But here’s the thing—there is no fixing this, because he’s hot and sexy and even now my body is practically pressed against the door. I have no control. None.

“Plus, I need to give you your shoes and coat. You ran off without them.”

“You ran with my stuff?”

“I wore a backpack—just for you.”

“Fine. Put them by the door.”

A few seconds tick by and I’m wondering, dying to know what he’s doing.

“What’s all the moving around? You still there?”

“Yep. Just sitting down. Not going away until you let me in to apologize.”

“For what? Be specific.”

He sighs and I hear the clack of the heels as he sets them on the tile beside my door.

“Things.”

“Uh-huh.”

He exhales. “I’m sorry I flew off the handle when you brought up your ex. It’s just…I don’t like to think about you being with him.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” His voice is terse. He sighs. “I’m sorry I called you the girl of the month. There is no such thing, I swear. Some jersey chaser made that up to be cute my freshman year and it just stuck. Now we just make jokes about it.” He pauses. “I’m not the testosterone-addled asshole you think I am. I’m just a mostly normal dude who happens to be really into you.”

I fidget from one foot to the next, my head going back to the dragon tattoo I saw tonight. Placed on his left shoulder with the head lying over that side of his chest, it was massive and colorful, inked in shades of royal blue and yellow with orange flames coming from the mouth.

I chew on my nail. “When did you get your tattoo?”

He lets out a sigh, part weary, part amused. “Truly, it’s a fine story, how I came to have this wonderful tattoo, but it’s one that should only be told face-to-face.”

I cross my arms. “You are not getting into my room.”

“Because you’re too chicken to be alone with me?”

I huff. “I am not—”

“You’re afraid you’ll take one look at my incredibly muscled, naked chest—”

“I’ve seen some chests, and yours is not the most incredible.”

“And you’ll faint like those ladies in the Jane Austen books—”

“How do you know what ladies do in Jane Austen books?”

He sighs. “I know my books.”

I smirk. “Quote me something from one of your books.”

He clears his throat. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. That’s Mr. Darcy speaking to Elizabeth Bennet.”

“You probably saw it on a coffee mug,” I say, but he has my attention. I happen to adore Mr. Darcy.

He huffs. “My mom used to read the classics aloud to me and my brother. She was a high school English teacher.”

I sniff. “Well, fine, you know Jane Austen. Do you know anything else?”

He pauses, and I picture him thinking—

“Are you Googling stuff?” I ask.

“No. I’m racking my brain to come up with some kind of quote, but Jane isn’t my favorite. I know a poem by Robert Frost.”

“The one from class?”

He huffs out a laugh and quotes.

“Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.”

His words are wistful as he recites the poem, and it strikes a chord.

“My mom used to say that last line to me a lot, especially when I was upset or working through something. She died when I was seventeen, right before I came to HU.”

I bite my lip. “My mom passed when I was eleven.”

A long, long sigh comes from him. “Mine had breast cancer. She and my dad hid how bad it was from us for a long time, but it got her.” I hear a rustling noise as if he’s really getting comfortable. “She gave me a necklace with the last line from the poem on it before she died. She said it was a reminder that life isn’t always gold, but that green does eventually come back around. It’s the way of the universe.”

“It’s beautiful that you have that.” I swallow.

“How about you? What happened?”

My heart is heavy, even though it’s been years. “I came home from school and she was dead. Seizure, they said. She was epileptic and wasn’t great about taking her meds. She…she was all I had. My father had completely broken up with her by the time that happened. Plus, he already had a wife and kids. I was the love child he never wanted.”

There’s silence for a while.

“Are you still there?” I say.

“Yeah. Just thinking about you being alone…it must have been hard coming here, your dad not being around and all.”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

“Can I come in, Sugar? I just want to hold you. I was an asshole.”

“Honestly, I like talking to you like this. It’s easier.” With a door between us, there’s no risk of me having sex with him. “Tell me about your cat. What’s her name?”

“She’s not my cat. Her name is Long John Silver.”

I smile. “Who named her?”

He snorts. “You’ve been talking to Eric. Okay, okay, the cat is mine. I dig the cat. She curls up next to me when I sleep, and honestly it makes me feel calm, and I need a little of that during hockey season.”

I grin and a few more moments pass of us just breathing.

“Let me in, Sugar. I need…I need to see you. Just let me give you a hug and I’ll leave.”

Another voice interrupts us and I recognize it as the girl from across the hall, a stocky rodeo chick. Whenever I see her approaching in the hall, I always give her a wide berth. “Oh, for God’s sake, open the damn door already, or I’m calling security! A person needs their sleep in this dump!”

Z huffs out a chuckle, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Fine.

I crack open the door and there he is.

He’s standing up now and he leans against my doorjamb, wearing black running gear from head to toe. There’s a serious expression on his face, and his hair is wild and flying everywhere as if it has static in it. Static hair is such a regular human thing and it’s nice to see, because honestly I was beginning to think of him as very non-human with that face and body.

“You look like a burglar who stuck his finger in a light socket,” I murmur.

He shoves a black knit hat down on his head. “You should have seen me when I had this on—cat burglar extraordinaire. I had to slip in through the side door because the girl at the front desk told me visiting hours were over for this floor.”

“Alas, I got housing so late, I have sucky hours. They call this dorm The Virgin Vault.”

His brows go up. “You trying out being a nun?”

I give him a look. “We just had sex in a garage—does that sound nunnish to you? And yes, I know that’s not a real word.”

He grins. “Let me in?”

“CHRIST, LET HIM IN!” comes from the door across the hall.

“You should definitely listen to her.”

“You’ve worn me down at this point, plus I’ve had a drink, so I’m willing to hear your apology,” I say.

I step to the side so he can brush past me. Of course my gaze follows his physique. Mr. Black Spandex is hot and every muscle in his backside ripples. I sigh—I can’t help it. He turns around and catches me checking him out. Moving with a swift athletic grace, he sweeps me up in his arms and hugs me, his voice gruff when he speaks. “See, hugging is good.”

I slide down him, my body pressed tight against his.

He frowns, looking down at my shirt. There’s a white logo on the front of a girl sliding down a pole. “You’re a stripper?”

I stiffen. I’ve learned that some people get weird when they find out where I work. I once had a professor who discovered it and pulled me aside after class one day and got a little too close when he asked what nights I worked. Just no. I was glad when that class ended. “Would it bother you if I were?”

“Fuck yeah. I don’t want anyone looking at you like that.”

I cross my arms. “As it happens, I don’t strip, but if I did, it would be fine. Mara owns BB’s and I mostly do office work and sometimes tend bar.”

His lips compress.

“What?” I ask.

He rubs his face. “Just…I don’t know. It’s not a safe place to work, even if you’re not…”

“It is. Mara runs a tight ship. We have bouncers and our place is clean. Plus, some of the girls are like family to me.”

His chest rises.

“Z, you have no right to judge where I work. Don’t even try.”

“I know, I know. Just…maybe I should come check it out.”

“I can handle myself. You have no clue how I grew up, okay? Hockey in the suburbs is your normal, and hanging out at a strip club is mine. It doesn’t mean I have questionable morals. In fact, Bennett was my first.”

He frowns and holds a hand up. “Okay, just stop and let me back up. I know you’re not a bad person. I’m just…surprised.”

“I didn’t grow up rich.”

His face softens. “And I like you the way you are. I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

“Good.”

“Nice place,” he says as he walks toward what is obviously my side of the room since the TV is on. He takes in my white duvet and fluffy pillows.