out of it. My horror continued to the chair in the corner that
had clothes strung over it—boy clothes. Stan clothes.
I was in Stan’s
room.
I leapt to my feet
as if the very mattress had electrocuted me, jumping into motion too quickly as
I lost my footing and inelegantly stumbled as I grabbed for my backpack.
“Shit, sorry. I,
um, just thought it, um, the, oh God, I thought this was the room I was staying
in.”
Last room on
the right, last room on the right, you idiot!
I could sense Stan
watching on with not-so-guarded amusement as I struggled to get my backpack straps
over my shoulders, not entirely sure why I was putting it back on. Maybe it was
in an effort to keep my eyes averted from the holy wet hotness that was Stan
standing in front of me. An image that had been burned into my retinas. Under
any other circumstance, and perhaps later when my humiliation was less
pressing, I would enjoy the recalled feast. But not now. Now I needed out of
there and fast. Shit .
“Slow down, you’re
going to dislocate a shoulder.” Stan laughed.
As if things
couldn’t get any worse my shirt button got hooked and stuck in the strap,
making it impossible to hook or unhook the bag. It was permanently affixed to
me, and my shirt was askew halfway up my ribcage as I flailed and struggled to
set myself free. I felt like a shark flailing around at dinnertime. Not a good
look.
“Whoa, whoa, wait
a second.” Stan’s hands grabbed my shoulders. “Just. Wait.” He breathed near my
earlobe.
Oh, God. I was in
trouble, and I wasn’t talking about my backpack.
Chapter Ten
Stan
Christ, it was
hard not to laugh.
Something I had
failed rather miserably at, but the look of alarm on her face when I turned on
the light was priceless. As was the way those wide eyes slowly roamed over my
body. I’m not going to lie; there is an immense male satisfaction in that .
I had to instantly think ugly thoughts so it didn’t affect me in the worst
possible way, then my short-lived satisfaction would not be mine.
I knew it would
the perfect opportunity to make her squirm or make an innuendo of some kind; it
was the stuff that seemed to work whenever my mates would pay out on girls, but
I wasn’t them. I wasn’t quick-witted or comfortable with treating people like
toys; instead, I opted to end Bel’s mortification swiftly, and silently, by
helping her unhook herself with her twisted strap. I had to stop her from
committing an injury or she’d take my eye out with a flailing arm.
“Just. Wait,” I
said. That seemed to get her attention. The only thing that didn’t still was
the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. That I
could clearly see as I stood behind her shoulder. I made work to untwist the
strap and lift it off her pinned arm. Without thought, I pulled down the
bunched-up fabric of her top and gently pulled it over her ribcage. The back of
my fingers accidentally brushed against her skin. That felt terribly intimate
even though it was the briefest of touches. I was less aware now of Bel’s
breathing and more aware of my own, and I was glad Bel was facing away from me.
I cleared my throat and stepped back a little to make some space in the small
room.
“There,” I said,
trying to sound casual and cool about it, not sure if I was succeeding. God she
smelt good.
Think ugly
thoughts. Think ugly thoughts .
Bel turned around,
lifted her chin to me, and brushed her inky black fringe from her brow. “Thanks,”
she said, her face flushed, maybe from overexertion, but my guess was she was
embarrassed, as her eyes remained turned down.
Now the bag was in
its rightful position, the top of the strap still sat skew-whiff. Without
thinking, I moved forward, grabbing it to right the wrong. Bel’s eyes flicked
up, wide and surprised by my sudden close proximity. I unfolded the material
and stilled, looking down into her questioning eyes. Now it was my chest that
was rising and falling in a
had clothes strung over it—boy clothes. Stan clothes.
I was in Stan’s
room.
I leapt to my feet
as if the very mattress had electrocuted me, jumping into motion too quickly as
I lost my footing and inelegantly stumbled as I grabbed for my backpack.
“Shit, sorry. I,
um, just thought it, um, the, oh God, I thought this was the room I was staying
in.”
Last room on
the right, last room on the right, you idiot!
I could sense Stan
watching on with not-so-guarded amusement as I struggled to get my backpack straps
over my shoulders, not entirely sure why I was putting it back on. Maybe it was
in an effort to keep my eyes averted from the holy wet hotness that was Stan
standing in front of me. An image that had been burned into my retinas. Under
any other circumstance, and perhaps later when my humiliation was less
pressing, I would enjoy the recalled feast. But not now. Now I needed out of
there and fast. Shit .
“Slow down, you’re
going to dislocate a shoulder.” Stan laughed.
As if things
couldn’t get any worse my shirt button got hooked and stuck in the strap,
making it impossible to hook or unhook the bag. It was permanently affixed to
me, and my shirt was askew halfway up my ribcage as I flailed and struggled to
set myself free. I felt like a shark flailing around at dinnertime. Not a good
look.
“Whoa, whoa, wait
a second.” Stan’s hands grabbed my shoulders. “Just. Wait.” He breathed near my
earlobe.
Oh, God. I was in
trouble, and I wasn’t talking about my backpack.
Chapter Ten
Stan
Christ, it was
hard not to laugh.
Something I had
failed rather miserably at, but the look of alarm on her face when I turned on
the light was priceless. As was the way those wide eyes slowly roamed over my
body. I’m not going to lie; there is an immense male satisfaction in that .
I had to instantly think ugly thoughts so it didn’t affect me in the worst
possible way, then my short-lived satisfaction would not be mine.
I knew it would
the perfect opportunity to make her squirm or make an innuendo of some kind; it
was the stuff that seemed to work whenever my mates would pay out on girls, but
I wasn’t them. I wasn’t quick-witted or comfortable with treating people like
toys; instead, I opted to end Bel’s mortification swiftly, and silently, by
helping her unhook herself with her twisted strap. I had to stop her from
committing an injury or she’d take my eye out with a flailing arm.
“Just. Wait,” I
said. That seemed to get her attention. The only thing that didn’t still was
the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. That I
could clearly see as I stood behind her shoulder. I made work to untwist the
strap and lift it off her pinned arm. Without thought, I pulled down the
bunched-up fabric of her top and gently pulled it over her ribcage. The back of
my fingers accidentally brushed against her skin. That felt terribly intimate
even though it was the briefest of touches. I was less aware now of Bel’s
breathing and more aware of my own, and I was glad Bel was facing away from me.
I cleared my throat and stepped back a little to make some space in the small
room.
“There,” I said,
trying to sound casual and cool about it, not sure if I was succeeding. God she
smelt good.
Think ugly
thoughts. Think ugly thoughts .
Bel turned around,
lifted her chin to me, and brushed her inky black fringe from her brow. “Thanks,”
she said, her face flushed, maybe from overexertion, but my guess was she was
embarrassed, as her eyes remained turned down.
Now the bag was in
its rightful position, the top of the strap still sat skew-whiff. Without
thinking, I moved forward, grabbing it to right the wrong. Bel’s eyes flicked
up, wide and surprised by my sudden close proximity. I unfolded the material
and stilled, looking down into her questioning eyes. Now it was my chest that
was rising and falling in a
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