Fuck me.

I need a distraction before I go to the shower to jerk off while thinking about her.

I force my mind to think about my upcoming match, and after a couple of seconds my dick calms down and I’m able to function like a normal human being again.

“I won’t be long. You can take the bed. I’ll make a spot on the floor.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have a match tomorrow, you need your rest. I’ll take the floor.”

“Anna,” I warn. “There’s no way in hell I’ll allow you to sleep on the floor.”

She sighs, knowing I won’t give in on this. “Fine. We’re both adults—we can share the bed.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re okay with that?”

“Of course I am, silly. We’re friends, and I trust you.” She tries to play it off as a joke to make it seem like sleeping in the same bed with me isn’t a big deal, but I know her better than that.

I want her to know she can trust me. “You don’t have to—”

“No arguing. It’s a king-size bed, so it won’t be an issue.”

“You sure?” I quiz her.

“I trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Okay then.”

I’m pretty sure I break the record for the fastest shower known to man. The idea of lying inches away from her all night sends a thrill through me. I roll my eyes at myself as I realize that I’m thinking like a fucking teenage girl excited about the possibility of touching someone I have a crush on. I scrub my hands down my face and attempt to convince myself to chill the fuck out.

I’ve got to get a handle on this thing because if this keeps up, I’m going to scare her off with my psycho obsession.

If she could ever see inside my head, she’d surely run away screaming.

Xavier

As quickly as I can, I strip out of my clothes and climb into the thin nightgown I wear for bed. The sheets are cool as I slide between them, but they do nothing to calm my flushed body down. I close my eyes and quietly tell myself, “Quit being a scaredy-cat. You can do this.”

Xavier’s deep laugh reverberates on the other side of the bathroom door. “Psyching yourself up again?”

Shit. How the hell did he hear me?

“N—no. That had nothing to do with you,” I say trying to muster some confidence.

The door opens and he steps out wearing nothing but a towel and a smile.

Water drips from his hair onto his broad shoulders as he approaches the bed. I glance over to his side of the bed, and I notice his underwear is laying there.

He’s going to change right in front of me?

My heart thunders in my chest. I should look away, but I can’t help myself. I want to look at him.

Sins of the flesh really do carry some meaning. Father would be proud that I actually still remember some of the scripture.

I take a deep breath and search for a distraction. I grab the one paperback novel I brought with me off the nightstand and open it in front of my face.

It’s a romance novel, and so far the love story is very angsty and intense—which reminds me a whole lot of the relationship I have with Xavier.

“Is that a good one?” he asks.

I turn toward him to answer just as he drops the towel and grabs his underwear off the bed.

“Ohmigod!” I shriek and immediately cover my eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

“Look?” Xavier chuckles.

“Yes,” I whisper, completely mortified.

“It’s okay, Anna. I’m sure what I’ve got isn’t anything you haven’t seen before. You were an engaged woman once. I’m sure you’re experienced in that region.”

I squeeze my eyelids tighter.

If he only knew just how lacking I am in that department, he would probably tease me relentlessly, so I don’t reply.

Once he’s dressed, Xavier pulls back the blankets and slides in next to me. I expect him to stay on his side of the bed, but he doesn’t, scooting close enough to me that our arms touch as he leans over and tilts my book up so he can read the title.

“Rock My Bed? That sounds dirty. I never pegged you for the type to read smutty books,” he teases.

I shake my head. “It’s not smut, it’s a romance. The woman is trying to help the broken man heal and see that he’s a good person, even though the hero denies that he is for most of the book. “

Xavier leans back against the pillow and tucks one arm behind his head. Even though I shouldn’t, I allow my gaze to wander down the toned muscles of his bicep and chest. He’s so beautiful, it’s hard not to stare at the work of art that is his body.

“That’s the problem with women in fiction. It’s always the man who needs fixing. Why can’t it be the chick who’s fucked up for a change?”

“There are lots of great works out there about that very thing,” I reply.

“Not as many as men with problems,” he fires back. “All you women read those books and pray to find a ‘fixer-upper’ who you can ‘heal’ when the reality is that most men don’t talk about their issues for a reason. It’s best to leave the past in the past rather than dig old shit up.”

Instantly, it hits me that he’s talking about more than just fictional characters. He never wants to talk about his family for a reason.

“That may work for a little while, but surely you don’t believe avoidance is the best way to handle problems.”

He shakes his head. “Of course I don’t think that. Sometimes an ass-kicking works just as well for people who have it coming.”

I sit up and face him. Now might be a good time to try and get him to open up to me. “You’re talking current events though. I’m talking more along the lines of old problems you can’t necessarily fight your way out of.”

He turns those intense blue eyes on me, and my heart races. “I know what you’re trying to do, Anna, but it’s not going to work.”

Busted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Xavier shoves himself up and off the bed before walking toward his suitcase. He rifles through his clothes, pulling out a pair of jeans, socks, and a t-shirt.

Every time I feel like I’m starting to get somewhere, he shuts me down and runs away. “Where are you going? We’re talking.”

After he quickly dresses, he shoves his feet into his boots. “I’ve told you before, I don’t talk about my past.”

“Why?” I ask, confused and curious as to what could possibly be so bad that he won’t tell me anything about his past.

“My problems aren’t like one of your books, Anna. There’s no fucking formula to fix me. My shit—it’s fucking real. It’s not all in my head. The things I’ve lived through, the things I’ve done—” He cuts himself off and squeezes his eyes shut, like it pains him to even think about it. “I should be in prison right now, but instead, I’m sitting here with you. Don’t think for one second that I’m not a monster, because I am. I can’t change who or what I am. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not a hero. I’m the fucking villain in this story.”

“That’s not what I’m not trying to do!” I argue, even though deep down I know he’s right. From the moment I met him, I have tried to size him up and justify my feelings for him.

“Yes, you are. You’ve got it into your head that I’ve got some redeemable quality that I just haven’t uncovered yet. Do you know how insane that sounds? I’m not like you, Anna. Growing up, I didn’t have the luxury of getting lost in some fictional world. I didn’t have time to have a fucking imagination, or dreams. All I worried about was staying alive and surviving—something you wouldn’t have the first clue about.”

“You think I’ve had it easy? My father hates me.” Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to allow them to fall. “Do you know what that’s like?”

Xavier runs his fingers through his hair and drops his head to stare at the floor for a moment before returning his icy blue stare to me. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The words bounce around in my brain, and they anger me. “And I’ll never know because you won’t tell me a damn thing about you. You give me bits and pieces, but you never tell me anything real. How am I supposed to be a friend and help you if you refuse to open up to me?”