Chapter 42 (1/2)

“And you stay there with him?”

“No, he stays there,” I say sheepishly, “and I stay in my room.”

“Is he straight?” Hardin asks, his bloodshot eyes dancing in amusement.

My eyes go wide. “Of course he is!”

“Sorry, but something is not right there. If you were mine, I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you. I would fuck you every chance I had.”

My mouth falls open. Hardin’s dirty words have the strangest effect on me. I flush and look away.

“Let’s go inside,” I hear him say. “The trees are swaying back and forth. I think that is my cue I’ve had way too much to drink.”

“You’re staying here?” I had assumed he would go back to his frat house.

“Yeah, and so are you. Let’s go.” He grabs my hand and we walk toward the back door.

I will have to find Landon and try to explain what he saw through the door. I don’t know what’s happening myself, so I’m not sure how I will explain it, but I have to make him understand somehow. As we walk through the kitchen, I notice the mess is almost completely cleaned up.

“You need to clean the rest of this tomorrow,” I tell him and he nods.

“I will,” he promises. Yet another promise I hope he keeps.

My hand in his, he leads me up the grand staircase. I pray that we don’t run into Landon in the hallway and I am relieved when we don’t.

Hardin opens the door to a pitch-black room and gently pulls me inside.

Chapter thirty-two

My eyes adjust to the darkness, but the only light is a small streak of moonlight coming through the bay window. “Hardin?” I whisper.

I hear him curse as he trips over something and I try not to laugh.

“I’m right here,” he says and clicks on a desk lamp. I look around the large room, which reminds me of a hotel. A four-poster bed with dark linens is centered against the far wall and looks like a king-size with at least twenty pillows on top. The desk is oversize and made of cherrywood, and the computer sitting on it has a bigger monitor than the television in my dorm room. The bay window has a built-in bench while the other windows are masked with thick navy curtains that don’t allow the moon to shine through.

“This is my . . . room,” he says and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. He looks almost embarrassed.

“You have a room here?” I ask, but of course he does. It is his father’s house and Landon obviously lives here. Landon had mentioned that Hardin never comes here, so maybe that is why it looks so museum-like, untouched and impersonal.