"Something's getting in the way—" I roar into the darkness. The rhythm is raging, thrashing bodies, and gritty vocals.
Sweat pools on my forehead and I feel a few pieces of my hair stick to it, but I don’t care. When Burnley screams the lyrics, I scream right with him. When the crowd chants my name, I give them more.
The big finish is coming, and all I want is to mesh this deep sound with a glassy set of strings on my violin. I rear back, ready to hit this last note with everything in me. My hand is shoved into my stomach forcing all the air up, as I bend into the microphone.
"So tell m—" I start before my headphones are ripped off my head jerking me backward.
I spin around with an angry expression. I’m ready to chew Emerson’s head off for interrupting my Madison Square Garden performance.
"I never expected you to be a lace panty kind of girl. You seemed like the one who’d wear Hello Kitty boy shorts.”
Flaming hazel eyes and I say flaming because he looks super pissed. The muscles in his jaw are twitching, lips set in a hard line.
And my underwear is dangling off two of his fingers.
My eyes widened in embarrassment,
"Why are you holding my underwear?" I yell, trying to nab them out of his hand but he yanks them away, closing his hand around the fabric.
"Oh these? This is just one pair. There are four more on my fucking steps," he growls in a deep voice that I haven’t heard him speak in before.
I look over at the box I just brought in, seeing the words ‘clothes’ written on the side. I bite the inside of my cheek, hating that I blush so easily.
It’s just underwear? Everyone wears them, it shouldn’t even bother me. But there is something very omniscient inside of his eyes, more than anger. He is looking at me like he is hungry. It's a dark desire that overtakes the entire room.
His eyes aren’t looking at me anymore. They are all over my body. But it isn’t on normal parts that most guys stare at. No, I can feel his eyes, like he is dragging a pen across my skin marking spots he likes.
My exposed hip bones, the non-existent gap between my thighs, my collarbone, locations on my body I’d never paid attention to he was staring at intently. My heart was beating rapidly. I feel the flutter in my throat.
He was angry, but it was hot.
I wanted him to be angry, but I wanted to be naked. So that he could take out that frustration on my body. He seemed like the type who could hate fuck me through the gates of heaven.
I was lost in a lust bubble, so lost that I was forgetting one important observation.
“Wait, what are you doing here? How’d you even find me? Are you stalking me? Because I just moved today. Are you really a serial killer who has been planning his every meeting with me to the exact second? Is that why you didn’t give me your phone number the other night? Because you were going to find me anyway?”
“This isn’t Netflix. I’m going to assume the normal option and say you’re related to Emerson?”
The lightbulb dings in my head. I’d never asked him what he did for a living, but it made sense that the giant who’s built like a brick shit house would play hockey.
“You’re Em’s teammate?”
“And that means we are housemates. So let’s lay some ground rules down, okay?” He sneers, striding forward so he is a little closer to me. This is a different Malakai than who I’d met. The wall built in front of this person was much higher.
“Pick up after yourself, I don’t like messes. I don’t particularly like humans, but I have somehow wound up with twins living in my house. I have a dog. He doesn’t like humans either, try to refrain from getting bit. Help yourself to any of the food. If a door is locked, it’s locked for a reason. Do not be curious, Charlotte. It will get you hurt. And as a courtesy,” he pauses, hooking two fingers in my belt loop and pulling me closer to him. He stares down at me, searching my eyes.
My mouth is extremely dry, but between my legs isn’t.
I know I should be listening to his rules, this is his house after all, but all I can seem to focus on is the demanding tone. The way his black t-shirt fits his upper body perfectly and how badly I want to pull the ponytail holder from his hair to see how long his brown locks are.
“Keep your panties off my steps, the next time I won’t be nice about it. Do you want a sticky note to write all this down?”
This felt like a nightmare but at the same time it was almost a dream. This was one eighty from the guy I’d met when I was sixteen, from the guy I hung out with the other night.
I was living with a temperamental, control freak who told me after our night out that he wasn’t looking for anything serious and left without giving me his number. And if that isn’t humiliating enough, I’d tried to kiss him right before he turned me down.
However, this is the guy I’ve been having dirty thoughts about since I was sixteen. My imagination was doing all of the work and now he was living under the same roof. Even if he didn’t want anything serious, maybe he wanted a sleeping buddy.
Plus he was beautiful to stare at. This was the first time I’d seen him without long sleeves and I had a damning view of the artwork that decorated his veiny tree trunk arms. His left was colorful, it was a combination of paintings by Salvador Dali, Van Gogh, and Claud Monet. They were nearly perfect in the recreation on his skin. The artwork seemed to flow with his body. The other was black and grey, the top half depicted heavenly statues, while the bottom was sinister gargoyles.
It was art on art. And that was only what I could see. I couldn’t see his back or stomach, which I know had their own designs. But I wanted to. I wanted to see him naked. Just so I could trace every ink mark on his skin, so I could try to figure out how such a handsome man could be so cold.
His free hand takes my balled up panties and shoves them in my back pocket with enough force that it pulls my jeans down a little more exposing more of my underwear and hip.
He releases the material, his hand flat against my ass and for a moment I’m praying he will make a move. But instead he pulls his hand from my pocket, backs up, and turns around to walk out of the room.
“I guess I dodged a bullet,” I say out loud as he starts to leave with a soft laugh.
“Excuse me?”
I sigh. “I just mean, I’m glad you didn’t give me your number, or God forbid actually kiss me. You’re wound up a little too tight for my taste. You probably screw with your socks on. Matching, of course,” I offer with a smirk.
I wanted to push his buttons, maybe see him explode a little, but he doesn't. He calmly turns around with a matching smirk on his lips that makes me nervous. Everything about him is poised, every emotion, every smirk, it’s planned.
“You think your smart little mouth is going to persuade me? Make me angry so I’ll touch you? Or prove that I don’t fuck with my socks on, which let’s be honest, you and I both know I don’t.”
That was not the reaction guys have in the movies. I was expecting to be pushed into a wall and told to watch my mouth. Not this. I suck my teeth, looking away from him.
“Don’t play coy now, Moon Eyes. I see the way you look at me. I know you wanted to do a lot more than kiss me the other night.”
I opened my mouth to butt in, even though everything he just said was true. Expect Malakai isn’t done talking.