{18+ COLLEGE ROMANCE COMPLETED}
What sucks more than being rejected by the girl of your dreams? Finding out afterward that she's moving in with you.
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The night that Beau Martin spends with Collins Bryant is the best one of his life. He wants to...
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I NEEDED TO PULL AWAY.
I couldn't kiss Beau again. It would only make it harder.
But this—this was already so hard. Beau's hand on my face, cupping it, made it impossible to pull away. The way he looked at me made me believe that maybe the way of the world could be disrupted. That ebb and flow of beauty and pain, maybe it didn't have to be like that.
Maybe we could be.
And maybe it would be better than anything.
With that thought in my head—and nothing else—I fell into Beau and let everything else go.
He caught me with a kiss, a desperate, aching kiss that had my hands tangling into his hair and his fingers digging into the back of my neck.
And against my lips, I felt him smile.
—
I stepped out of the shower knowing what I needed to do.
My heart ached as if Beau had pinched it. Him not wanting to confide in me for a second time about his brother...that hurt.
But I wasn't surprised, even though the hypocrisy burned a hole in my stomach. Beau had curated his personality to be unbothered and carefree. He wasn't used to anyone seeing a side of him that wasn't happy.
I'd seen so many sides of Beau, though. Because of how deeply he felt for those around him, I'd seen his anger. I'd seen his passion. I'd seen his sincerity. I'd seen the beauty in his unhappiness. I wondered if he even realized how much I'd seen.
Beau said he would let me in, and I could only hope that he would. I was the queen of wanting to trap and figure all my problems out for myself before putting them onto someone else, so I understood why he wasn't ready to talk. And he said he would talk. There wasn't an evasiveness to his mood, nor secrets. Only a request for time. I could do time—as long as it didn't drag.
But what I couldn't do was tolerate his helplessness—that look on his face like everything was spinning out of control, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. It must kill to feel that way; Beau needed to feel purposeful more than he needed to breathe. He needed to be needed.
So even though I didn't know what happened, I still knew what to do.
I knew how to need him.
With only a towel on, I walked back into the bedroom.
It was one of the smaller suites in the house, but it was still incredibly nice. Luxury bed linens covered the California King, and a sleek electric fireplace served as a focal point. I flicked it on as I passed to bring extra warmth into the room.
Beau still sat in the armchair, head tipped back. He'd planted his feet on the ground, legs spread with arms resting on either side of the chair. I paused, admiring him. His beach attire was simple: a pair of shorts and an unbuttoned flannel. His chest was bare beneath it, and I wanted to rake my fingers over all his lightly defined muscles.
