“Bella,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I can’t… we can’t go through with this.”
“What?” I became fixated on the fact that he wasn’t looking me in the eye. Whatever the problem was, it was so bad he couldn’t even face me.
“I want to,” he said quickly. “But it can’t be like this.”
I began to panic. “God, why not?”
He turned his chin to finally look at me, and it was almost worse. Because I saw real regret there. “Like I said. I don’t do casual.”
“What does that even mean?” There wasn’t enough oxygen here on the sofa. Nothing made any sense.
“It means…” He winced. “I don’t do casual, because I don’t want to feel like the most convenient dick in the neighborhood.”
Oh, crap. Me and my dirty mouth. What the hell was wrong with me? The back of my throat began to sting. Again! I was not going to cry, though. This was already embarrassing enough. After extracting myself from Rafe, I slid from the couch and onto the floor where I began fumbling for my book.
“Bella,” he said softly. “Nobody tempts me like you do. We’d be great. Again. I know we would. But then I’ll feel shitty afterwards, just like last time. And I like you too much for that.”
“You like me too much to have sex with me,” I said, chasing my book under the sofa. I was suddenly furious with myself. Or him. One or the other. “That’s so logical.”
He sighed. “Don’t be dense. I care about you. A lot, okay? You are someone I could love.”
“Right. I hear that a lot right after a guy rejects me.” My face was on fire now. My humiliation shone brightly, and I could not wait to get out of his room. Abandoning my book under the stupid couch, I stood and went for the door.
“Bella! Don’t do a runner,” Rafe argued. “That isn’t like you.”
“Thought you were trying to teach me to run,” I muttered. He was right. I was more of a stay-and-fight kind of girl. But I needed a time-out before I dug the hole any deeper. Without a glance at him, I flung open his door and jogged down the stairs.
It felt good to be moving. So I kept doing it. I jogged across the courtyard. But I had to stop at the gate because Bickley was stretching in front of it. “Excuse me,” I prompted.
“Bella!” he yodeled. “When are you going to shag my roommate, already? The tension is killing me.”
Lovely. I knew I was right about Bickley being a nervous talker, but he was also annoying as fuck. “Sorry to dash your hopes. But the shagging only happened that once.”
Bickley swung around, his eyebrows flying up into his unruly hair. “What? You do know what that word means?”
I snorted. “Oh, honey. That word and I are very well acquainted. Now move, would you?”
He didn’t. He stared at me instead. “So you’re the one? From that night in September? You popped Rafe’s cherry?”
It was one of those moments in life that might have been punctuated by the sound of screeching brakes. I inwardly yelped, SAY WHAT?
Bickley and I stared at each other while I tried to decide if he was serious. “I…” Really? “He didn’t say.”
The Brit misinterpreted me. “No, he would never wag his chin to me. Rafe is a vault. But the mystery has been killing me. I’ve been wondering who it was for ages!” He cackled. “Can’t believe I missed that. It’s so obvious now.”
I gave Bickley an impatient nudge, slipping past him, hiding my face. Because I did not trust myself to look calm. “Gotta go,” I mumbled, opening the gate at last.
“Nicely done, by the way,” Bickley called after me.
He was lucky I wasn’t carrying any sharp objects.
On the street outside Beaumont House, I began jogging toward the graveyard. I barely registered this plan, however, since my brain was busy reeling through every encounter I’d ever had with Rafe.
Especially the first one.
That night in September, he had been sitting in the stairwell looking forlorn. He’d caught his girlfriend cheating…
He’d had condoms in his bag.
I jogged faster, growing more horrified by the second. Rafe had been planning to give it up that night to his long-term girlfriend! He’d been saving it for her. But then she cheated, making a fool of him at the same time.
A couple of hours later, I’d stripped him naked and sat on his cock.
Jesus Christ. No wonder he’d been weird afterward. “Casual sex isn’t my thing,” he’d said. And now he’d said it again, only ten minutes ago.