“Wiremu,” I said.
“Tina,” he responded.
I turned around in his arms, our eyes meeting. I could feel the attraction between us—like a strong, sizzling current. His beautiful hazel eyes were cloudy with heat. The loud ruckus of the party disappeared into the background, dying down as my fingers tingled around his bulging biceps. There was something magical about the way he was staring at me with that slight smile playing around his lips.
“Get a room, you two!” a voice called, breaking the trance.
I blinked through the haziness and stepped back a little. Still dazed from the sudden attraction, I pasted on a smile and breathed through my nose. That was a close call.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, still smiling.
Wiremu shrugged. “I was invited. What are you doing here?”
“Chelsea invited me. And since I didn’t have anything to do, I thought I would come.”
“Is that so?” he asked.
I nodded. We fell into silence, neither one of us talking as people milled around us. In an effort to break the awkwardness, I had just turned to go look for the rest of my friends, when he said my name.
I turned back around, saying, “Yes?”
He looked uncomfortable for a second, as he said, “Do you wanna...?”
I frowned up at him. “Want what?”
“Come hang out at my place?” he suggested, looking uncomfortable still.
I smiled. Was that what he wanted, because I would sure leave this party any day of the week if it meant hanging out at Wiremu’s place.
“Sure,” I said, setting down my drink. “How much have you had to drink? Can you drive?”
He nodded, appearing sober as ever. “Yeah, I’m fine to drive. I didn’t have a single drop. Can’t risk it.”
We stepped outside and I immediately felt the coolness of the air, its invisible arms wrapping themselves around me, seeping into my bones as I tugged at the hem of my clothing in vain. I didn’t want to catch a cold, especially not in the last month of summer before autumn was even here. I just couldn’t risk it.
“You cold?” Wiremu asked, staring down at me with a frown on his beautiful face.
I tried to shake my head but the sound of my teeth clattering beat me to it, revealing just how cold and frozen I was.
“Here,” he said, taking off his jacket. I stared at him in disbelief as he placed it over my shoulders. His body heat was still trapped inside the jacket. I looked back at him with a pang of guilt, as I watched him rub his palms together.
“You sure I can have your jacket?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said, as he cupped his hands together and placed them over his mouth, warming them up with his breath.
He guided us toward the empty parking lot and unlocked the door. I wasn’t sure why I was going with this guy, let alone planning on jumping into his car. We were practically strangers, and yet I was planning on going over to his place. I pushed the thought aside, not wanting to dwell on it too much. Because the last thing I wanted to do, was to chicken out and get the hell out of there, so I could call my host dad for a ride.
Which was never going to happen. Not tonight, at least.
“Hop in.” Wiremu said, cutting into my thoughts.
I flashed him a smile and hopped in, closing the door behind me as he fumbled with the car’s heater. Once we were both warm, he put the car into reverse and started driving onto the main road. I nibbled down on my lips, not knowing what to say. This might be the only time I would get to spend time with him, and I didn’t want to mess it up with my blabbering.
Yes, I do tend to blabber at times when I’m nervous.
With my fingers curled tightly around my purse, I said, “So...”
He sent a brief glance my way, and I swore I saw his lips curl up in amusement. Wiremu was usually quiet and never seemed to pay much attention to his surroundings. Moreover, there was something mysterious and dark about him that I couldn’t help feel attracted to.
“So what?” he uttered.
I no longer knew what I had meant to say after ‘so,’ and it looked like I had just dug myself into another hole. Good job, Tina.
“What do you, uh, do for fun around here?” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to my mind.
He laughed, which took me by surprise, since he never laughed much around me. Not for the few days I had been around him, anyway. His deep laughter made his chest vibrate, and made it absolutely impossible not to smile. He looked younger than his age when he laughed or smiled.
“How old are you?” I asked. Then I remembered Chelsea telling me not to ask people their—but that rule just applied with older people, right?
“I’m twenty-five,” he answered.
Huh. A year older than me. Not bad.
“How old are you?” Wiremu asked.
“I’m twenty-four,” I said.
He nodded in return, looking thoughtful as if he was analyzing my answer. “Is there a reason why you came here? And chose this particular country?”
“Yeah, there is, actually. I’ve always wanted to come see New Zealand for myself. Some of my friends have been here and came back and told me about all these wonderful places. Then I saw this posting about being an exchange student overseas, and I grabbed the opportunity.”
“How are you liking it here so far?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. People are great here.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
We fell into another silence—which we seemed to do often. I basked in the quiet and stared out the window, collecting my thoughts. This had been the longest conversation I had had with him, and...it was pretty nice.
The silence dragged on. He seemed to live far from the university, because we had passed many traffic lights and he didn’t seem to be stopping at any houses.
“Do you rent somewhere?” I asked a minute later.
He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t.”
A flicker of surprise showed in my face as I turned to him, studying his gorgeous facial features. His cheekbones were defined and angular. His hazel eyes focused ahead of him, his beautiful and pouty lips pursed in concentration.
“I thought most students from here either live with their parents, if they’re local, rent a house, or live on campus. Where do you live then?”
“I live in an apartment. My apartment actually.”
My mouth gaped open in astonishment. He had his own apartment? As far as I was concerned, not many people in their early twenties had their own houses or apartments.
“Did your parents buy it or something?” I asked.
He nodded. “It was a graduation present for me when I went off to college. I’ve been staying there ever since I moved into Auckland.”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from up north. Whangarei to be exact,” he said.
“Is that far away from campus?” I asked.
He shot me an apologetic glance. “Yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you that it’s outside of the city. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I said.
The car finally stopped and we were able to get out. I closed the door behind me with a slam, the force echoing throughout the deserted parking lot. I started nibbling at my fingernails, afraid that someone would call the police, because I was making too much noise after ten o’ clock at night.
“You okay?” Wiremu, asked, breaking into my reverie.
I nodded and followed him into the large building. The area was deserted, and aside from us there wasn’t a living soul in sight. We pushed our way through the double doors, and the first thing I noticed was the grand and sophisticated decor inside the building. I looked around, mesmerized. I couldn’t stop admiring the expensive furniture. People must be quite rich to stay in these luxurious apartments, and apparently this happened to be Wiremu’s place as well.
I shot him a curious glance. His face darkened by the dim shadows that fell across his handsome features, hiding any sense of emotion as we began to walk up the stairs. His profession still remained a mystery to me—just as he remained a mystery to me. I had never met someone so quiet and private about themselves. And it intrigued me to no end. I bit down on my full bottom lip, stopping myself from asking personal questions he didn’t wish to answer.
“So, uh, are we there yet?” I asked, as we started up a new set of stairs.
For the last couple of minutes, Wiremu had been silent throughout the whole process, not bothering to start up a conversation. I was realizing that he wasn’t the chatty type, but I had thought that coming with him here to his apartment might at least get him to open up a little. At this point, I would have welcomed a conversation about anything, really, just as it was not his usual silence.
“We’re getting there. Sorry for the long walk. I like living out here and is quite peaceful. I prefer silence over chaos.”
I figured that, I thought, but didn’t say a word.
Instead, I settled for a ‘me too’, as we finally reached his room. He produced a key out of his jeans pocket and opened the door, ushering me in with a flourish of his hand. I looked around immediately and took in the neat bedroom. His bed was made and he had a small well-stocked fridge in the corner near his bed, right beside his bedside table. I smiled at the sight of his room and flopped down on his mattress. It sprang back up, soft and comfortable under my butt, as I heard him chuckle.
“I’m guessing you like my bed?” he teased.
The mere mention of the word ‘bed’ started the liquid pooling between my legs. My thighs clenched immediately. My heart fluttered, as he walked over to his mini-fridge to retrieve something. I couldn’t stop ogling his ass with the denim fabric stretched taut around his firm globes. My mouth watered when I caught sight of his torso. The hem of his shirt rode up, revealing a strip of body hair that disappeared down into his boxers.
“Soft drink?” he offered, as he extended one hand and handed me a can.
“Thanks,” I said and flipped the tab open. I took a sip, grateful for the cold liquid as it cooled my flushed cheeks.
“Did you want to listen to music? Watch TV?”
“Music would be nice.” I said, nodding in agreement. “The music back there was terrible. I don’t know whether it was reggae or hip-hop. An odd combination.”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, fumbling with his stereo. I waited patiently as he got his iPod going. The soft melody of Beyoncé’s voice boomed against the thick walls. I was starting to enjoy the silence between us, and even though the attraction between us was still there, I couldn’t help but simply enjoy his company, though neither of us did much of talking.
“What do you listen to?” he asked, flopping down beside me with a beer in his hand.
I pondered the question. “Hmm. I listen to lot of artists, really. I don’t have one favorite band or singer, or a must-go-to playlist when a mood strikes me. Actually, I’m not terribly picky about what I listen to—as long as it sounds good and I can jam along with it.”
He grinned. His full set of white teeth glinted in the fluorescent lights above us. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the jamming type. You like Eminem?”
“Hell, yeah!” I exclaimed. “I mean, who doesn’t, right?”