“Great. It’s a date.” I wink at her and then take my seat. “I’ll pick you up out front. You know my car?”
“The fancy white Range Rover.” She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know the one, spoiled brat.”
I knew Ryan Voss was loaded from the few times I’d been over at his house with Dad over the years, but seeing it again, I’m reminded of just how much money he makes. The house is massive. I’m curious to explore since I’ve only ever been in the living room. Canyon’s car isn’t in the driveway, so I eagerly follow Carrie inside, hoping to catch more peeks of my opponent.
I should take a picture of myself in his bed and text it to the whole school. A laugh snorts out of me, causing Carrie to cast me a confused look over her shoulder. Swallowing down my humor, I survey the nicely decorated home littered with family pictures. It smells like citrus and vanilla. Warm and inviting.
“Want something to drink?” Carrie asks, gesturing for the kitchen.
“Do you have Coke?”
“Yeah. Let me grab you one.” She points up the stairs. “My room is the first on the right.”
I climb the steps a little too quickly, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste. Her bedroom door is open along with several others, but it’s the one at the end on the left that has me curious. Quickly, I walk over to that room and twist the knob. As soon as I crack open the door, I’m met with his scent.
Oh my fucking God.
Why does he have to smell so good?
If I didn’t want to punch him in the nuts, I’d roll around in his bed just to bathe in his scent. I’m half hard over that image until I notice the state of his room.
What the actual fuck?
He’s so…messy.
A shudder trembles through me as I study the clothes all over the floor, the unmade bed, and the bottle of uncapped lube sitting on his end table among books and other gadgets. There are framed, signed posters of what looks to be Japanese manga art hanging on the wall and several hand-drawn pieces. It makes me wonder if he drew them or if he bought them. Either way, I’m a little confused to see art on his walls rather than, I don’t know, football crap.
“That’s Canyon’s room,” Carrie says from behind me. “He’s such a pig.”
“No shit. When our dads get married, you can move in with us because you know how to make a fucking bed.”
She laughs. “If he keeps being a dick, I might just do that.”
Ohhh, here we go.
Slowly, I turn and accept the Coke from her. I twist the cap and sip on it as I follow her back to her bedroom. “I thought he reserved his dickheadedness for me and only me.”
“You should be so special,” she teases and sits down on her bed. “He’s like an asshole fairy, sprinkling his salty attitude all over the place.”
I take the desk chair and make myself comfortable as she pulls her violin out of her case. We spend the next half hour going over different things she can do to develop her playing. By the end of our lesson, she’s improved dramatically. I like that she listens to instructions and makes the appropriate changes. I’m actually enjoying myself enough that, for a moment, I forget why I’m here.
Her phone rings, and she shoots me an apologetic look. “Sorry, it’s Paige. She’s sent me a few texts. I think she’s upset about something. This will only take a minute.”
She takes the call and disappears from the room. I follow behind her until she’s descending the stairs. Turning on my heel, I make a beeline back to Canyon’s room to snoop. I have the urge to pick up the mess. He has a hamper, for fuck’s sake. Why the hell doesn’t he use it?
Before I can stop myself, I set my Coke down on the end table beside his lube and start picking clothes up off the floor—looking for clues into this psycho, of course. I place them inside the hamper when I’ve deemed them useless. After I’ve picked up all the clothes and stowed the shoes away in the closet where they belong, I close the dresser drawers and tidy up the piles on top. Next, I maneuver over to his bed to do something about the chaos there. I grab hold of the sheet and blanket, flinging them out and getting a whiff of his masculine scent. It’s dizzying as fuck.
I’m high on his stupid ass cologne.
Ignoring the heat burning through me as I imagine him naked and writhing in his bed, I make up the covers just like I do at home and take extra care to fluff the pillows. The room is finally in order and a sense of calm washes over me as I admire my work.
“And Naomi called me the stalker,” a deep voice rumbles from the doorway, making me nearly jump out of my skin.
I snap my eyes to where Canyon leans against the doorjamb, an unreadable expression on his face. His stare is intense and probing as he rakes it over me. Getting caught having one of my OCD fits was not at all what I wanted to happen when I decided to come into his bedroom and snoop. Instead of me finding shit out about him, I served him a slice of imperfect me for free.
“I, uh,” I croak out, tearing my gaze from his. I notice my Coke sitting beside the lube. With a steadying breath, I walk over to it with as much calm as I can muster and pick up the Coke. “Ahh, my prize from last night.”
I lift a brow at him and wiggle the bottle, reminding him of what I said last night about him owing me a Coke if he jacked off with me on the brain. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t lose his cool like I expect.
“You cleaned my room.” He steps away from the door, approaching me much like a lion stalking his prey.
But I’m a lion too.
Straightening my spine, I keep my eyes locked on his intense blues. He walks until he’s inches from me. His scent is stronger now that he’s standing right in front of me. I try not to inhale him like a fucking creep.
Why does he have to be so damn hot?
His dark hair is always styled as though he put no effort whatsoever into it but still looks good and trendy. Up this close, I notice a few tiny freckles on his cheeks. The dark stubble along his jaw is tempting, and my fingers twitch to scrape the pads of them along the hair there. I tighten my grip around the Coke bottle to keep from doing anything stupid, like caress his face.
“You live in a shithole, Voss.”
“Not everyone lives in a palace like you,” he growls, his temper flaring at my words.
“No, your house is nice. Your bedroom is a pit.” I poke at his abs that are so hard a flash of annoyance shoots through me. “It’s nice to see you’re not perfect everywhere.” His abs, though, are totally perfect. Fucker.
“I can assure you,” he rumbles and runs the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, “I’m perfect where it counts.”
I swallow hard, momentarily at a loss for words. I manage to dig deep and find some strength. “Would you like to prove it?”
His nostrils flare. “You’d like to get on your knees for me, Wonderland. But what would your precious daddy think if you sucked your brother off?” He grabs the bottle of Coke from my hand and tosses it away from us.
“Fuck off,” I snap, shoving him.
Since he’s solid muscle from years of football, he barely moves. A deep chuckle rumbles from him. With a firm hand on my chest, he pushes me all too easily until I land on my ass on his bed. The way his eyes track me like he wants to pin me and eat me has me playing dead for him. I fall back on his freshly made bed with a soft thump, unable to look away from how he looms over me. The artist in me wants to freeze the moment so I can sculpt his perfect, intense features.