12/5/16

THE LIGHT ON my phone once again fills the dark room with a white brightness. My phone shows that it's just after two in the morning and instead of feeling tired a burst of energy fills my bones instead as a smile pulls at my chapped lips.

The last couple nights I have explored this house top to bottom. Finding breathtaking artwork, old expensive ball gowns stuffed into closets, and beautiful antiques that line every inch of this house. It's stunningly decorated, but not over the top like most people would with this kind of money.

I stuff my feet into my fuzzy slippers and quietly head out the door with a quick look at Chase to make sure I didn't wake him up. His long lashes rest on his cheeks, and he looks calm with his hands tucked under his face. Stealthily I close the door behind myself and let the anxious excitement run through me making my pulse race as my eyes take in the dark and empty hallway.

There's only one section of the house I still haven't made my way through so I head that way as soundlessly as possible.

Downstairs past a large office and a half bath I come to a door I have yet to open. I slowly twist the doorknob always a slight bolt of fear running through my veins. I've worked out mostly where everyone sleeps at this point, but I never know what will lie behind each door and that scares and electrifies me at the same time.

The door opens slowly and I can't really tell what's in the dark room so I slide my hand against the smooth cold wall and flick the light switch. The room floods with light and my heart stops.

Before my eyes is a large room filled with floor to ceiling bookshelves completely stocked with books. My mouth gapes open in shock as my heart beats a little faster. There has to be over a thousand books in this room and a smile takes form on my lips.

I use to ask my father what heaven would be like and this is almost exactly what he would describe. A room filled with so many books that it would take the rest of my existence to read and learn and enjoy.

The cherry oak wood is so different from all the light airy colors that fill the rest of the house. It's as if this room stands alone and stands against time from not only the rest of the house but the world also. A couch and a few large leather chairs sit in the middle with a square table. The room is simple, and the focus is the books. Oh, wow, the books.

I run my hands over the spines of each work that coats the walls. Some are newer then others as my fingers take in rough and flaked spines, and some smooth and barely cracked open. I pause for a moment as my eyes flutter shut and let the smell of the pages fill my senses. I can't help the tears that well up in my eyes as images of my father fill my head.

I push the tears away and open my eyes and decide in this moment that the rest of my winter break nights will be spent in this very room. I wander around the room and take in the set of spectacular encyclopedias, and early editions of books written by gods such as Hemingway and Austin.

My feet take me by every shelf as my eyes take in title after title after title making my head spin with excitement and trying to impossibly decide where to begin with this journey.

Suddenly my eyes stop on book I would never expect to see sitting in a library of this caliber. It looks well read as I slide the book out and see the worn paperback spine. It's a book I've never read, but it's a novel I've seen my mother read more times then I count. A part of me wants to put it back because my mother isn't someone I strive to be at this point in my life, but another part of me pauses. The book weighs heavily in my hand, and I shove it back in the shelf with out a thought and begin to take in the next shelf. But before I can stop myself my hands are back on the ratty book, and I take it with me to the large couch.

I settle myself in and try to understand the appeal of this book, try and understand my mother for once.

A sigh flutters from my lips as my body relaxes into the soft leather couch. The characters slowly take shape as the words before me create images in my head. While I've seen this movie years ago I realize how different the original story is from the movie.

I'm a few chapters in losing myself to the story and the characters lives when a click forces my head to snap up as a river of panic rushes through me. My eyes widen as I take in Clayton walking into the room. I awkwardly close the book and shift, the leather beneath my bare thighs suddenly feeling slick from the sweat that covers me from nerves.

"Umm...." I mumble out not knowing where to start as Clayton's eyes continue to run over me. My oversized T-shirt feels as if I'm wearing nothing but a tiny nighty in the face of Clayton's hard glare.

"So you found the library?" he asks stepping into the room and shutting the door behind himself. The room that once felt so spacious feels almost suffocating all of the sudden.

I swallow the lump that sticks in my throat hating how uneasy this man makes me. "I'm sorry," I apologize right away. "I couldn't sleep and started wandering around—"

"It's fine," he says immediately cutting off my excuses as he walks further into the room.

"Oh," I breathe awkwardly. "Okay," I state simply not knowing what else to say in this situation.

Clayton walks further into the room and makes his way directly to a bookshelf and selects a book right away. He then settles into a chair beside me, and fingers his way through the pages until he settles on a spot half way through the novel. I watch how at home he is in this moment. Obviously this is his house, but the content half smile that touches his pink lips has my heart working into over drive. While this may be his house, this room is his home. I don't know why I can't stop staring at him or what he has that sucks me in, but it does every single time I set my eyes on him.

I watch the way his left hand holds the book and feel my skin heat. To anyone else it would look awkward and uncomfortable, but to me it's so recognizable it shocks my heart and mind all at once. Where did he learn to hold a book like that? Who is this man who continues to surprise and confuse me in every way, every single day?

His eyes flick up from the words on the page in front of him and land on mine. I try to look away quickly enough and refocus on my book, but I know he caught me. My cheeks redden as I become flustered under his intense scrutiny.

"Where did you get that book?" he asks bluntly. His words holding a bitter end making my skin tighten in worry.

I lift my gaze back to his ignoring the cotton in my mouth. "The...the book s-shelf...." I stutter out stupidly. I watch as his hard eyes don't look at me anymore, but the book that rests on my bare thighs clenched tightly by my boney fingers.

"Hmm...." he hums with a breath as he finally tears his eyes from my book and forces them back onto his own.

"Is it okay that I'm reading this?" I ask quietly. None of this belongs to me, and I shouldn't have been down here in the first place. Guilt trails through me, and it takes me back because I never feel guilty. Never. Not for what I do or what I want. But with Clayton I feel everything, and it scares me because I've lived for so long without feeling anything.

"Whatever," he states causally though something about the way his body tenses at the sight of me with this book shows me it's anything but. Though he doesn't bring it up again so I don't either. "So," his strong voice echoes out through the room lightly.

I wait for him to say something, anything. But he says nothing after that singular word. So I repeat it. "So?" I say forcing my eyes to stay on my book. My tone comes off a bit sassy, and I want to laugh. It's the first time that side has really come out in front of him, and I was honestly beginning to worry. I keep my gaze cast down realizing if I don't look at him I don't lose my courage. I don't become flooded with emotions I refuse to feel on the daily.

"A Walk to Remember?" Clayton's deep voice rings out filling my ears and making my skin run cold with gooseflesh. I want to look up, but I push all the feelings that want to rise to the service away and try and focus on the words in front of me. Though I'm pretty sure I've read the same sentence ten times now. "Didn't peg you as a romance novel type," he mutters.

A spark of annoyance flares within me. "Well you don't know me do you?" I say tersely my eyes still locked on the white pages in my hand.  I don't know why I got so irritated all of the sudden, but I realize I didn't like him trying to peg me into a hole. Because he doesn't know me, not really anyways.

Silence. I'm met with silence that is almost deafening that I finally relent and lift my eyes. Our eyes meet in almost a challenge, but Clayton's honey like eyes are the first to drop. "I guess that's true," he concedes.

I take a breath before speaking next. "What are you reading?" I ask struggling to decide if I should say something to him or just ignore him like he obviously wants.

He doesn't answer right away, and the way he's sitting I can't see the title of his book. While I want to read everything I can get my hands on, what one tends to be drawn to says a lot about a person.

I tend to be drawn to books that don't have happy endings. Ones that twist our guts and our hearts and cause a single tear to slide down our cheeks. Endings that aren't fair, but embody what life is about, and that's that life isn't fair and we have to deal with that every single day. Books that hurt and ache making me realize I may have a heart after all.

"I've spent the last few months attempting to read my way through Stephen King's entire works," he answers after a beat. A curl of victory twists inside me that I got him to answer my question. He doesn't speak a lot I've come to realize the last few days, and anytime I can get him to address me or a question feels like a win.

"I have to admit the only King book I've ever read has been The Shinning," I tell him truthfully though a veil of shyness covers my words. As if his opinion means way more then it should.

His mouth twists to the side as if he's thinking of what to say next.

I'm learning that he isn't the same man from the night at the bar a year ago. I don't know if the person I met that night was a blimp or if something happened after to completely change him. His flirty smile, his wild eyes, and that kiss. God, that kiss had been hot and deep and everything I had needed in that moment. But now here I am seated across from him, and he will barely even give me an inch. Yet crazily enough this is almost more exciting then what happened at the bar. It's as if I'm seeing the real him, and I want that more then I definitely should in this situation.

"You should read some, you'd like them," he mentions finally.

Again a surge of triumph burst through me. "Any favorites?" I push for some reason. I want to talk to him. I want to sit next to him. I want to get to know him. I want to touch him. I want to kiss him. God, I want way too much.

"Christine," he says with his face breaking out into a small smirk.

My eyebrows rise. "Isn't that about a killer car?" I ask a teasing tone taking the edge off of my question.

"Not your speed?" he guesses with furrowed brows.

I shrug. "I'll try anything twice," I say simply. A saying my grandmother use to say when I was younger. Though I meant it offhandedly, I don't miss the way his neck flushes at my words. I can't help the heat that rises through me, and the small burst of confidence that fills me knowing that I affect him even a fraction of the way he affects me.

"Read The Green Mile series," he says drawing me out of my thoughts.

"What's that about?" I ask curiously. Little does he know I'm about to go out and buy those books as soon as morning hits.

"A lot of things," he says with a small lift of his shoulder.

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. I stare at him for a moment longer, but he refocuses his attention back on his book not on me. I realize I'm sitting forward as if every word he said to me was so important I couldn't miss it. Maybe it was, but I never show my cards like that to a guy. So I sit back against the now warm leather and let my finger run over the rough pages to find the exact sentence I was at.

My eyes take in the black printed words on the tanned pages trying to narrow in on the book in front of me instead of the man who makes my skin blaze.

"It really is about a lot of things," he says quietly bringing my attention back to him. "But it's mainly about how one person can change your life like no other, and no matter how much you try and stop something from happening you can't stop what's written," he explains. As he speaks his eyes focus on empty air before him as if he's seeing something I can't. Then his eyes zero in on me for a second as we both let his words sink in.

His eyes hold mine watching my reaction, his bright eyes even more golden under the warm light exposed in the library. I open my mouth to say something, anything to his deep words but before I can his eyes drop back to his book.

And with that, those are the last words exchanged between us.

We both sit in the room for the next couple hours the only sounds coming from our wispy breaths and the crinkling of pages turning in our hands. The characters coming to life in the book before me have me aching to read more. I've never been one for romance novels, but this book isn't cut and dry romance. It isn't filled with stupid sexual innuendos and cheesy metaphors, it's filled with the story of two people falling together even though one knows their time together is limited. It's pure and unmarred by the rest of the world.

I usually get lost in a book when I read, so lost that everything disappears in a room. But right now I'm not completely drowning in my characters world because while my mind is focused on the words printed in front of me my body is far too aware of the man sitting across from me.

My oversized T-shirt in the passing hours has begun to feel like I'm wearing nothing but a tiny tank. My long tan legs burn as well as my bare thighs. I continue to shift around as I tug at my shirt over and over again attempting to cover more of my body without being conspicuous. But I know he's watching me, I can feel his eyes raking over every inch of naked exposed skin and I can feel my body become splotchy with heat.

My skin tingles as my stomach begins to knot and twist making my legs pull together to try and dull the ache that comes from within. My heart beats so loudly I'm sure Clayton can hear it from across the room. My eyes flick up randomly not being able to pretend he isn't there anymore when my body so obviously reacts to him. Eyes land on his and for a single moment all we do is stare, and I would give anything to know what he's thinking in this instant. Because all I can think about is him. Him kissing me, him touching me, him under me and on top of me. Him. Him. Him.

My mind races as he continues to stare at me and watch me. I wet my dry lips with a tongue and that immediately draws his attention as his eyes flicker to my lips. My veins run hot and my body is suddenly on fire. My lips part in attempts to say something but before words can even leave my mouth he shuts his book and storms out of the room with mumbled words under his breath that I can't decipher.

I sit there for a few passing minutes trying to piece together what had just transpired between us.

I don't understand Clayton. He's cold as ice one moment, and then watching me with such attention it makes me want to combust. The attraction between us while obvious, means nothing without him remembering me from that night over a year ago.

It also means nothing because in his eyes I'm madly in love with his younger brother.

I let the book close and sink deeper into the couch letting my eyes shut in need of a moment of absolution from Clayton Hasting. He's been in my head for a year now, but now, now he's wormed his way into my every thought and breath and beat of my heart. Not by his words as we barely speak, but by his actions and his eyes.

I open my eyes and silently make my way upstairs and back into bed with Chase. I twist so that my gaze lands on my best friend who continues to sleep peacefully. I raise my hand and lightly rest it upon his warm cheek. I am here for him, and him only. I need to focus on Chase and less on his brother because if things were to get out of hand I could ruin things for him, and I'm not here to make his life worse. I'm here to make it better, easier.

As I let my body relax into the mattress and my eyes flutter shut I vow to steer clear of Clayton Hasting for the rest of winter break.

Even if as I sleep he's the only thing I dream about.