Part of me wants to turn around. See if his eyes are open. Ask what this means. Make sure I didn’t just dream it all.
But the other part—the louder part—is afraid to find out. Afraid if I move, it’ll all disappear. Afraid if I look too close, I’ll ruin it.
My heart races out of my chest as panic starts to rise, because?—
What if this doesn’t mean anything to him?
What if I’m just another girl who crashed here after a night out. What if he doesn’t even remember asking me to stay? What if the way he looked at me last night was just a side effect of adrenaline and alcohol and the high from winning his first game back?
I shift slightly, trying to steady my breath without making it obvious I’m unraveling inside. But the second I move, his arm tightens, pulling me in closer. And I have my answer. He’s definitely awake.
His fingers flex against my waist, like he’s memorizing every curve.
“Hey.” His voice is low and scratchy, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
I blink, turning over to face him. His eyes are heavy with sleep, one barely open, framed by dark lashes. There’s a faint red crease on his cheek from the pillow, and his hair is messy, but looks so soft, making me want to reach out and run my fingers through it. His lips curl into that lazy half-smile that steals my breath away.
“Hey,” I whisper back, quieter than I meant to.
He shifts onto his side, never breaking eye contact. His fingers trace a path from my waist up to my ribs. “How’s your head?” he murmurs.
I swallow, the knot in my throat tightening. “Fine. Yours?”
His smile deepens. “I’ve had worse,” he says. “This is a pretty solid way to wake up.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I can’t look away. I don’t even want to try.
His eyes flick down for the briefest second, but I feel it like a full-body ache.
Then he shifts closer, just enough that his warmth wraps around me again, and I swear the whole world quiets down to the steady rhythm of his breath against my skin.
His fingers brush my jaw, trailing up until they cup my cheek. His thumb drags lightly across my skin, and it’s so gentle I want to cry.
He’s looking at me like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
Like he’s nervous.
Austin…Nervous.
My heart stutters as his eyes flick to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Is this okay?” he whispers, making my breath catch in my throat.
He’s so close. His hand is warm against my cheek, his forehead almost resting against mine, and my body is buzzing with something that feels like hope and fear all tangled together.
I want to say yes.
God, I do.
So badly it aches, so badly it terrifies me.
But the words get caught somewhere deep in my throat. Because suddenly I’m thinking of everything I’m not sure I can handle.
“What about the other girl?” I ask him, hating how quiet my voice is.
His brows knit, a flicker of confusion passing across his face. “What?”
My gaze drops to the hollow of his throat, the line of his collarbone, the soft stretch of skin there. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that doesn’t feel like looking him in the eye while I hand him my fear on a silver platter.
“The one you like,” I say. “Or were talking to. Or thinking about. I just—if I’m… if this is…” I shake my head, the words jamming up. “I don’t want to be a second choice to you. I can’t be the girl you settle for because someone else didn’t want you.”
