Roughing

I brush my teeth, swallow a few Tylenol along with a bottle of water, and then, Bash helps me to the couch.

The living room of the two-bedroom suite I share with Jessica has couches facing one another, separated by a wooden coffee table. We have a small kitchen off to the left, a full-size bathroom to the right, and private bedrooms along the back wall. Each room has a double bed situated between two windows covered by dark gray curtains. It’s the standard room you can expect to find in Jefferson Hall.

Jessica and I thought about upgrading to off-campus housing, like the house Bash lives in, but we didn’t want to be surrounded by girls and fighting over bathrooms. We like our space, and this place suits us just fine.

Bash sinks into the microfiber next to me, smiling like an idiot. Still dizzy, I scoot closer to him and lay my head on his chest. He cradles me in the crook of his arm and swipes a strand of hair from my face.

I close my eyes, hoping I will drift off to sleep. I’m so tired my lids are heavy. My body is desperate for sleep. When Bash kisses my forehead, I stir in his arms and mumble his name under my breath, about to tell him to stop. But this is nice. Plus, he’s like lying on a big comfy pillow—if that pillow had rock hard abs and chiseled arms.

“You should sleep in your bed,” he says, speaking so low I almost have trouble hearing him. “You will need all the rest you can get if you want to get back to normal.”

Bash picks me up, kicks open the door to my bedroom with his foot, and places me on the mattress. I haven’t made my bed. The sheets are a tangled mess. He tugs at the light gray comforter beneath me until he manages to get it out from under my weight. Crouched next to the bed, he runs his fingers down my arm and lets out a loud sigh.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, before I look away and slip under the covers. I tra

ce my fingers along Bash’s arm, stopping when I see the tiny bumps dotting his skin. We look at each other for minutes. It’s intense. He stares at me like he wants to rip off my clothes. But he wouldn’t dare. Not after my warnings. Not after everything he has done.

“It’s annoying how perfect you are,” I say in a hushed tone.

He narrows his eyes at me. “I’m far from perfect, Queenie. Just like everyone else, you only see what you want to see.”

“Then stop pretending to be what everyone wants you to be. Once upon a time, the Bash I knew was…different.”

He holds onto the edge of the bed, and with his chin on the mattress, he peeks up at me with those bright green eyes that jump off his face.

My heart thumps out of my chest, overcome with a strange mixture of emotions. Bash makes me so nervous yet excited, all at the same time. My old and new feelings are so twisted together that my head spins from all the thoughts racing through it.

“I’m still the same person. If you’d let me explain, give me a chance, you’d see that for yourself.”

He leans in, as if he’s about to kiss me, and then he stops himself. A beat passes between us where I would have considered kissing him if he’d made a move. But I reject the idea. What we have tonight is nice, so I’ll enjoy it while I can. I know it won’t last. I’m not delusional. Anything that seems too good to be true is always too good to be true. Bash included.

Grabbing the duvet, I yank it up to my chin and fall back onto the mound of pillows behind me. Bash hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and it freaks me out. That’s why I decide to throw him a bone since he’s already begging.

“I guess we can be friends. If that’s what you want to call what we’re doing right now.”

“I can do friends,” he says, taking my hand in his to kiss my skin, his lips moving up my arm.

“Friends don’t kiss,” I remind him.

He stops kissing me and looks at me, still holding my hand. “Right…my mistake. I’m sorry.” He lets go of me and uses the bed to push himself up to his feet. “How about I let you get some sleep?”

I curl up with a pillow and smile. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’m pretty tired.”

He walks away from the bed, about to flip the light switch when I stop him.

“Bash, do you think you can call the team doctor for me? So that I can get looked at again.”

“Right now?” He turns around to face me, his hand still next to the light switch. “Are you feeling sick again?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It can wait until the morning.”

“Of course. Get some sleep, and I’ll call Doc when I wake up.”

“Thanks,” I say, unable to keep my eyes open. “Night, Bash.”

He smiles, then flips the switch, leaving my room in darkness. “Night, Queenie.”

“Stop calling me that,” I say, my voice tired and weak.