Free More Than a Memory by Marie James Page B

I groan at the same time.
    The sound that escapes my throat doesn’t even faze me. She could open this door right now, and I don’t think I could stop myself. I close my eyes and picture her laid out on her bed, her fingers and toy at her core.
    “If I were there right now, I’d lick you clean. Taste yourself,” he commands.
    “Jesus,” I mutter, taking a step back from the door. “What the fuck are you doing, Daniels?”
    As much as I hate not sticking around to hear her climax, the sound of her boyfriend’s voice makes me want to barge in and smash her computer to bits.
    I lock myself in the bathroom and finish what I started in the hallway, gasping her name as I shoot my load down the drain.

    * * *
    “ M orning ,” I grumble, my sights set on the coffee pot. I don’t try to hide my crappy mood when I find her sitting at the small kitchen table bent over a cup of coffee.
    I slept like shit last night. Knowing Olivia was just on the other side of the wall, knowing she’s the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen, and knowing she’s off-limits, even if I think her boyfriend is a complete fucking idiot for leaving her here to do God knows what wherever he is, had me on edge.
    She doesn’t answer me, so I ignore the fact that she already introverted again. I don’t have time to keep pulling her out of her shell every day. She has a boyfriend for that. I take in her slumped shoulders and the way both hands are wrapped around her cup. The depression is rolling off of her in waves, but she doesn’t seem like the type to self-harm, so I just let it be and stand against the counter, drinking my coffee rather than joining her at the table.
    “Thank you for last night,” she says, her voice soft, but she doesn’t look up from whatever has her mesmerized in her cup.
    You should thank Duncan. He’s the one who got you off.
    “Welcome,” I mutter, downing the last half of my coffee, not caring as it burns my throat all the way down.
    I hate being this guy. I’m not the guy who gets jealous over another man’s girl. I don’t get attached to a woman who’s out of bounds—hell, I don’t get attached, period.
    Out of spite, I wash the cup without soap and place it in the dishwasher. I don’t have the patience for her rules today.
    Without another word, I grab my backpack from the entryway table and head to class, realizing I spent the evening with her on the couch watching movies I’ve seen a million times instead of completing the assignments due today. Just another thing to be pissed about as I drive to school.
    And it pisses me off even more that I’m pissed about it. I didn’t have an ulterior motive when I ordered extra food yesterday. I didn’t have some plan to get into her pants. I just had the urge to spend time with her. I hate how she spends every day locked in that apartment with no social life or human interaction aside from me. I don’t really pity her. She seems quite content to watch TV and sleep her life away, but there are moments when I catch the pain in her eyes, flashes of something I can’t describe—a need for something more than she’s able to give herself. That’s what draws me in.

    * * *
    “ W hat did those dumbbells ever do to you?” Liam asks, walking into the room as I let the fifty pounders tumble to the ground, my muscles screaming for mercy.
    I ignore him and move over to the squat rack, in no mood to entertain anyone right now. My early classes sucked today, just like every day, but usually I’ll head back to the apartment to do homework during my three-hour break in classes on Mondays and Wednesdays. Not today. Today, I’m in the weight room at the sports complex avoiding everything Olivia.
    Liam watches while I tackle the weights without saying a word. I can’t face another sleepless night, and muscle fatigue is a surefire way to ensure I sleep better tonight.
    “You want to grab a beer? A couple of the guys are heading over to Cody’s.”
    “I have class,”