Jude smiles down at Lizzie and then me. It’s like he has some sixth sense to what I’m thinking… that I am not going to his room. And worse, I am most definitely not going to want to bang on the door to grab said coat later while he’ll most likely be in the midst of banging something else because his smile evaporates.
“I keep my room locked all night. They’ll be safe there. You have my word.”
His word doesn’t mean a whole lot since I don’t know him, but it seems to be enough for Lizzie. She snags his arm, looping her arm through his and smirks back at me. “Then show us the way, handsome.”
“Let’s go, beautiful.”
He says it to me, not her, and Lizzie doesn’t seem to mind. Thankfully. Something tells me if she even tries to make a move on Jude, I might rip my best friend’s hair out of her scalp.
The sudden whip of jealousy that slams into me is so foreign, I stay frozen to my spot on the kitchen floor until both of them look back at me.
“You coming, Katie?”
“Yeah, Lizzie. I’m coming.”
I’m coming out of my mind is what’s happening, and I don’t like the sensations prickling my skin at all. Not one little bit.
Jude Taylor is trouble with a capital T and someone I need to stay far away from. The problem is, I’m quickly forgetting all the reasons why.
Chapter Three
His room is cleaner than I expected. In fact, his room is cleaner than any chemistry lab I’ve stepped foot into. There isn’t a piece of paper sprawled on his desk. His shelves holding hockey trophies mixed with perfectly lined up textbooks look recently dusted. There isn’t a piece of garbage or lint on his floor, and his bed looks like it’s been made with military precision.
He unlocked the door moments ago and I’m still stuck in the doorway, gaping at the room so clean you can probably perform surgery in it.
“Wow,” Lizzie says and flings her coat on his bed. “You are clean.”
Jude shrugs like it’s not the first time he’s heard it, nor is he embarrassed by it. “Mama raised me right, what can I say? You leaving your coat here or you want to keep hugging it all night?”
He’s talking to me obviously, but my mouth is still hanging wide open.
“It’s just… it’s…”
“Clean. I get it.” He takes my coat before I realize he’s moved, and then he drapes it over the back of his chair at his desk. “And I like things to look nice. You shouldn’t be so quick to judge us athletes as all being stupid jocks.”
“Ouch,” Lizzie mock whispers near me. “He’s got you pegged.”
He’s right. I’ve done nothing but judge him from the minute he touched me, and I obviously haven’t hidden it well. But I do have a reason.
“I would venture to guess you’re the anomaly and not the standard.” I spend hours in the university’s physical therapy building connected to the hockey rink with an underground tunnel that leads to the football stadium. To say Chicagoans and Midwesterners like their sports and will donate well to have the best teams is an understatement. I’m around athletes for hours every week. I’ve not only overheard my fair share that makes my statement true, but I’ve also witnessed plenty. Most of the male athletes assume because I’m a female and helping them with their stretches and minor injuries under the guidance of the professional PT staff, I have some underlying desire to be touched by them in return.
“Are you saying I’m special then?”
It’s not at all what I meant, but whatever. I can apologize and accept help when it’s offered. I do another quick scan of his room, almost sad to leave it. It’s possible it’s actually cleaner than my room and our apartment kitchen. I’m a stress cleaner and this semester’s been painfully difficult.
“Thank you for keeping our things safe,” I say, and soften my tone. Hopefully it’s enough of an apology.
“Come on. You can thank me downstairs by keeping me company.”
He guides Lizzie and I out of his room on the third floor and toward the end of a hallway where he led us up earlier.
“And with that,” Lizzie says and waves her cup in the air, turning her back to us. “I’ll see you two later! Text me when you want to go, Katie, but I’m going to find me my own hunk of something fun for the night.”
The hallway is crowded with girls and guys, and at her declaration she receives several verbal offers that make me blush from the ludeness of them. I’m not a prude, but Lizzie is… well, she’s something else.
Jude locks his door and dumps his keys into his front pocket. “Your friend… what’s her name?”
“Lizzie.” I take a sip of beer. It tastes like wet cardboard and yeast, and I’m not a fan. Cheap college keg beer might be the reason I stopped coming to parties. “She’s wacky, but good people.”
“And when she drinks, does she make good choices?”
His tone is thick and solemn. Like he’s actually concerned and for a moment I’m thrown. Then I realize I’m judging him again and hide my cringe with another drink.
“She’s smart.”
“Good.” His hand lands on my lower back as we start walking. He’s so warm that heat travels through my thin gray tunic length sweater and travels up my spine around to my front and straight to my nipples. “So what’s your story, Katie?”
“Kate,” I automatically correct and at my back, his fingers dig in.
“Kate. Your story?”
He’s leading me down the stairs where the noise is getting louder but instead of taking me to the main floor where the party is now in full effect, at the landing to the second floor, he pushes me down a hall. “There’s a gaming room back this way. It’ll be quieter, if that’s okay?”
I should tell him no. No, it’s not okay. I don’t want to be in a room alone with him. I came with Lizzie and I should stay with her. The buddy system and all that. Yet, his hand on me is making me stupid because I can’t find the word to tell him.
He takes me to a room with French doors swung wide open that’s filled with pool tables and ping-pong tables. There’s an air hockey table as well as two old school arcade games, Pac-Man and Return of Zelda.
We’re also not alone. There are a half-dozen guys in the room, some lounging around on a couch that has seen better days, and a couple are at one of the pool tables. A few girls are playing ping-pong. We’re far enough from the main floor where the music is muted even though the bass is still coming through the walls and floor, but in here it’s quiet enough where you don’t have to shout to be heard.
“Wow. This is cool.” So totally unexpected, too.
“What’s your poison?” Jude asks.
It takes me a millisecond to decide.
I want this hockey boy to show me what he’s got.
He kicks my butt in four games of air hockey. He’s also tossed my red cup as soon as it’s emptied and grabbed us a couple beers from a fridge in the room. Which is good, because I wouldn’t have trusted him to take my cup downstairs and refill it. I’ve always followed the rule to never drink out of something you don’t pour yourself or see being poured. But what I like is that he never gave me the option. He just held up a bottled beer when he grabbed one for himself and asked if I wanted it.