CH - 23 SUMMER

"W-what?" The question comes out in a fast, quavery squeak, as my heart

stutters mid-beat.

Fitz's long, muscular body advances on me. I find myself moving backward.

Moving away from him, because his intensity is a bit terrifying. Usually his eyes

are a normal shade of brown. Right now, they're dark chocolate and liquid fire.

The heat of them sears right through me.

I move until I can't move anymore—because my butt meets the wall. Fitz

doesn't stop until his body is a mere inch from mine. If I inhale, my breasts

would rise and probably bump his chest.

"Summer." His voice is low, tormented.

His rough fingertips graze my cheekbone. I can scarcely breathe. My worried

gaze flicks toward my bedroom door. It's ajar. Hunter or Hollis could walk by at

any moment and see us.

"Don't go with him tonight." It sounds like the words are being ripped out of

his throat.

My pulse quickens. Fitz's lips are so close to mine I can almost taste him.

His chest tat peeks out the top of his worn, gray T-shirt, and I have to fight the

urge not to reach out and run my fingers over the faded ink.

"Don't go with Hunter," he rasps, those molten eyes locking onto mine.

I find my voice again, though it's shakier than I'd like. "Give me a reason

not to."

He visibly swallows.

I silently implore him. I can't speak the words for him, but if he doesn't want

me to go out with Hunter, then he has to tell me why. He needs to tell me why.

He doesn't. A muscle in his jaw tics, but still he doesn't speak.

"What the hell is going on, Fitz? Because it kinda feels like this is you

wanting to have your cake and eat it too. We hooked up, and then you pushed

me away. You don't get to make demands now about who I go out with—I owe

you nothing. You had your chance."

"I know," he finally says, sounding as confused as I feel.

Clearly when he stormed into my room, he didn't have a damn thing

rehearsed other than "don't go with Hunter." Well, that's not enough for me.

"I know I messed up." Remorse swims in his eyes. "Avoiding you after what

happened in the locker room was so fucking stupid. And selfish."

"No kidding."

"I'm sorry for that," he says hoarsely. "I really am. And I'm not trying to

have my cake and eat it too. Or at least I'm not doing it intentionally. All I know

is that I feel sick about the thought of you going out with him tonight."

I wait for him to elaborate. As usual, he doesn't.

"Then tell me why I should stay here, Fitz! And don't say it's because you're

hard twenty-four-seven because of me. We can't hook up anymore, okay? I'm

not interested in a fling with you. I get the feeling you don't do flings, anyway."

"I don't," he says hoarsely.

"Then what is this?" Frazzled, I gesture between us. "Why shouldn't I date

Hunter?"

"I'm not saying you can't."

"You're not saying anything at all!" I remember the open door and quickly

lower my voice. "What do you want, Colin? Just tell me how you feel."

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. I can't pick out a single

emotion in his expression. He's so good at that, placing a veil over his eyes. He

guards his thoughts and emotions with the dedication of a Secret Service agent.

Hell, he'd probably rather take a bullet than show anyone what he's feeling.

And whether he means to or not, he's playing games with me. I like games—

the ones you play at parties, with friends. When it comes to my love life, I'm not

interested in having to guess what the other person is feeling or thinking.

"I have to go," I mutter.

He makes a frustrated noise under his breath. "Summer."

But I'm already marching out the door.

And he doesn't stop me.

NEEDLESS TO SAY, I'M MORE THAN A LITTLE DISTRACTED WHEN HUNTER PULLS

out my chair at the nicest restaurant in Hastings. It's called Ferro's, and it comes

highly recommended by both Allie and a friend of hers, Grace Ivers. Grace is

Logan's girlfriend, and apparently they eat at Ferro's all the time.

I can't deny that Hunter looks hot tonight. His tight ass fills a pair of trousers

very, very nicely, and he recently got his hair buzzed. I prefer shorter hair on

guys.

While I check him out, he's doing the same to me. His sultry gaze admires

me from across the table. "That's a great dress, Blondie."

I manage a smile. "Thanks." Can he tell that I'm preoccupied? Or worse, can

he tell I'm upset? Because I am. I'm still so shaken from that encounter with

Fitz.

Why couldn't he just tell me how he felt? Why do I have to pry the details

out of him like I'm trying to extract a splinter from under my fingernail? Talking

to Fitz is painful and frustrating and I don't fucking understand him.

I don't even notice the waiter coming by to take our drink order until Hunter

says, "Summer? Vodka cran?"

I hastily shake my head. "Water for now," I tell the waiter. After he leaves, I

explain my choice to Hunter. "I haven't eaten in hours. I don't like to drink on

an empty stomach."

"Yeah. Makes sense." He watches as I unroll my napkin.

It's a fancy cloth one, and my hands tremble slightly as I smooth it over my

lap.

A crease lines his forehead. "What's wrong?"

I swallow. "Nothing's wrong. It's just been a long, somewhat crappy day."

"You had to see your academic advisor, right? How'd that go?"

"Not great. Richmond hates my guts." My cheeks hollow as I grind my teeth

together. I force myself to stop. "He pretty much baited me into saying one of

my professors creeps me out and then scolded me about how I shouldn't be

making accusations."

"Accusations?" Hunter sounds alarmed. "What's this fucker done?"

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Really, he hasn't done anything. But he creeps me

out, and he's kinda handsy. I told Richmond about it and, like I said, got

scolded."

The waiter returns with our waters and asks if we're ready to order. Neither

of us has even opened the menu yet, so Hunter says we need more time.

We pick up our menus. I try desperately to concentrate on the app list, but

my brain is still back in my bedroom with Fitz.

Hunter releases a heavy sigh.

I lift my head. "Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm fine." He gives a wry shake of his head. "You, on the other hand?

Doesn't seem like you're fine."

I offer a feeble assurance. "I am."

"Summer, I've been living with you for a month now. I'm pretty good at

deciphering your moods. You're extra distracted tonight."

"I know. I'm sorry." I clasp my hands in my lap. "I…"

He hesitates for a long moment, then asks, "What's going on between us?"

Misery burns my throat, stings my eyes. I don't know how to explain what

I'm feeling, because I don't know what I'm feeling.

My heart drops as I realize I'm in the exact position Fitz was in twenty

minutes ago. The position I put him in. Demanding access to his thoughts.

Insisting he tell me how he feels about me.

Maybe he truly doesn't know. God knows I can't quite describe what I feel

for him. Yet I'm expecting him to, what, fight for me? Declare his undying love

for me? And now here Hunter is, asking me what's going on between us, and I

cannot for the life of me answer the question.

"Summer," he says roughly.

I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip. I don't like disappointing people, but

I'm not sure there's much of a choice at the moment. "I think I have to go," I

whisper.

Hunter doesn't respond.

I lift my gaze to his. There isn't an iota of surprise in his eyes.

"Is it Fitz?" The words are curt, low.

Despite the guilt and shame weakening my body, I force myself to say,

"Yes."

His hard gaze slices into me and then through me. I couldn't even hazard a

guess as to what he's thinking right now. And I'm not sure what he's going to

do. Drop his napkin on the table and calmly exit the restaurant? Lose his temper

and call me a heartless bitch?

He does neither. He scrapes his chair back and walks over to help me out of

mine.

"Come on. I'll take you home." He tosses a twenty on the table, way more

money than necessary for two waters we didn't even drink.

Trying not to cry, I follow him to the door.

NEITHER OF US SAYS A WORD ON THE DRIVE HOME. IT'S AWKWARD AS HELL, AND

it only gets worse when Hunter stops in the driveway but doesn't kill the engine.

"You're not coming in?" I ask, then curse myself for giving voice to the

stupidest question in the world. Of course he's not coming in. I just rejected him.

It's not like he's going to sit on the couch with me while we watch 1D music

videos on YouTube together.

"Naah." He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. He seems wired with

energy, or maybe he's impatient for me to get out of the car. "I can't be in there

right now. I'm gonna go out, find a party." He shrugs. "Don't wait up."

"Text me if you decide to stay out all night so I don't worry?"

For the first time since I told him I was interested in Fitz, he reveals a flash

of anger. With a cynical smile, he says, "I'm pretty sure you'll be too busy to

care what I'm doing tonight, Summer."

Guilt pierces into me. "Hunter…"

Don't be like this, I want to say, but how can I blame him? I agreed to go on

a date with him, and ten minutes into it I told him I wanted to be with somebody

else. That's a crappy thing to do to someone, and I don't know how I'll ever

make this up to him.

"Thanks for driving me back," I whisper.

"Of course."

I reach over and gently touch his shoulder, and he winces as if I've hurt him.

And I realize I have, only not physically. I hadn't known he'd liked me this

much. I thought it was more of a flirtation on his part.

I pull the door handle and slide out of the Rover. I've barely taken a step

before Hunter reverses out of the driveway. He drives off in a cloud of exhaust

that burns my nostrils before floating away in the evening air.

I feel awful as I let myself into the house. I guess Hollis went out, because

he's not in the living room, and his bedroom is empty when I pass the open

doorway. I ignore my own room and walk to the master. No light spills into the

hallway from beneath the door, but I know Fitz is home because his car's in the

driveway. Unless he went somewhere with Hollis, but I guess I'll find out.

I take a breath, gather my courage, and knock softly.

No response.

Crap. Maybe he did go out.

I hesitate, just for a second, before turning the knob and easing the door

forward. The room is bathed in shadows. I squint in the darkness and make out a

bulky figure on the bed. He's not under the covers, but a fleece throw is

haphazardly draped over his lower body.

"Fitz?"

The mattress shifts. "Summer?" he says sleepily.

"Yeah. I'm back."

He makes a drowsy sound, a cross between a moan and a rumble. It's so

frigging cute. "How long was I asleep for?"

"Not long. It's barely eight."

"You left thirty minutes ago." There's a lot of confusion in that statement.

"Yes."

"And now you're back."

"Yes."

"Why?"

I close the door and then approach the foot of the bed. "I'm not sure yet.

But…I have three questions for you." I take a breath. "Could you please, just

this once, try to answer them? I don't expect a speech or anything. A yes or no

would suffice." I seek out his eyes in the shadows. "Please, Fitz?"

The throw rustles as he slides into a sitting position. "What do you want to

know?" he asks gruffly.

With a shaky exhalation, I ask, "Do you still think I'm surface level?"

"No. I don't." Sheer sincerity.

I nod slowly. "Did you plan on running away after I sucked you off in the

locker room?"

"No. I didn't." Genuine regret.

I swallow. "Are you as tired of fighting this attraction between us as I am?"

"Yes. I am." Pure need.

My hands tremble as I grasp the hem of my dress and drag the soft wool up

my body and over my head. This is crazy. But crazy is kind of my middle name.

Fitz makes a choked noise. "Summer?"

I ignore him. I keep my stockings on because the hardwood floor is damn

cold. Underwear stays on too, but I unclasp my strapless bra and let it drop to the

floor.

He gives a sharp intake of breath.

I climb onto the bed and slide under the throw with him.

"You're not wearing a shirt," he rasps.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

I move closer so that our lips are inches apart. "Why do you think?"