She doesn’t. Damn it.

At the top of the stairs, I take her by the arm and escort her to my bedroom door, which is closed. Reaching out, I turn the knob and push the door open, waving a hand that she should enter first.

Without a word, not even a smile, she does as I ask, her arm slipping out of my grasp. I watch as she walks into my room, stopping in the center as she slowly turns in a circle, her wide-eyed gaze seeming to try and take in everything all at once before those pretty eyes meet mine. “It’s huge,” she breathes.

The urge to make a “that’s what she said” joke is strong but I keep it in. She doesn’t act like she’s much in the mood to joke right now.

Unfortunately.

“It works.” I shrug. I’m being modest. I know the room is huge. Shep’s is just as huge. This house is massive for two guys who only use it to sleep, fuck, shower and party. “I’m tired of sharing the house with Shep. Jade’s always here and when I come home they glare at me like they can’t believe I have the nerve to interrupt their domestic bliss. It’s annoying.”

“Sounds like it,” she says softly as she approaches my dresser, running her fingers over the items sitting there. A bottle of cologne, a shallow dish that I throw extra change in, a Big Ben replica that I got in London when I was twelve that’s also a bank. “Big Ben?” she asks.

“It’s one of those things I can’t seem to let go,” I admit. Does that make me sentimental? Probably.

Alexandria turns to face me, leaning against the dresser. “Have you ever been? To London?”

“Yeah.” I stuff my hands into my pockets. “A few times.”

“Me too,” she admits, as she drops her head and seems to study her boots for an inordinate amount of time. “There are a lot of things I used to do.”

I go to her. The cloud of sadness that seems to cling to her depresses the fuck out of me and I don’t like it. I don’t want her sad. I prefer her snappy and full of quick comebacks, challenging me, smiling at me like she thinks I’ve been put on this earth just for her amusement.

Stopping just in front of her, I gently grab her shoulders, causing her to glance up and meet my gaze. “Tell me what’s bothering you,” I say, my voice soft but firm. I can’t take this anymore.

She takes a deep breath and starts, “It’s noth—”

It’s my turn to press my index finger against her plush, warm lips. Christ, she feels good. One simple touch and I want more. “Don’t lie to me. I want to—be here for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Those big eyes blink up at me, her body tense. I trace her bottom lip before I drop my hand back to her shoulder, smoothing my fingers down her upper arms with both hands. Wishing I was touching her bare skin. Trying my best to be satisfied with the soft fabric of her sweater instead. Swear to God every time she gets close my heart starts to beat a different rhythm, one I only recognize when I’m in Alexandria’s presence.

Want, want, want, want.

Yeah. That’s the rhythm. It’s how I feel when I’m with her. I’m always left wanting more.

“Family problems,” she finally says, her voice low, reluctant. “My parents. They’re…gone.”

Oh shit. “As in—they passed away?”

She shakes her head. “They’re not dead. It’s just—it’s complicated.”

I pull her in close, slipping my arms around her so I can hold her tight. She melts into me, her head on my shoulder, her hair in my face, her arms loose about my waist. It’s weird, how well she fits. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. I’m not big on family discussions either,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she whispers against my neck and I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her in my arms, her breath a warm blast of air on my skin.

I run my hand down the elegant curve of her back, my fingers catching her sweater’s fabric as they sweep back up. I’m trying to be the supportive guy and instead all I can think about is getting her naked. Because I do. Want to get Alexandria naked.

I’m desperate for it.

She lifts her head to look up at me and I think about taking advantage. It would be so easy. I’ve done it before. A girl looks up at you like Alexandria is staring at me, and you just…make it happen. They’re open, they’re a little vulnerable, but they want it.

They always want it. Want me.

There’s trust shining in her eyes. Hell, just seeing her like this makes my heart feel like it’s going to pop out of my chest, grow legs and run away. The emotions running through me are foreign. I don’t know what to do, don’t know how to handle myself. I can’t bail. It’s not fair to Alexandria and I’m not giving myself a chance.

Life isn’t so bad when you fall in love, right? Not that I’m in love with this girl. Hell, no. I do want her. I like her. Fine, I’m fucking falling for her. But not in a love way.

Definitely not in a love way.

Talk of family holidays and where I’ll be spending my Thanksgiving was the most soul crushing conversation I’ve had in a long time. Lucy’s question was completely harmless. Totally normal. Yet all I could think about was my parents stuck in prison and me, alone without a house to go home to.

I appreciate Steven’s offer that we spend Thanksgiving at his parents’ place. Kelli and I already said yes to his invitation. Tristan didn’t seem to like the idea when I mentioned it, but did he make any offers when the spotlight shone on him thanks to Lucy?

That would be a no.

Not that I expect him to feel sorry for me and take me with him to meet his parents. We’re not that serious. Flirting and a few kissing sessions does not a relationship make.

But still. That entire conversation turned into Awkward City. And I’ve been wallowing in it since we left the restaurant.

What I appreciate about Tristan is he doesn’t push. I’m evasive. Not comfortable talking about my family and what happened to them. It’s embarrassing. He’s curious. I know he wants to help—and find out the scoop. When I throw up a few blocks, he doesn’t dig any further. And I love that. He just offers comfort, holds me close and treats me so tenderly I almost want to cry.

Worse? I almost want to confess everything. My parents are convicted felons who are doing prison time. That they embezzled money from my father’s company—stole the very money so many people trusted them to invest. They robbed so many people of their future and all we had left to show for it was a gorgeous house full of beautiful furniture and designer things.

Nothing substantial. Nothing meaningful. Nothing good. My parents aren’t good people.

Sometimes it worries me that I’ll turn out to be a bad person too.

Tristan slowly lets go of me and I step away, watching as he walks over to his desk and pulls his phone out of his pocket, setting it on top of a docking system I hadn’t noticed before. Within seconds music is playing, some sort of mellow rock stuff that again, I recognize as from the 90s.

“Do you have a grunge thing?” I ask when he turns around. I’m trying to lighten the mood and I hope he plays along.

“We all have a grunge thing. Me, Shep and Gabe.” He ticks their names off of his long fingers. “There’s no quality music anymore. It’s all pop shit.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a huge fan of Demi Lovato,” I tell him with as straight a face as possible. Fine, I am a fan. I almost felt too old watching that Camp Rock movie on Disney years ago but I loved it. Sonny with a Chance, starring Demi? Loved that show too. I’ve always loved her.

“Ugh. Next you’ll tell me you’re a Bieber fan,” he says, looking like he just sucked on a lemon.

“Ick, no way. I prefer Nick Jonas.” Yeah, of course I do. That boy grew up fine as hell. Why wouldn’t I be a fan?

Tristan groans and holds his head like it’s going to explode. “You’re killing me here.”