Page 163 of A Little Crush
Doesn’t it?
“H-hi,” I choke out, praying he can’t already read the guilt on my face.
His silence rings louder than a siren as he leans against the closed door, blocking my exit.
Say something!I want to shout, but my vocal chords are useless.
“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” the stranger finally asks. It should feel casual. His question. With the way he’s standing, his hands in his pockets, his body relaxed. He’s the embodiment of a cool breeze with one exception. Those eyes. Goosebumps break out along the back of my neck, and I find myself wishing for his brother’s green orbs instead of the empty pits staring back at me.
“Y-your brother’s room?” I stutter. “Uh, yeah? Yeah, uh.” It’s a fifty-fifty shot. There are three Harden boys, and he’s clearly not Ford. No, this guy is…darker. Darker eyes, darker hair, darker soul. Hawke or Jagger. He’s Hawke or Jagger. Which means if I toss out either of those names, the likelihood of him buying my lie drops significantly. Playing it safe, I announce, “Ford told me to come up here and grab a condom, so?—”
With a subtle shake of his head, the stranger pushes away from the door and moves closer, each strained muscle reminding me of a lethal tiger. Smooth. Controlled. Which makes me prey. Weak, worthless prey.
“Wrong brother,” he murmurs. The sharpness from his gaze oozes into his words, replacing his nonchalance from seconds before. It weaves its way around me, rendering me useless, yet I’m almost…drawn to it, too. My pulse ratchets with every slow, controlled step. His voice. His gaze. The heat from his body. It’s…like a drug. Mesmerizing. Addictive. I shake my head slightly in an attempt to dispel the feeling.
Why is he standing so close? I peek up at him, surprised by the warmth of his minty breath and the way it ruffles my blonde hair.
The hinges creak again, and I flinch at the sound.
“What the hell?” the stranger at the door demands.
I try to peek around the first guy’s body to see who the new man of the hour is, but the first guy leans into me more, rendering my effort useless. He smells good. I shouldn’t notice—I don’t want to notice—but I do. Pine, maybe? Not that it matters. I blame the adrenaline flooding my veins for noticing it at all. How good he smells. It’s supposed to make a girl’s senses sharper, isn’t it? That’s why. Yup. Makes total sense.
“Jagger?” The new guy closes the door behind him while simultaneously snapping me out of my funk.
Good. I needed it.
Pretty sure I was two seconds away from leaning closer and rubbing my face against the first guy’s chest just to memorize the smell so I can buy some cologne that’s similar and spray it on my pillow at night. Not that I’d be able to afford the cologne in the first place or that the thought alone doesn’t sound creepy as hell, but––
The hardwood floor squeaks beneath the new guy’s weight as he steps closer to us. “What are you doing in my room?”
“Another couple was hooking up in mine, so we came in here instead.” The lie rolls past Jagger’s lips, smooth as honey. He keeps me caged in, holding me hostage between his chest and the drawers behind me.
“We?” his brother challenges.
A warning sparks in his dark eyes as Jagger stares down at me and my lips turn down in confusion. What’s he trying to say? What am I missing? After another beat of hesitation, Jagger moves aside, revealing my presence to the third brother. Hawke, I think? Not that we’ve been formally introduced. Obviously. But it’s not like the math is hard. Everyone knows there are three Harden boys. And if Jagger’s clearly Jagger, and Ford is Ford, then…
“Figured we could use your room,” Jagger continues. “That a problem?”
Hawke’s sharp eyes thin. “Don’t you have a fight tomorrow?”
“Guess I’m making an exception.”
An exception? What the hell does that mean?
Hawke’s pinpoint gaze shifts from his older brother to me and back again before he reaches for the door handle. “Clean my sheets after.”
“We’ll do it standing,” Jagger tosses back at him, like they aren’t discussing me right in front of…me. “Less laundry,” he adds.
I fight the urge to elbow him, but only barely.
Did he really just say that?
“Whatever,” Hawke mutters before he closes the door behind himself. Leaving me alone. With a man who just caught me red-handed. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Perfect.
Unsure what to say, I twist my fingers in front of me and stare at the ground. This is awkward. And bad. Why did he cover for me? Why did he lie? And to his brother, no less? What does this mean? “Thanks,” I whisper, though I’m not sure I mean it. I’m still…reeling. And confused. So freaking confused.
