Page 2 of Yours, Unexpectedly

I look over his head and catch Anders’ eye, my stomach fluttering when he gives a small smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. My face heats as I once again remember how unsexy I look in these pajamas. I’m pretty sure there’s a hole on the left ass cheek, for fuck’s sake. I watch as Anders’ smile turns smug, as if he can read my thoughts before I quickly look away.

Once we make it upstairs and get Gabe situated in his bedroom, I start toward the front door of the apartment. I need to get home and far away from Anders, ASAP. I can feel him following behind and when we get to the door, he reaches around to grab the doorknob, blocking my way out. “Thanks again, Rebecca.”

“Bex,” I blurt breathily. Fuck, I hope he doesn’t remember this in the morning. “Most people call me Bex.”

“Bex Bardot.” He rolls the name around in his mouth, leaning toward me with that cocky smirk still on his face. “Hmm… I think I’ll stick with Rebecca.” And hot damn, this moment will definitely be going in my spank bank.

As he gets closer, my eyes start to flutter closed and my chin starts to tilt up, as if I have absolutely zero control over my body’s reaction to him. While my traitorous eyes are closed, I feel his fingers brush my cheeks. Holy shit. Is this happening? I think he is about to kiss me, which I definitely should not want, especially since I can still smell Naked Girl’s perfume on him.

“You have an eyelash.”

My eyes pop open as I huff out the breath I’ve been holding. His finger is extended to me, but there’s no eyelash there.

“Oh bummer, there goes your wish,” he says as his eyes look toward the ground. I must have blown the eyelash off when I remembered how to breathe.

“I don’t believe in wishes anyway.” It comes out snippier than I mean for it to, my pessimism shining through now that I’m running on such little sleep. His eyes snap up to mine, and I think it’s understanding that I see reflected. I don’t love that but I can’t take back what I just said.

His green eyes search mine for a minute more. He still feels too close, and not just in physical proximity. Finally, he sighs, his eyes leaving mine to do a slow perusal down to my bunny slippers and back up. “It’s okay, Baby Bardot. I’ll wish enough for the both of us.”

Us. I shouldn’t like that.

“Are you sure you’re okay to get home?” he asks.

The question snaps me out of my Anders-induced stupor. “Oh, uhm. Yeah. Yes, I’ll be home. I mean, I can get home. Don’t problem.” What?! “Don’t worry, no problem. That was a mix of both of those…” I don’t know why I’m still talking.

There are those crinkly smile eyes. With a wink, he says, “I won’t problem.”

“Okay great. Bye then!” I’m pretty much running down the hall now, desperately trying to get away. I chance a look behind me before I head down the stairs and see Anders leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed in the stupidly sexy way that guys do. I’ve got to get out of here.

“Bye, Rebecca.” And I can’t tell if I imagined him saying that, he spoke so quietly.

As soon as I get in my car, I drop my head against the headrest.

Okay, so maybe I’ve harbored the tiniest of crushes on Anders, but it can never happen for so many reasons.

My mind drifts back to Naked Girl. She was gorgeous, blonde, skinny. Not wearing flannel pajamas and bunny slippers. I shake my head—hoping I can shake the memories of tonight out with it—and resign myself to continue admiring Anders from afar.

“He’s not doing great in New York. I think I’m going to try to convince him to come back here.” Gabe’s voice has always carried, so I don’t think I’m actually eavesdropping. He just needs to learn how to keep his voice down.

“What makes you say that?” Dad asks.

I lean in closer, unsure why I care so much about Gabe’s response.

“I’ve never seen him this bad—”

“What are we listening to?” Ben questions, scaring the shit out of me.

By the time I tune back in, I’ve missed the answer.

“Excuse me?!”

I think I’m hallucinating, because there’s no way my advisor is just now telling me that there’s been a mistake. A massive mistake. A mistake of epic proportions that I really do not want to be worrying about right now. I lean forward, attempting to massage the stress headache away.

“I’m very sorry, Ms. Bardot. This is my fault, and I take full responsibility. I’m not quite sure how this slipped through the cracks. The good news is, there’s one open course for the spring that will fulfill the fine arts credit that you need to graduate,” she states, her eyes boring into me with the hope that I won’t go complaining to the dean about this “little” mistake.

“Fine. Sign me up for that course. I am graduating this spring, dammit.” I pause. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t cuss in here. Darn it?”

Whatever. I need to get out of here before the walls close in on me—a claustrophobic feeling is beginning to crawl up my spine.

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