Page 45 of Counting On You

Not when he looks so damn hot. It’s like he’s taking up the room and stealing all the air to breathe.

“Fair enough.” He holds out his hands in a peace gesture and starts walking around, completely violating my privacy by examining all the books I brought with me.

Every part of my body is on high alert, expecting another snarky remark.

“You arrange all your books alphabetically,” Kade says.

“Who doesn’t?”

“I don’t.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “You’ve turned this into a nice place. Gave it a little personality,” he says as he keeps looking around, his gaze settling on my bed.

He doesn’t need to say what he’s thinking.

I can see it. It’s right there, in the tightness in his jeans.

My heartbeat spikes unnecessarily.

“Why are you here, Kade?”

I can feel the heat seeping deep into my bones. He turns his back to me, giving me a few seconds to check him out.

At least he’s clothed, the black shirt stretching over his broad shoulders. As he moves to face me, the muscles beneath stretch it farther, and I can’t help but think of the tattoo adorning his back, beckoning to me to lift up his shirt and touch it.

“What? Can’t your roommate check in with you to make sure you’re still alive?”

I stare at him. “I’m not suicidal.”

His eyes sparkle with something I can’t read. “Good. You didn’t strike me as the weak type either. I’m glad I got one thing right.”

The compliment is indistinguishable, and I have absolutely no idea what to make of it. “It took you five days to come looking. I can’t imagine how long it’d take you to arrange a search party. If I were suicidal, I’d be long dead and you’d have found me hanging from the ceiling.”

I don’t know why I just said that, but it’s definitely too late to take it all back.

“So uncreative.” His lips twitch. “In that case, I’ll make sure to check up on you more often.” His gaze sweeps over the floor and remains stuck on the info box in the corner. “Still haven’t unboxed your manual yet?”

“No time.”

“Interesting.” He turns back to me, his dark eyes piercing right through me. “You’re a rebel.”

I frown. WTF? Is he psychoanalyzing me? He can’t be. I open my mouth but before I can come up with a reply, he says, “Don’t worry. I find your neuroses entertaining.”

I take a deep breath, then another. “You can stop psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Phil. I have no intention of getting to know you, so I’m not going to return the favor and ask anything about you. There’s no point in the game you’re playing.”

“Some people spend a lifetime in here, and they might get bored.” He points his thumb at himself. “Like me.”

“Luckily, people don’t have to.” I shrug. “I don’t know about you, but I have no plans for staying longer than my allotted time.”

“Me neither, but you never know. What if we’re incurable, according to them?” I can sense a change in subject as he begins to inspect the pin board I’ve hung up on the wall.

He scans the dozen photos—little Polaroid snapshots I took over the years. “Nice collection you have here. I gather this ishim, the player.”

“He’s not a player.” I frown, annoyed with his words and by his curiosity. “That’s my boyfriend we’re talking about.”

“He still looks like a player, if you ask me.”

“You don’t know him,” I snap.

“You’re right. I don’t know him. Half of my friends are players, and I know one when I see one.”

---