Page 9 of Princess and Country

A week later

After I searched the first floor, I ran upstairs, looking for my best friend. I had some great news that I couldn’t wait to share. Mr. Hills, whom I ran into in the driveway, told me Carter was in the house, somewhere. Once my feet landed on the second floor, I hurried to his bedroom. I peeked inside. No trace of Carter either.

Noises came from the bathroom.

The door was open, so I rushed inside. I hit a wall. A human wall, made of skin and muscles. And I almost fell back on my ass. I lifted my eyes and came face-to-face with Jeff. The warmth of his hand spread through my core. I hadn’t even noticed he gripped my waist, preventing me from falling after I bumped into him.

“Hey you,” he said as a greeting. My words jammed in my throat. “Are you okay? Did you bump your head?” I was speechless, my feet glued to the floor. “Dahlia?”

I found my voice. “I’m okay. My head is fine.” That’s when I realized Jeff was only wearing black boxer briefs. I tried to keep my eyes level with his, but I failed. They traveled down his body on their own, taking their own sweet time. I took in the corded forearms, the ripped chest, his tight abs, the muscular thighs. The bulge in his boxers twitched, and I looked away. When my eyes landed back on his, a sly smirk lit up his face.

“Were you looking for me? Or are you trying to catch a sight of me?” Jeff arched one dark brow, and I had to hold on to him to avoid falling. Collapsing. Liquifying. Dying.

“Carter—I’m looking for Carter.” My voice sounded too high-pitched and weird.

“He went to the store with Mom. He should be back soon. You want to hang out here?”

I should’ve said no.

I should’ve left.

But I stayed.

“Sure. But only if you get dressed first.” I grimaced. Then shut my eyes because I knew I was making a fool of myself. Did I catch fire? Was my face combusting?

A loud, deep chuckle escaped Jeff’s throat. The sound of it calmed the storm raging inside me. It soothed me. I inhaled through my mouth.

“Great. Follow me.”

Jeff tugged my hand and led the way to his bedroom. My hand tingled in his. My teeth nibbled my bottom lip.

My heels dug in the floor, inches away from the threshold.

Would I be able to keep breathing?

Jeff turned around. “Don’t worry, I won’t scare you away. I’ve got this playlist I made, and I’m sure you’ll like it. Just sit on my bed, I’ll be right back.”

I nodded. Because I was at a loss for words. I must have looked like a complete idiot. When I realized my jaw hung open, I clamped it shut.

“Wait here.” Jeff left his room, leaving me alone. I’d never been in here before. Carter’s room was decorated with music band posters and his guitars.

Jeff’s room was different, though. It had bare charcoal walls with white trim, dumbbells stacked beside his bed, a computer on his wall-length desk, and a navy-blue comforter. It was masculine. Raw. And smelled like Jeff. Sandalwood. And cinnamon.

I sat on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with a corner of the comforter. Just being here, in Jeff’s room, felt like I was cheating on Carter. Like I’d entered enemy territory. My heart skipped many beats when Jeff returned in a white V-neck T-shirt, stretching across his defined chest—and clinging to his biceps—and light blue jeans, hugging his thighs and rear lovingly, and took a seat beside me, offering me a can of Coke and placing a bowl of tortilla chips on the desk.

“Thanks,” I said.

Jeff’s long jean-covered leg brushed mine.

Static flared between us.

Tightness grew around my heart. The butterflies in my stomach multiplied.

We stayed side by side for a long minute, neither of us breaking the silence, sipping our drinks.

Once my nerves settled—sort of—I breathed in some air and courage. “About that playlist—”

Jeff’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. Sure. Don’t move.” He sat at his desk and switched on the computer. I missed the warmth of his thigh against mine the second he rose to his feet. He clicked on a few tabs, and the music, a song I didn’t recognize, started playing from the speakers on each side of the screen.