Seventeen

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RAIN washes up against the window in soft splatters. It's soothing as I snuggle under my fuzzy blanket as my eyes trail from line to line of the current book I'm reading. It was recommended by one of my political science professors.

The apartment is quiet as the candles I have lit around my room flicker softly next to me. Annabelle and Elizabeth went to dinner in the city tonight with Elizabeth's parents and of course they invited me along, but I decided to have a night in by myself.

I love my friends but growing up how I did I spent a lot of time all alone. I'm so appreciative to have them in my life now. They expand my horizons and push me well outside of my comfort zone. But sometimes going back to my roots is the most comforting thing. Especially on cozy nights like this.

I flip the page when a loud knock sounds against the front door of my apartement. I halt my movements because my friends left a few hours ago, but they are staying the night at Elizabeth's family brownstone which means they should still be in Manhattan right now.

Nervous hesitation floods my veins as another knock sounds. My pulse begins to race as I slowly set my book aside and rise from my bed.

I grab my phone to see if my roommate maybe decided to head back for the night. Annabelle leaves her keys hanging on the hook by the front door all the time when she heads out. But there is no text. Nothing. I click to check her and her Elizabeth's location and it still shows them in the West Village.

It's not them at the door. But if not them, then who?

Unwanted fear spikes my bloodstream as I think back to the smoking match being left outside my door, and the prank phone call, and the burned piece of note my brother dropped.

They all meant nothing. Accidents. Coincidences. Right?

I wouldn't want to be in the crossfire when it all goes down. So I would stay far, far away from Preston.

My head shakes those stupid words away even though they've haunted me ever since the bonfire a couple nights ago.

I walk tentatively towards the door and lean forward to peek through the peephole.

Annoyance with a secret dash of exhilaration douses all other emotions, and I let out a heavy sigh of relief.

I unlock the door and swing it open to reveal Preston Rothwell. He's standing before me in a pair of dark jeans and a solid black hoodie with the university's crest embossed in the upper left corner.

It's the most laid back I've ever seen him and something about that makes him even more attractive to me. His wet hair is darker from the rain and a few drops linger near the scar on his cheek catching my attention.

I take a step back wanting to keep my space. Carey's words from the other night are still echoing in the back of my head. I don't want to let the conversation with her determine my choices because my parents words or lack thereof have determined the majority of my life and I don't want that anymore.

But I cannot lie, they are hard to ignore.

But then again so is Preston in the flesh in front of me. He takes up so much space, and it's not just his height. It's him. It's the way he speaks. The way he watches me. The confidence and power that drips off of him seamlessly.

It's intoxicating to be around.

My feet keep leading me backwards until Preston walks fully into my apartment and closes the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking makes me jump and a heat settles between my legs that causes an embarrassing flush to crawl up my cheeks.

I ignore the way my bottom lip trembles and I keep my spine steel straight. "Why are you here?" I ask continuing to keep a wide breadth of space between us just as he continues to follow me. Track me. Never let his eyes leave me.

His gaze takes in my old and worn shorts that barely show beneath the edge of my comfiest oversized sweatshirt. I look like a mess with my hair in an askew ponytail and ankle length fuzzy socks adorning my feet.

"You," he replies to my question. The word throws me back to the night in the basement of the library. The word he whispered against my lips as I fell apart in his arms.

"Seriously Preston, what do you want?" I ask him not realizing I've led us into my candlelight bedroom as he continues to stalk towards me.

His eyes finally break away from me making me feel like I can fully breathe. His dark gaze takes in my room. He's seen it from afar and walked by it when he's come over for tutoring sessions, but he has never been inside like he is now.

Preston walks over to a candle and waves his fingers through the small fire flickering on the blackened wick. It's as if his presence has intensified every single flame in the room and instead of the soft delicate light that once surrounded me the flames are now taller, brighter, and are casting daunting shadows on the walls.

He continues to play with fire like he's not in danger of burning himself. But with a burnt and black soul like his what fear should he have?

Preston's attention then catches on the book I left half open on my bed. He abandons the flame as he steps forward and picks up the book and leafs through the pages with an ease that somehow still unsettles me.

His narrowed eyes lift to meet mine. "Don't you ever take a break?"

My heart hardens on its own. I don't mean for it to happen. But she's always on the defense. She was created out of strict perseverance and grave mistrust. She's built to protect me and only me. Especially from men like Preston.

"No," I tell him as I cross my arms as if to shield my prickly heart.

Mischief sparkles in the depths of his gaze. "Well that's just not true Jameson. I know you do sometimes," he trails as if attempting to bait me, and I just know he's alluding to my night out at the bonfire.

He wasn't there. And yet I just know he's aware of everything that happened that night. Even when he's not around I always feel the weight of him. I feel Preston's heated gaze on my flushing skin, and his dark words whispering in my ear. He's inched his way so deeply under my skin I feel him constantly surrounding me.

I know there is no way he could, but a dark part of me begins to wonder if he knows what else went down that night when I was all alone. I shut my bedroom door after the long night, and my skin felt so alive from the electricity. In that moment I was so high off the flames and drunk off the liquor that I couldn't help but touch myself to the memories of him until I was a wild mess of desperate moans and sticky thighs.

A fierce blush heats my entire body at the memory making my eyes drop to the floor.

"Only sometimes," I reply with a shrug not wanting to give him an inch because we both know he'd take more than a mile if I did.

He'd take everything, and I can't risk that.

Preston tosses the book back to my bed. "Well take a break now," he tells me and his words don't sound like much of a suggestion.

I bristle at his tone. I've never been one for demands. "Why should I?"

"Because I want to show you something," he says, stepping a bit closer. His shadows are cast everywhere and his darkness seems like it might swallow me whole.

"Can you tell me what that something is?" I push back.

"No." The singular word is tinged with finality and brings no room for further discussion.

But I've always hated that word. Especially when it's telling me what I can and cannot do. Because nothing holds me back or puts me in my place. Especially not a small single syllable word like no.

"I hate surprises," I say, divulging the little piece of information about myself easier than I care to admit.

I don't give away an ounce of myself to anyone. I don't want to give anyone a reason to doubt me or believe they can acquire a one up on me.

At a young age I learned to never let your opponent know your weakness and never let them use those weaknesses against you.

A smirk stretches across his lips. "I know."

I roll my eyes as irritation ignites within me. "You're doing a terrible job convincing me to follow you," I grumble, maintaining my position on keeping my distance from him.

He's already invaded my every thought, I can't let him take up my time as well.

Preston walks even closer and as I look up at him the light slowly dies out and the shadows are all I see. Because they are as much a part of him as he is of them. All I can see is him and the glint of something else swirling in his deep brown eyes.

"You deserve breaks. You deserve adventures. You deserve fun Jameson," he says with such conviction that he almost has me.

But of course I can't let him win me over so easily.

"I have fun," I oppose slowly with stubbornness laced in my words. "I have adventures." I just had one with my friends proving I didn't need him by my side to experience life.

"Then have them with me." The words roll off his tongue so smoothly I almost feel myself lean into him. "Have fun with me Jameson."

I roll my eyes but can't stop the smile that touches my lips. "Why does it sound so dirty when you say it?"

"Because I know the right way to have fun," he says with a cocky grin as his attention trails over my mostly bare legs. "Remember...I told you I could tutor you in other ways also."

Heat flares against my skin burning me with pleasure because I do remember his offer.

I also remember his best friend's offer as well. "Everett extended a similar proposal to me to me the other night," I tell him wanting to see his reaction to his friend openly hitting on me. Even though it's Everett, which means he hits on anyone with a pulse.

Warm laughter escapes his lips. "I can promise you King isn't as good as a teacher as me. No where close in fact. You'd be bored in minutes."

I reach over to grab a pillow and throw it with as much force as I can at his smug and stupidly handsome face. "I hate you," I groan. But I surrender as I stalk over to my closet as curiosity consumes me.

The sound of him laughing softly grabs ahold of my heart until I turn over my shoulder to see him holding onto the pillow I tossed at him and his eyes locked in on me. Always on me.

And I know he doesn't believe I hate him. Not one bit.

"Wear black," he comments before dropping my pillow back onto the bed and walking out of my room.

Dressed in a pair of thick black high-waisted leggings and a cropped black crew neck I stole from Annabelle, I follow Preston out the doors of my apartment building. The night air remains cool as the month of October creeps by, but there's a thick humidity in the air because of the rain making me break out in cold sweats.

Rain falls from the midnight sky onto me and seeps through my clothing as I continue to follow the man who has somehow worked his way under all my layers.

I've already asked him where we are going ten different times and he's practically ignored my protests so I bite my tongue to stop myself from inquiring once again.

He leads us onto campus and my eyes dart around but not a single soul is around this late. And why would they be? It's the middle of the night and the rain is coming down heavier and heavier. We almost seem to blend in with the night and something about the million possibilities of where the night could lead us makes excitement surge within me and slip a smile onto my lips.

Preston leads me to a side door of the large library on campus. It's a door I've never even noticed. He quickly opens the door with a soft click. Why isn't it locked?

I dart in beside him to escape the rain and we enter a small stairwell. He starts climbing up the steps and I follow shutting the door behind me immediately hoping no one sees us.

Nervous energy ricochets inside me but so does an eagerness I can't quite explain.

I don't really break rules. I always try to stay in my lane because I never want to give anyone a reason to question me, and because I'm a woman I refuse to give anyone more ammunition to bring me down ever.

It's why I've worked so hard to get where I am.

We climb a few flights until he pushes open a door that leads us into one of the few library floors that isn't open twenty-four hours. All the lights are off and there's no moonlight under the harsh rain to leak in and help guide us. It's dark. Eerily so and it makes my pulse race so fast I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.

"Preston," I whisper yell at him as anxiety tears through me freezing me in my spot.

He stops in front of me. "It's okay," he assures me.

But indecision runs deep within me. "Preston—"

He cuts me off as he takes a single step to tower above me. "I'd never do anything to get you into trouble Jameson," he promises me as my eyes finally adjust to the darkness and can make out his features. A smirk graces his lips. "Well the bad kind I mean. I am always down for fun trouble."

Preston's teasing words unfurl some of the tension coiling within my stomach and I find myself nodding at his words. I wet my lips and swallow the rest of the apprehension that wants to overwhelm me and take a step around him.

Satisfaction shines in his eyes and he starts walking in front of me again. Our footsteps echo softly against the hardwood floor as the heavy silence hangs around us. He takes us through the many rows of large oak shelves that house the communal textbooks for basic general education classes that are required of every student. He then opens up another door. This one leads to an even smaller staircase that looks as old as the medieval church on campus.

I watch wary of his every step, but feeling a bit better when I see the steps don't completely collapse under his weight. I move forward and take the first step. It creaks and groans under our feet and I'm nervous it will break and crumble from right under our feet, sending us falling to our deaths. But Preston remains steady in front of me never giving me a reason to waver.

He comes to a stop and then opens up a large wooden door and steps through. I follow suit and as soon as I do I pause with my mouth falling agape.

The room is small and a bit drafty and I can hear the howl of the wind squeak beneath the floorboards. From this angle the moon is beginning to break through the rain and the stream of moonlight cascading in steals my breath.

I've always admired the stained glass that adorns the old ivy-covered library. And now it's right in front of me. Up close. Well a piece of it at least. The very top. I assume this is the attic as I take in the slanted wooden walls and continue to step forward until I'm standing before the colored glass. The bright moon crashes through the colors as they reflect onto me along with the shadows of the falling rain.

It's hauntingly beautiful.

I turn to see Preston sitting on an old couch, and that's when I finally take in the room around me. There isn't much up here. A couple of worn leather couches. A large table with four chairs, all different colors with paint chipping off of them. Tall bookshelves line the walls filled with dusty books, and a small drafting table in the corner with what looks like a legitimate quill and inkwell sitting upon it.

It's as if the small room was frozen in time and I love every piece of it.

He silently points to the table beside me. I walk over as renewed interest tingles from within me and I see a small stack of books. Salty tears line my green eyes at the sight. I can see the books are all brand new by the crisp pages and unmared covers, and they are all fantasy I realize as I pick the hardcover books up.

My fingers silently trace over the gorgeous dust jackets. Some of these even look like special editions and it makes my heart squeeze at what he's done for me. He knows how I used to hide my fantasy novels behind classic literature covers so my parents wouldn't judge me.

They thought fantasy was trivial and stupid and not something I should waste my time with. Because if I'm not reading to better myself then why waste my time? I stopped reading fantasy books years ago because I was tired of trying to hide them. I let my parents take away a small joy from me, and now Preston is giving it back to me.

My gaze lifts to his and without words I convey how thankful I am for this moment.

Because it's one I know won't ever forget.

I lift the book that looks the most interesting to me and make my way over to where he sits. I sit on the other end of the couch from him. I notice the pile of books on the side table beside him and wonder what books he enjoys in his free time.

"Preston, how did you find this place?" I ask gently. I don't know what it is, but the space makes me want to whisper and not break the moment this room has provided.

"I have to have my secrets," he says with a sexy smirk tugging at his lips.

"You do, don't you?" I say but I don't fight him on this secret because this moment is too perfect to ruin.

But then Preston does something that shocks me all together. He doesn't block me out or avoid questions. Instead he gives me an inch. "If you want though...this can be our secret now," he offers and the genuine tone to his voice melts every single piece of me.

"I'd like that."

"My father was on the school board back when I was young so we would do visits at the university together. I hated his long meetings and would sneak out and get lost on campus for hours until he would track me down and inevitably yell at me. But one time I accidentally got locked in the library. They shut it down early because of the upcoming holiday and I couldn't get out. So instead I just walked all around. I opened every door and looked through every desk, and let me tell you the elderly librarian at the time had some freaky things in the search history of her computer."

I laugh with such ease forgetting about all the reasons I should stay away from this man. Instead I reposition myself so my feet are on the couch and I'm facing him as I lean forward to learn more about the man sharing his secret spot with me.

"Then finally I found this. It looked like no one had been up here in decades, and I just stayed in here all night and read and read. When I finally left the next morning my dad chewed me out and so did the chief of police who my father made search for me all night with the entire department. I was never allowed to come back here with my father again. So the day I started here as a freshman I made sure to find this place again. To make sure it was still just all mine."

Preston can come off cold as ice when his glare is focused on you and burns hot as fire when he's charged. But seeing this side of him, where he looks almost nostalgic with hints of a smile touching his lips. That smile. It's so small, but it means so much. It can break hearts and melt panties.

Two things of mine I know I should keep far, far away from him.

But still I find myself leaning further in.

"Do you like it?" he asks almost cautiously as if he's nervous about what he's sharing with me. The idea of that, even if completely off base, makes my chest explode with warm.

My teeth graze against my bottom lip. "I love it," I answer honestly.

His eyes hold mine for a moment and it's just a few seconds but it's powerful, and has me shaking slightly from how much his presence makes me want to shift forward and attack his lips with mine.

I cough to break the tension that threatens to turn my brain to mush. "Um...why weren't you at the bonfire?"

I'm not sure why that is the first question out of my mouth but I pretend it

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