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  “Do you have enough time to help me unpack?” I asked him, already bored at the prospect of unloading the three huge suitcases he brought with him from my parents’ house. Macon’s parents lived in the house next to mine. He’s my boy next door, and I had a crush on him when I was a little girl until I realized he was chasing the same prey. He was my first heartbreak, and we often laughed about it.

  You wouldn’t easily guess he’s gay by looking at him or talking with him. He always wore black biker boots, beat up jeans, and some grungy teeshirt. In the winter he even wore an old leather jacket. His hair was never styled because he didn’t give a damn about what others might think of him, and he only shaved once or twice a week. Girls often mistook him for the perfect straight bad-boy when he was, in fact, a perfect gay bad-boy.

  “Your father asked me to drive you home because he wants to have a talk with you. Apparently, he wasn’t delighted to know you had found a place, but your sister seemed ready to jump in my car to see it.”

  “Let me guess. Mom gave her her famous stern look. She won’t say a thing, but I’m sure she thinks I chose to live off campus to have more freedom to sleep with guys,” I said with an eye roll so pronounced that it brought back the headache I had chased away with an aspirin earlier while waiting for him to come over.

  “Did you really think they wouldn’t ask you some details about the place and your roommate?” He looked around and his eyes settled on the three closed doors. “Speaking of, where is he?”

  I bumped his shoulder with mine and led him to the suitcases. Without complaining he took two of them, and I took the last one. Wobbling to my bedroom, he followed me. The room was not spacious, but it was more than enough for me. I had a dresser of a decent size, and the queen size bed looked welcoming to my tired bones. “He is in his bedroom. I think he’s sleeping.”

  He put down both bags and pursed his thin lips. “It’s 5:30 in the afternoon.”

  “Macon.”

  “Don’t Macon me, London.” He closed the door behind him to grant us more privacy and faced me with his dark eyes burning a hole in my chubby face. Whenever he looked at me like that, I couldn’t help but spill everything I - by some miracle - kept bottled up. “I want to see this guy.”

  I unzipped my suitcase and began to sort out my underwear. I was not embarrassed to do such a thing in front of Macon. He had seen me naked a couple of times, and it did nothing for him … or me. I felt secure like that around him. Somehow, we could talk about everything and do everything, and we were still good with it. Nothing fazed us in our friendship. But he was used to my antics by now, and he had been numb to any weirdness for quite some time.

  “You’re not my dad.”

  He grabbed my arm, and I released my hold on my bright pink lacy bra and shorty panties. They fell on the ground between my red converse and his black biker boots. “You have never lived with a guy before, and I don’t want you to have a weirdo as a roommate. He might be a perv.”

  I laughed at that and pushed away his delicate hand, which stood out from his rough look. “There’s such a right of passage to get in his bed that he won’t give me the time of day, which I’m not going to ask for. Moreover, he’s into leggy girls that are as thin as a model, which I’m certainly not.”

  “And I’m sure you frightened the poor guy,” Macon said, now all seriousness and stiffness evaporated from his demeanor. I preferred this version of my best friend.

  “He agreed, didn’t he?”

  He shook his head and began unloading another bag full of black and dark blue jeans and brown, black, deep green and night blue tops. “But I still want to see the guy.”

  “He’s not gay, Macon,” I replied, stifling a laugh. Macon was always looking for the right guy. He wasn’t overly romantic, but he did think that there was, somewhere, his right match. In the meantime, he partied while looking for him, and he slept with guys he knew weren’t for him. Of course, he had an excuse all ready. He told me it was because he wanted to have the most experience possible to provide his best for the right guy. He should say it was because he loved sex. That wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

  “Homophobic?”

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t know the guy.”

  The door opened, startling us both. Macon had a white lacy bra in his right hand and the panties that went with it in his left, and I was examining a black nighty when it opened. Frozen, we looked at Byron who was leaning against the wall inside the room. His lips slightly turned up on the right side, and he rubbed his light blue eyes—still heavy from sleep. He looked happy about his little effect.

  “I’m not a homophobe, to answer the question.”

  Macon looked at him from head to toe, his eyes stopping a little longer on the thin scar on Byron’s face. I could recognize this look on anyone’s face. Macon found Byron yumtastic. He often had a thing for straight guys.

  “So, you’re the roommate,” Macon said, nodding like guys often did when they didn’t know each other or didn’t like each other.

  “And you’re the best friend. I’m impressed if you can take her crap that often.”

  “Hey!” I exclaimed, hurt and frowning at him. “You don’t know me. You just need some time to get used to me and warm up.”

  Macon gave me a one-arm hug after throwing my underwear on the unmade bed. Byron’s eyes followed the small items, and he chuckled. I wasn’t sure, because it didn’t happen that often, but I might be blushing hard. My cheeks were hot.

  “I can guarantee you, you will never feel bored again with her around,” Macon added with a laugh in his voice. For the first time, he seemed to side with someone else instead of me.

  I punched him in his stomach and shrugged off his arm. He laughed softly, but I hit hard enough for him to massage his stomach with pain. I held up my chin, daring him to say something, but he resumed his task of unloading the last of my clothes.

  “You guys are staying for dinner?” Byron asked, fishing the car keys from his jeans pocket and fidgeting with them.

  “No, I have to take her back to have a little chat with her parents. It’ll be fun.”

  “You’re not invited, Macon.”

  “I know it, baby, but I also know you’ll give me a colorful play-by-play before your little sister will tell me a more down-to-earth version of how it went.”

  “Wait a sec,” Byron interrupted before I answered something harsh. “Her parents don’t want her here?”

  “They don’t want me anywhere except on campus, but they agreed to let me go if I found a place today. Which I did.” I answered proud of myself. I took the three suitcases and threw them under the bed. “Fuck. I forgot the beddings.”

  “I’ve got some spare,” Byron replied without hesitation, and I smiled at him. He massaged his neck and frowned. “Never mind. I’ve got to go.” He nodded to Macon. “There’s a party tomorrow night. We’ll see if you can take it.”

  Macon ran a hand in his messy hair and laughed, the corner of his almond shaped eyes crinkling. “Dude, you’ll love to see her drunk.”

  I hit him again, on his right arm this time. “Not funny! I’m not getting drunk ever again.”

  Byron raised both eyebrows and shook his head. He walked out of the apartment without a question, leaving me with a dreamy-eyed Macon.

  “This guy is sex on a stick. Are you sure you’ll be able to resist?”

  “Please, Macon!” I grabbed my set of apartment keys that were on the bed and waved him off. “He may be hot in an unconventional way, but I won’t wait for him naked in his bed anytime soon.”

  “Never say never, baby.”

  “My point. I didn’t say it.” I winked and led him outside.

  *

  DAY 1

  “And you’ve never met this boy before?” my mother asked me for the third time since I walked in the house two hours ago.

  I sighed and pleaded with my eyes for my sister to help me out, but of course she found all of this too funny to speak u
p. She laughed quietly. Sydney was the only girl in my life I was close to. She was a junior in high school, yet she was more mature than I was and was also fun to hang out with. Her blonde hair was longer than mine—almost long enough to brush her hips—but she was very thin compared to me. She had never had trouble with her weight despite the fact that she ate tons of junk food. Also, she didn’t have brown eyes like mine, but dark green ones like our mother. So yes, Sydney was insanely pretty and much better than I would ever be, but it never elicited jealousy on my part. I was her older sister, and I loved her. Period.

  “He’s a man, Jules. At their age you can’t describe them as boys and girls,” my father spoke up, his gloomy behavior almost funny; if only he could look at me without his hurt puppy dog eyes. The man needed to remember that I was craving my space, even if I was very close to them all.

  “Please, get to the point. I won’t spend another minute telling you I don’t know him, nor do I know what his major is or if he is an only child. I just met him and had to convince him to let me live with him because he didn’t want a girl at his place at first.”

  “But you could stay here another—‘’

  “Not that again!” I cried out, cutting my Dad, who had gulped down all of his wine instantly, short. “I don’t want to live here again. I’m a student, and I don’t want to spend an hour, at best, in traffic to go to class. And I don’t want to have to justify myself when I come home late because I was at a party.”

  “So you want to party,” my mother pointed out, her fork directed at my face accusingly.

  I stood up suddenly. This family was crazier than I was. Or maybe we were all at the same level, but it was way too much crazy all at once. “Of course I want to party, Mom! I’m nineteen! What do you think college students do when they’re not in class?” I bent down and kissed Sydney on the cheek. “Come Monday around six o’clock, so you can visit my new place and meet my roommate. Okay?”

  My parents both nodded at me, speechless. I grabbed my bag behind my chair—I knew I would have to cut it short—and waved at them. They all waved back while Sydney laughed with her singing voice; that brought back a smile to my face. Yep, now I realized where I came from.

  *

  DAY 1

  “Already back?”

  The sound of his low voice startled me. The only light in the living room came from the show he was watching on the flat screen. I might be wrong, but I was pretty sure it was Sons of Anarchy. That TV show was badass. I closed the door behind me and locked it back. I made a face as I leaned against it.

  “They’re impossible. And, of course, my little sister was no help. Sydney should take a class in how to support your sister.”

  “Sydney?” He chuckled and turned the sound down. “Don’t tell me. That’s where your parents conceived her.”

  “They have this thing with travels and cities.”

  “I might see where your weirdness came from.”

  “Funny you say that because I thought the exact same thing when I left their house.” I walked to the couch and sat next to him, my red purse on my knees. “They’re coming Monday around six.”

  “Not very surprising. They want to see where their precious daughter is going to live for the next two months.”

  “Or more.”

  He groaned and ran a hand in his buzzed hair. His shoulder bumped into mine, his bare arm briefly touching mine. His skin felt smooth, smoother than I imagined it would from such a rough guy. “One thing at a time.”

  I yawned and stood up, knocking my knee on the coffee table. I cursed loudly, making him chuckle all over again. I glared at him. “‘Night.”

  “Good night, London.”

  My steps faltered a little at the sweetness in his tone of voice. Maybe, just maybe, he’s better than I thought he’d be. Maybe there was more to him than what meets the eye—which was already quite good looking. I shook my head and cursed Macon. He was the one who really made me realize how attractive Byron was with his roughness, his scar, his light blue eyes, and his … everythingness.

  My eyes landed on the mattress and the beddings at the foot. Fuck it all to Hell and back! I had to make my bed. I hated making it, and I was dead on my feet. I faced planted on the bare mattress.

  *

  DAY 2

  It was weird to wake up and have breakfast at a new place. I didn’t have any idea where the mugs were, where the sugar was … and don’t let me get started on the coffee. Also, opening my eyes in a strange bedroom made me slightly panicked for a couple of seconds.

  Sitting on the comfy couch, the black leather creaking under my ― too vast ― ass, I took a sip of my burning coffee. I whimpered and rolled my eyes at my idiocy. I closed my eyes and groaned as I realized how awful the night before was.

  I tossed and turned half of the night in my bed. The pillows felt all wrong under my head compared to the large ones back at my parents’. The cover was too hot for the weather, and I had to strip from my black tank top and shorts to sleep. It was not often that I slept in the nude, and having a guy next door got me a little flustered when I wondered about how he slept. Naked? Boxers? Briefs? Boxer briefs? Shirt? No shirt? Maybe Macon was right. I needed to get laid.

  Bare feet paddling across the floor came to my ears. I opened my eyes, took a look at Byron and lost my breath. He definitely slept without a shirt on. His strong arms with well-defined muscles looked more impressive without anything to cover them. They were the kind of arms you wanted to crawl into and never leave. They were the kind of arms that could make you feel secure. And his torso had impressive pecs—ones that could only be formed if a guy worked out hard. On the left side of his pec, there was a peculiar round scar. His abs didn’t deceive either. Not. At. All. I could count the six-pack of his muscles. Four perfectly visible and two outlined by the lights above casting shadows on his bronze colored skin. And—just to kill me a little more—from his navel to down under his tan cargo shorts, a happy trail of hair completed the otherworldly morning apparition.

  But one thing caught my attention that had nothing to do with his half-nakedness. He had dog tags around his thick neck. It was weird because if he were a soldier, he wouldn’t be here in this apartment, ready to start college on Monday.

  He finally realized he wasn’t alone. He sighed and shook his head. “So, it wasn’t a weird dream.”

  I wrinkled up my nose and glared. “Too bad, huh?”

  He took a sip of his coffee—black and without sugar—before he walked to the couch and sat next to me. He wasn’t close enough for me to feel his skin against mine, but I could feel the heat radiating from him. I cleared my throat.

  “I guess I should be polite.” I ran a hand in my hair, now thinking it would have been a good idea to take a look at myself before I saw him. My hair, being short, tended to be all over the place in the morning. “Good morning, Lord.”

  He groaned and cast me a glare I ignored. “Stop this shit, Bridge.”

  I put down my empty mug on the coffee table, frowning. “Bridge?”

  “The London Bridge? Does it ring a bell?”

  I pursed my lips and punched him in his round and huge shoulder. A weird shiver ran up my arm and down my spine. Just because I hit him? It would truly suck if I started acting like a prude. “It’s not funny.”

  He shrugged and took another sip of his beverage, taking his damn time. He probably loved to mess with me before nine in the morning. “Because being called Lord is better?”

  “At least you can tell your buddies it’s from your loud prowess in the bedroom department. I’m sure they’ll love that one.”

  “They’re not dumb. They’ll know it’s from Lord Byron.”

  I snickered and was amused to see the frown deepening on his unshaved face. His light blue eyes looked a shade darker today. Or maybe it was because he was seconds away from snapping at me. “I’ll stop if you stop.”

  He brought a hand to my bare shoulder and sprayed his strong looking fingers with bitt
en nails on my hot skin. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down twice before his eyes locked on my brown ones. He was closer than he should be. He was closer than I was comfortable with. But I didn’t move away. Nor did I lean into him even if a wild, deeply hidden, part of me would have loved to.

  “Oh no, Bridge. You wanted in for two months, so suck it up.”

  He withdrew his hand and turned on the news.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” he replied, his eyes focused on the flat screen where we could see some soldiers ready to leave Afghanistan to return home.

  The look on his face was odd. It was a mixture between longing and hatred. His hands were closed in tight fists, and his shoulders weren’t as relaxed as they had been seconds ago. He didn’t look like the laid back guy I thought was my roommate.

  Then, my eyes wandered back to the chain dangling from his thick neck. Dog tags. He didn’t know me, and I had done nothing to become his friend so far … but I needed to ask because I was that curious.

  “Are you a soldier?”

  Startled, he turned his buzzed head to me, his scar in full display. Maybe the pieces weren’t that mysterious. “I was,” he answered in a clipped voice. “How do you know?”

  “The dog tags.” I pointed to the little pieces of metal.

  He brought a hand around them. His knuckles turned white and his eyes flared. “First ground rule, Bridge.” He released the tags and leaned closer to my face, his hot breath fanning the sensitive skin around my lips. I pursed them, holding back from licking them like an idiot waiting to be kissed when it was perfectly obvious he was not about to kiss me. And I shouldn’t want to. He’s not my kind of guy. Not my type at all. “Never talk about my past as a soldier.”

  I cocked my head on one side, challenging him. “I’m not one to follow the rules.”

  He came a breath closer; his nose almost brushing against mine. I could see the silver dots in his eyes, making the blue in them lighter and more stunning than ever. “If you want to make it here, you’ll follow them.”