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.