one hand while I look for a shirt.

Grabbing the one closest, I pull it on slowly, stifling a groan at the discomfort of so much movement. I should just lie back down.

When I finish pulling it down over my abs, Ally makes a small huffing noise.

I turn around, shirt half on. “What?”

“Just a pity,” she says, watching me with silver cat eyes and a sly smile. She gestures at the shirt.

Heat moves up my neck, a stupid blush.

I’m not used to girls being that frank with me. I mean, I work out hard at the gym, and I train hard at boxing, but not so I can get ogled.

I shake my head and look for pants. Ally may like how I look, but she doesn’t like how I
am
. Her words from last night are coming back to me, stinging me and ringing in my ears.

“Sorry,” she says. “But yeah, at least I didn’t do anything sketchy while you were out.”

“Huh?” The fact that she has to say that makes me think she at least considered it. That’s encouraging.

“I didn’t,” she insists, misreading my expression as disbelief that she was honorable, when it’s really disbelief that she could really be so attracted to me.

It’s a bit sad knowing she wants me physically but not emotionally. Not as sad as knowing I’m below a jerk on the totem pole, though.

“I’m sorry about what I said last night. It wasn’t you. I was having a hard time, and I hate wearing dresses, ‘cause I hate when guys come on to me, and I didn’t like you talking to Emily, and I know you aren’t mine, but I just, I don’t know what we are. I want to just be friends, but…” She trails off.

“But?”

“Yeah.” She turns toward the closet. “You got some clothes I could borrow?”

I pull out a pair of clean sweat pants with an adjustable draw string and toss them.

“Look away,” she says. I do.

“Need anything else?”

“No, I have the shirt already. Kinda weird to be wearing your clothes, seeing as we’re just friends.”

She didn’t like me talking to Emily. That seems like useful information. I tuck it away to ask Amy or someone about.

“Okay done. You can turn around.” I turn around and then turn away again, ears burning. I rummage through the hangers, find a black shirt and toss it back to her.

“Why?” she asks. “This one is fine.”

“Uh, no.”

“Why? ‘Cause my bra shows? Does that matter?”

“Of course,” I say.

“Why?”

“I don’t want anyone to see that,” I say, knowing I have no right to admit it, but feeling possessive because she’s in my room, in my clothes, complimenting my body.

“Like it’s your choice.”

“It’s not, but I’d like to make you breakfast, and you can’t go like that in front of my mom.”

“Fine, I’ll change, I’ll change. Don’t get huffy.” I hear rustling, presumably the t-shirt going over her head. “‘Kay, you can turn around now.”

I wasn’t ready for how beautiful she looks in my clothes. Her long, toned body make my sweats look like something that could go down a runway.

Or maybe I’m just in love with her.

The pants sit loose around her hips, showing a bit of skin where the t-shirt is falling to the side. The outline of her waist and chest are visible through the thin fabric.

I want to take her in my arms, right now. The urge is almost irresistible.

She blinks up at me with her big, silver eyes and looks so bared to me, so honest.

But her words from last night are still rising up like bile, and it kills the attraction between us.

“You know, you could give me a break,” she says quietly, playing with the hem of her shirt. “I mean, I know I wasn’t the best friend last night, but considering I dragged your butt off the concrete, got you into a car, drove you home, got you inside, hauled your big ass all the way up those stairs by myself. And didn’t even molest you.”

Again with the molesting. I think she just wants to be in control, so she doesn’t get hurt. I don’t want to hear what she did for me last night. I want to take care of her, not be taken care of. I want her to apologize for what she said. I want her to take it back.

But she’s here in my room with me, and every time I look at her, good feelings threaten to overcome the bad ones. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t be here. It’s not the type of care I want, but I’ve been maybe expecting too much of her.

I need to back off.

She’s been telling me all along that she can only give me friendship, and I was too selfish to listen.

I sit next to her on the bed. Put an arm around her and pull her close. “I’m sorry. It’s okay.”

“It better be.”

“It is. You want some breakfast?” I ask.

“Oh, you’re that type, huh?”

“Hm?”

“Cook me some breakfast after our one night stand.”

I blush again and rub the back of my neck. “Uh.”

“Kidding.” She stands and reaches out a hand to help me up.

“Ally,” I say, wanting to clear up just one thing from the other night. “I could hit someone if I needed to.”

“Sure,” she says, but she’s already turning away.

“No, I mean it. I could hit someone, if they were hurting you. Or you were in trouble.”

“Alright motor mouth. I get it.”

But I think I can see the back of her neck going pink too. I follow her downstairs for breakfast.

I head down the stairs, still feeling a little wobbly, as if my body just isn’t quite right yet.

A thought stops me cold, leaves me clutching the banister, adrenaline shooting through me. Whoever roofied me probably meant to roofie Ally.

The thought makes me cold, and angry. Far too angry. I can’t even move for a second. Then Ally looks back at me, mouths the word breakfast, and skips toward the kitchen. I clench and release my free hand and slowly let go of the banister. She’s fine. I got roofied, and not her. What if I hadn’t drunk her drink? What if she had, after I was gone?

Even a really strong person like her would have been in trouble then. I may be just her friend, but I’m going to stick like glue until we’re sure who did that.

Probably one of the three douchebags. They probably saw me with her before I got drinks. Dangit, I did leave one while I went to the kitchen for more cups. I groan and go down the rest of the stairs, beating myself up all the way into the kitchen.

She sits on a stool, and makes it spin back and forth.

I look through our cupboards. “What do you want?”

“What do you have?”

“Pretty much anything a normal person would have.”

“Pancakes?” she asks softly, not facing me. “Do you have pancakes?”

“Sure. You like them?” I grab my mom’s batter mix out of the cupboard, and pull eggs out of the fridge.

“Never had them homemade. Seems like a good normal person food.”

I frown and pause, because it’s another of those moments where she’s just said something really sad and not even seemed to realize how sad it was. I grab a mixing bowl and pull down the griddle. Such a simple thing, and she’s never had it.