Campus Player

The arm wrapped around me tugs me close until I’m pressed against the steely strength of his chest. My body molds to his as I inhale a greedy lungful of him.

He smells so damn good that my eyes nearly cross.

Wait a minute—

I jerk to awareness.

What the hell am I doing?

Please tell me that I did not sniff Rowan Michaels.

Again.

This is exactly why I shouldn’t have allowed him to stay. My emotions are a little too raw. A little too exposed. I’m not acting like myself. This was a mistake. One I need to rectify before it spirals any further out of control.

Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I jump to my feet in order to put some much-needed distance between us before pointing toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make popcorn.”

As I scramble back a step, he reaches out, snagging my fingers with his own. The unexpected touch has my eyes widening, and my pulse skittering.

He leans forward and a bolt of nervousness slices through me. When I try to slip free, his fingers tighten around mine. “Why are you always running away from me?”

I gulp and force out the lie. “That’s not what I’m doing.” Even as I release the words into the atmosphere, I know he won’t believe them.

The way Rowan’s brow arches tells me that he’s all too aware of the truth. No good will come out of this forced conversation. It’s like a capsizing ship. Someone needs to save us. When I make a second attempt at freeing myself, he tows me toward him until I have no choice but to tumble onto his lap. Air rushes from my lungs as his arms band around me, anchoring me securely in place.

“Come on, Demi,” he says softly, warm exhalation feathering against my lips, “be honest.”

Part of me is scared to death to admit the truth. He’s done the unexpected and found a chink in my armor. If he continues, the crack will turn into more of a gaping chasm. I can’t afford for him to wedge his way in there anymore than he already has.

“I am being honest.” The lie sits on my tongue like bitter ashes. I’m not someone who tells falsehoods. Life seems less complicated when you stick to the truth. And yet, I can’t bring myself to do that with Rowan. I am always running away from, or at the very least, trying to avoid him. If he comes into a room, I promptly leave. If there’s a choice in where to sit, it’s as far from him as I can get. Distance is my best defense against him. This behavior was never a conscious decision on my part. It was more of an instinct.

Self-preservation.

The truth is that Rowan frightens me. He makes me feel things I’m not necessarily ready for. It’s been that way from the moment I laid eyes on him.

His fingers rise, brushing the hair away from my face before tucking it gently behind my ear. A shiver of awareness scampers down my spine. Our gazes lock and hold until everything around us fades, and he’s all I’m cognizant of. The blueness of his eyes is almost hypnotic, and I find myself falling effortlessly under his spell.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks.

My tongue darts out to moisten parched lips. His gaze drops to the movement. When he finally meets my eyes again, there is enough heat in them to scald me alive.

Unsure how to respond, I remain silent.

“You’re always holding me at a distance. What are you so afraid of?”

I have to gulp down the nerves bubbling up in my throat, threatening to choke the life out of me.

He’s right. I am afraid. I’ve always assumed that if I held the mask firmly in place, he would never figure out my secret. But he sees right through me.

“Tell me, Demi.” The world around us falls away. “Tell me what you’re so afraid of.”

“You.” The admittance is a relief. It’s been there, simmering beneath the surface for years. I never realized until now how much effort it took to keep it buried deep inside where it couldn’t see the light of day.

His lips quirk as if he doesn’t believe me. “You can’t possibly be afraid of me. You’re the most fearless person I know.”

Laughter gurgles up in my throat.

How can he say that?

Maybe that’s how it appears on the outside, but that’s not how I feel deep inside. I’ve always been scared of making a mistake and fucking up. Of embarrassing my father. Or taking a chance and giving my heart to someone who will crush it. When it comes down to it, I’m a puddle of insecurities. It might not be how I project myself to the world, but it’s still the way I feel. Maybe I’m just better at faking it than other people.