Forced Proximity (Bluebell House Duet Book 1)
Forced Proximity: Chapter 32

As predicted, Andrew lost his shit. Like, actually seemed like he was about to blow a gasket or something. Ethan had started to lecture about how irresponsible it was—mostly aimed at Brodie rather than me—but a sharp elbow from Connor shut him up. Which was weird.

Andrew had no such restrictions. He went on and on and on about how dangerous Brodie’s career was because of the constant spotlight on him. He ranted about the harassment Brodie endured from paparazzi and then waxed poetic about some truly hair-raising stalker-fan incidents he’d had over the years.

I knew, deep down, his intent had been to warn us that we’d acted foolishly. In reality, all he achieved was making me want to deliberately leave campus against his orders. Well…that, and he made me fall ten times harder for Brodie Orgasm-King Keller. Considering all he’d gone through already in his life, it was beyond belief how shockingly normal he was.

Throughout it all, Ethan glared absolute daggers at Brodie. Somehow, I suspected his sour mood was less to do with the potential danger and more to do with the embarrassingly obvious hickey on my neck.

Eventually I cracked, screamed in Andrew’s face that he didn’t own me and to shove his rules straight up his ass, then stormed upstairs to my room. I made a point of locking my door, because as much as I’d love to spend more time in bed with Brodie, things were tense. Real tense. And I had assignments that needed doing.

Brodie checked on me, sweetheart that he was, but I assured him I was fine and he left me to sort out my classwork.

To my surprise, it was Haze who knocked on my door around lunchtime, asking if I was hungry. Curious, I let him in and was touched to see he’d made me a sandwich and fresh juice.

“How’s your Economics of Crime assignment going?” he asked, glancing around my sparsely decorated space. It was a huge room, but the only furniture I had was my bed and a chest of drawers. I’d been studying on the floor in a patch of sunlight, and Haze frowned deeply at my scatter of notes and textbooks.

I hummed thoughtfully, sitting on the window seat to eat the sandwich he’d brought. “Not too bad actually. I’m almost finished. What’s everyone else doing?” It was Sunday but the guys rarely all hung around the house doing nothing.

Haze shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. I was thinking about fixing those tiles in the spare bathroom.”

It was a project I’d been planning on doing myself, but hadn’t got around to it yet. I was surprised Haze was interested. “I’ll help,” I said, taking another huge bite of my sandwich. “I should have my assignment finished in like twenty minutes or so.”

He nodded, expressionless. “Okay.” Then he left my room. Strange man.

Amused, I finished eating, then tied up the remainder of the assignment. I frowned, wondering how Haze had known what I was working on without me telling him. Maybe he’d guessed based on the books I had laid out? That seemed plausible.

For the rest of the afternoon, we worked together in near silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though, until I slipped with a grouting knife and somehow managed to slice my hand open.

“Ow, fuck!” I hissed, dropping the knife with a clatter and grabbing my palm.

“What happened?” Haze barked, returning to the bathroom workspace with an armful of tiles to replace the cracked ones. He set down the pile so hard, I was sure I heard some break, but then he was all up in my personal space and all logical thought fled by brain as he grasped my wrist with his huge hand.

He. Touched. Me. Skin to skin, fingers wrapped around my wrist as he tugged me gently to the sink and turned the tap on with his free hand.

“You need to wash it,” he growled, guiding my cut hand under the water.

I yelped as fresh pain bloomed, and my blood painted the sink bright red, but still Haze didn’t release me. His eyes remained locked on my wound, making sure all the little flakes of grout were cleaned out before turning off the water.

“Hold still,” Haze murmured when I flinched as he prodded the edge of the cut. “I don’t think you need stitches. Wait here.” Then he released my wrist as abruptly as he’d grasped it, disappearing from the bathroom in a puff of imaginary smoke. He could move fast when he tried.

Frowning at my bleeding hand, I tried to flex my fingers, which only made me hiss with pain as more blood dripped out. “That was dumb,” I muttered to myself, gritting my teeth.

Haze came clattering back up the stairs a moment later, first-aid kit in hand. He gestured for me to sit on the edge of the bathtub, which I did. Then he dropped to his knees in front of me and opened up the kit with confident determination.

Neither one of us spoke as he disinfected my cut, then bandaged it up with gentle touches, and it felt like I held my breath the whole time.

“Thanks, Haze,” I whispered when he was done.

He concentrated on packing up the first-aid kit, not meeting my eyes. “You’re welcome, Eve. I’ll tidy up in here.” The dismissal was crystal-clear, and I wasn’t dumb enough to push the issue. So I nodded and slipped out of the half-finished bathroom once more.

Anxious and confused about the whole interaction with Haze, I opted to go downstairs rather than be alone with my thoughts. Andrew was seated at the dining table, his laptop open as he worked on…something. He glared at me when I entered, but I ignored his presence and made a beeline for Ethan, who was standing by the stove, instead.

“Need help?” I asked in a small voice, offering a metaphorical olive branch.

His response was to drop the wooden spoon he’d been using and grab me in a tight hug. The pure tension radiating through his body as he held me close left me speechless, and I just looped my arms around his waist to hug him back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after the longest time. His face was buried in my hair, his words muffled.

I drew a deep breath, inhaling his spicy scent as I felt myself relax right into him. Our fight had been bothering me, even as I’d ignored it in favor of focusing on my time away with Brodie.

A sense of rightness returned in this moment of reconnection, but I knew it wasn’t enough to completely wipe the slate clear. “We need to talk,” I whispered against his chest, and his response was to tighten his hold further until he released a sigh.

“I know. I fucked up, Eve, and I owe you more than a two-word apology, but I couldn’t go any longer without saying that. It’s been killing me.”

It had felt wrong to fight with Ethan. “Sorry I ignored all your messages while I was away.”

I hadn’t done it deliberately, but at the same time I’d been totally unable to deal with more fighting and anger, so I wasn’t mad about it. But it wasn’t fair, when he’d only been trying to care about me. In his somewhat overprotective, dominant way.

He released me to stare into my face. “You had every right. I overstepped, and I was an asshole about it. It’s just…worrying about you makes me a bit crazy. It’s no real excuse, but the feral part of my brain kicks in when it comes to you.”

Popping up on my toes, I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I like the feral part, Eth.”

The green of his irises darkened as he stared at me, and it was only the hissing bubble of whatever he’d been stirring that broke through his focus. “Shit, the stew is about to burn.”

He grabbed the spoon again to stir, and I crossed around the other side of the bench, my soul lighter than it had been as I started to slice the crusty bread sitting on the cutting board.

We worked in silence for a few minutes, and when he called everyone into the dining room, I found it odd that of all the guys I shared a house with, Andrew was the only one I wasn’t a huge fan of. Not enough that I wished he’d fall off a cliff or anything, but I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I’d actively search out his company.

However attractive I found him at times, it didn’t make up for his annoying personality.

“What happened?”

I jerked, realizing I’d been glaring at Andrew, who hadn’t even bothered to notice me as he focused on stirring an already-stirred bowl of stew. Turning to Connor, who stared at the bandage on my hand, I said, “Cut myself tiling. It’s nothing big.”

“She didn’t need stitches,” Haze added, “but it was close.”

Connor’s hard stare remained on the injury for a few extra seconds, but he didn’t say anything else.

Brodie got the conversation going as we all started to eat, and I almost missed his question as I devoured the delicious dish. Holy crap, Ethan can cook.

“Anyone up for a game tonight?”

Haze answered Brodie first. “Yeah, count me in.”

I hadn’t partaken in any of their Xbox battles so far, but tonight felt like a great night to start. “Sure, I’ll play.”

Everyone stopped and stared like I’d just flopped my tits out on the table, and it amused me that this was what had shocked them. “What? How hard can it be to run around and shoot people.”

I almost died when Andrew laughed. Like, he actually relaxed the stick up his ass and, looking like a typical hot, rich boy, threw his head back and laughed. “The girl who’s afraid of guns wants to play a game where you shoot people?”

Oh, right. I hadn’t actually picked up any first-person shooters since my attack, but surely I could handle a non-real-life situation that involved weapons. “You all think I need therapy to help get over my trauma, maybe this is a way to help. A slight desensitization.”

Andrew no longer looked amused, and weirdly, there was a flash of concern on his face before his features returned to impassiveness. “You might be right.”

The rest of dinner passed quickly, and soon I found myself on the couch, controller in hand, with a smirking Brodie on my right side. “You’re my girl, you know that, right?” he said.

It was impossible not to love this guy. “Hmmm, do I though?”

Brodie nudged me gently, before he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, sending shivers to pool in my gut. “You’re my girl, Evie babe. And I need you to remember that.”

My head was fuzzy as he pulled away. “Why?”

His grin was wicked. “Because I’m about to kick your ass like you’re not.”

That statement should not have been as attractive as it was. “We’ll see, babe,” I shot back, hoping my skills weren’t rusty after all this time. “We’ll see.”

The others filed into the room one by one, Haze with scotch in hand, while Connor and Ethan had beers. They’d brought a can for Brodie too, but he was too busy gearing up his character in the hopes of blasting me to pieces.

Game on.

As I scrolled through the options to outfit myself, I found myself settling back into the familiar game like it had been hours and not almost a year since I’d last played. Brodie chose the map for us to head into, and while we waited for it to load, I brushed my fingers over the buttons to help with dexterity.

When we spawned, I took off toward my favorite spot to camp and quickly switched guns to my close-range shotgun. The sight on the screen didn’t trigger me in any way, and it was so nice to feel like my old self that I almost missed Brodie sneaking up behind me.

The bastard had a knife, like he thought me such a noob that I wouldn’t be able to stop him from stabbing me in the side. Swinging around the corner, I shot him point-blank in the chest, and he suffered enough damage that he was dead with one shot.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed. “Baby, you didn’t tell me you’d played before.”

“You didn’t ask,” I replied with a laugh as I took off into the map, ready to kill everyone else.

The guys watched, wide-eyed, as I took down half the field, before a sniper got in a well-placed headshot and ended my run.

Still, not bad for a first go on rusty skills. “My turn next!” Haze rumbled, holding out his hand. “I want to go against Evie.”

Oh, yeah, this was going to be fun.