She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) (8 page)

I wish Ben were a dick so I could hate him. I say his name to remind me. “Ben.” My roommate, her obsession, sits in the space between us. Old Chase, the Chase that nailed women left and right, would have said something shitty like “Ben who?” New Chase, though, the one who lusted after the first hot girl he met on the way to college three seconds after he swore off women, kisses Juliet’s hand and places it in his lap. “You know what they say?” She doesn’t answer. “What happens at the train station stays at the train station. No worries, okay?”

My heart breaks a little but I let her hold my hand. At the next stop we get off the train and walk to the other side of the tracks, back to NJU. We’re quiet, but my head is swarming with all kinds of nonsense about Juliet, Ben, and myself.

It’s well after midnight when we finally return to Sheridan. At her door, I hand her the ballet bag, and she looks up at me, her brown eyes sad. Neither of us says anything but it doesn’t feel awkward, even though my body is aching for her. I lean in and rub my nose on hers, and with a quick glance down the hallway, I kiss it. “Night, gorgeous,” I whisper into her ear and then kiss her earlobe, too. I resist the urge to look her in the eye and say,
Fuck Ben. I want you more.
Instead, I walk down the hallway to my room. She opens her door and I open mine, and we watch each step into our rooms.

Chapter Eight

Juliet

Restless, I toss and turn all night replaying my train ride with Chase. I’m half asleep, half awake, while images of Chase, Ben, Miss Stephanie, the dancers in class, and the train, race through my mind, blending together and meshing in a nonsense world. The more I try not to think about Chase, the more I imagine his lips on mine, his hands on my ass, his fingers wrapped in my hair. By three o’clock in the morning, I’m exhausted, and every nerve ending in my body is completely turned on, so I take matters into my own hands—literally. I let the feelings take me over, a sort of reverse psychology, hoping that to touch my body and play out the scene in my mind will allow me to let it go. The faces change from Chase to Ben back to Chase, but I don’t care. When I get the release I need, I fall into a sound sleep.

I dream of breakfast foods—of pancakes and hot syrup. Justine passes me the butter, and I load it onto my plate.
You’ll never guess what happened last night,
I tell her. I look into her smiling face, a mirror image of mine.
He’s so beautiful. He’s an artist.

She smiles and tilts her head.
But Ben’s a football player, not an artist,
she says.

No, not Ben, Chase.
Clouds fall over her face, so I fan them away.

I hear a beeping sound and Justine says,
I have to get my phone now.
The beeping becomes more urgent, but I beg her to stay. Justine pulls the clouds in front of her.
I have to get that,
she says as she fades away.

I wake myself begging Justine not to leave. “No!” I hear my own voice and see that my phone is ringing and vibrating on the desk next to me. Ben’s smiling face lights the room. I pick up the phone.

I look at the time before I answer the call.
What day is it? Friday?
My morning voice is raspy. I yell at Ben, “I can’t talk. I overslept. I’m late for class.”

“Okay, Jules. Lunch today?”

I picture Ben’s warm brown eyes and try hard to muster up some guilt about Chase, the train, and my late night thoughts. But I can’t. “Text me where to meet you. I have to get in the shower.”

“Take your time. Don’t rush.”

I wish I were calm like Ben, but I know I won’t be able to slow down. I hate being late. “I’ll talk to you later,” I say and hang up.

In seconds, I jump out of bed, yank off my tee shirt and shorts, and wrap myself in a towel. I grab my shower caddy, slide on my flip-flops, and leap across the hall, pushing the door of the men’s room so hard that it flies open and bangs against the wall next to me.

That deep voice that haunted my dreams yells, “Shit!”

I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Chase in nothing but a white bath towel and shaving cream, blood now dripping from his neck as he holds a razor.
My lord in heaven
, the towel hangs so low on his waist that I can see his hip bones. He’s long, smooth, and looks like sweet caramel.
Wow
. He throws his razor and grabs his neck where he cut himself.
Is that a tattoo on the inside of his bicep?
I’m gawking as the men’s room door swings back and hits me in the face.

“Ouch,” I whine as I push the door open again. “Jesus, Chase. What are you doing in here?” I scowl and rub my forehead.

“It’s the men’s room, Juliet. I was shaving until you scared the crap out of me.” He grabs a paper towel and runs it under the water. I walk in as Chase bends over the sink, his bare back calling me to rest my cheek against it. I can’t believe I spent a good portion of last night kissing him. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head as he brings the wet paper towel to me and presses it onto my forehead.

I point to the door. “I was rushing …and I saw you …”

Um, hello shoulders flexing in front of my face.
Chase is inches from me and we’re both practically naked. I get flustered and it’s possible I’m panting as I stare at his bare chest. I can’t stop admiring his bare skin. The scent of his shaving cream makes me dizzy. For half a second, I fantasize that the spots of shaving cream on his neck are whipped cream and I can lick them off—well, not the bloody parts, but the fluffy, creamy parts. He smells so good and looks so damn tasty. I feel like our towels want to run away together and leave us naked for a play date.

I shake my head, focusing back to reality. Frustrated at our near nakedness and close proximity, I groan. “I have to get in the shower. Did you slice your jugular?”

“I’ll live,” he says, searching my face.

He doesn’t move out of my way, so I shrug. “I’m late.”

He nods and moves to the side but smiles and makes a sound like a cough.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He does it again, the weird cough noise, and tries to cover his mouth with his fist.
Is he laughing at me?
“
What
is your problem?”

With that one question, Chase ditches the cover-up cough and chuckles like a schoolgirl. I wait and glare, raising my eyebrows while he doubles over.

Through his laugh he gasps out, “When the door hit you…you had this look… your face.” He waves his palm over his face and tries to act out my reaction. “You looked ridiculous.”

My jaw drops at his rudeness, but at the same time, I try not to laugh. I throw my wet paper towel at him. “Jerk.”

Chase cracks up again over his own stupid joke, so I smack him on the arm. He straightens up and wipes a tear from under his eye. “Really, Chase?
You’re
making fun of
me
? You should see yourself. Bleeding with a half whipped cream neck.”

He freezes and points at me. His eyes pop and his jaw hangs open.
What did I just say?
Of course, Chase tells me. “You said whipped cream!”

I try not to laugh at my slip up. “I said ‘shaving cream,’ you idiot.” I walk to a shower stall and turn on the water. He’s still grinning when he turns toward the mirror and reapplies his whipped shaving cream.

“You said whipped cream! You want to slather me in whipped cream! Were you dreaming of train rides and whipped cream last night, by any chance?” He resumes shaving and leering at me through the mirror as I wait for the water to heat up.

“You would love that wouldn’t you, you egomaniac? For your information, I slept like a baby. You?”

“I thought about you all night, gorgeous. And I’ll probably think about you all day.”

I warm and my hardening nipples remind me I’m just about naked. He’s just so…I can’t think of the word. “Hot” doesn’t seem strong enough. “Steamy” runs through my mind, but maybe that’s because of the shower.

He stares at my reflection in the mirror as he rinses his razor. “I’ve seen you in a couple of cute outfits the past few days, but the towel is definitely my favorite.”

I watch him finish shaving and swoon when he pulls the bottom of his towel up to dry his face. I don’t see anything, because he expertly maneuvers the towel to keep the interesting parts hidden, but there’s this flash of additional skin and I want to curl myself into a ball of girly hormonal gobbledygook. I know he can tell, and that pisses me off.

As if he needs to put more icing, or whipped cream, on the cake, Chase turns to face me, leaning against the sink. “When’s our next train ride?”

He looks at me the way he did during our make out session. I flush, my breathing turns to panting, and there’s no mistaking the throbbing between my legs.
Dammit
. I don’t do flustering. If only my stupid, traitorous body, tingling with the promise of his words, would agree.

The Chase Cooper Sexy Meter needs to be taken down a notch, or I’m going to have to move out of Sheridan. I get my head together and change my approach, embracing my sexy thoughts as I take a deep, cleansing breath and lean into my hip. I know from last night that he’s super into my hair, so I pull it out of the knot I’d slept in. He studies it as it flows over my bare shoulders. When his eyes return to mine, I unwrap my towel, still holding it over me. I look down his body. His towel doesn’t hide much, and it’s obvious I’m having the desired effect.

I smirk as I turn my back to him and drop my towel, then pause for half a second before I step into the shower. “Maybe our next train ride is in your dreams.”

“Shit,” he murmurs.

I pull the curtain shut and let the water fall over me. Just like that, I’m back in the driver’s seat. But showering with a mostly naked, totally aroused Chase a few feet away does all kinds of crazy things to my psyche.

Chase

Ben rummages through drawers then pulls out a polo shirt. “What’s up for the weekend, C. C.?” Ben’s developed a nickname for just about everyone on the floor. I’m my initials. Then there’s Frankie-O, Winner, A-Rod, Mags, Sweet Meg, and of course, his Jules.

“When will you be back? Maybe we can hang out tomorrow night?” Ben has an away game this weekend. Even though he doesn’t get any play time, he loves traveling with the team. I think he’s, like, third backup quarterback or something ridiculous like that. He thinks if he puts his dues in now, by the time he’s a senior, he’ll get to play. Dude must love football to put up with that time frame.

“I should be back by dinner time,” he says.

Ben plans everything around meals. He lives for food, his family, working out, and playing football. My first impression of him was on point. He’s Captain America, his favorite word is “dinner,” and you can’t help but love him. He’s tough and innocent and, simply put, he’s a guy’s guy. He and I are like night and day, but it’s obvious he’s on the right path—the path I’m searching for—and I want to spend more time with him, get to know him outside of his being Juliet’s muse.

My brain hurts when I debate whether or not it’s a dick move to want to hang with Ben and also make out with the girl he left behind. I decide it’s not. If Ben were interested in Juliet, that would be different but, time and time again, he’s told me they’re just friends. “We’ll have dinner tomorrow, then. Are you done with classes today?”

“Yep. Going to lunch with Jules. Want to come?”

Images of Juliet’s thighs wrapped around my hips on the train and her naked ass in the men’s room make me feel slightly shitty. But only slightly. “No, you guys go. She’d probably kill me if I third-wheeled you.”

“Jules? Nah. She likes you,” Ben says.

Old Chase rears his ugly head at Ben’s innocence, shouting,
ya think?
New Chase keeps quiet.

“Do I have to tell her I’m going out with Megan tonight?” Ben cringes.

Megan?
I mentally fist-pump. “I guess you should. For your sake and Megan’s.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I hope she doesn’t get all crazy.”

“Juliet? Crazy?” I feign shock at the accusation.

Ben scoffs. “Never, right?”

“You’re a football player, Ben. You’re a house. A tank. You’re scared of a five-foot-nine ballerina with an attitude?”

“Deathly.” I can tell he’s gearing up to tell me another Juliet story. I love Juliet stories. If I had a bowl of popcorn and a few beers, I could sit there all day and listen to Ben tell Juliet stories. They usually start with, “When we were in high school…” and end with “…I couldn’t believe it.”

This story is no different. “When we were in high school, I dated this horrible girl who cheated on me and posted a picture of it, bragging about it. Jules was so pissed she hunted the girl down, walked right up to her in the middle of class, and told her off. I wasn’t there, but I heard she called the girl all kinds of names and embarrassed the hell out of her. Then, the teacher wrote her up and sent her to the vice principal, and Jules ends up talking herself out detention and convincing the vice to write up my ex. I couldn’t believe it.”

“You tell me these stories about her, and I’m not surprised.” Her loyalty is impressive, even if it is misplaced.

“We have each other’s back, me and Jules. No matter what.” Ben rubs his chin and grimaces. “She’s going to hate the idea of me and Megan.”

“I think she’d hate the idea of you and anyone. Do you like Megan?”

“Yeah. She’s cute. We have a lot in common. She asked me to go out, which I thought was cool. Usually, I do the asking.”

He’s wrong and doesn’t even realize it. I wonder how many times Juliet’s asked him out. Even though I can’t see Ben and Juliet working out and wouldn’t endorse it, especially after last night, I want to shake some sense into Ben for being such an idiot.

“If you want to go with Megan, don’t worry about Juliet. I’ll handle her.” I try to ignore Old Chase’s take on the word “handle,” but can’t help thinking about handling Juliet again.
Handling her hair as it falls through my fingers, her waist as I grip it tightly, her legs when they wrap around me.
I take a deep breath. Handling is good. Ben being into Megan only helps my cause.

When Ben leaves to take Juliet to lunch, I’m not jealous. I thought she’d get weird today, but after the shower scene, I know she’s not afraid of flirting with me. Maybe we can go somewhere with…whatever this is we’re doing. I picture that damn towel falling to the floor as I sit at my desk, pull out my sketchpad and pencils, and capture the image in a sketch. I know I should study, but I want to draw naked Juliet, so I do.