A shiver runs straight down my spine.
I force myself to breathe evenly, like this is fine. Normal. Like I don’t feel every inch of him behind me.
His hands stay at my hips the whole way up, steady and warm, like he’s guiding me. Or maybe holding on.
At the top of the landing, I glance at the row of closed doors. “Which one’s yours?”
He nods toward the first on the left. “That one.”
His hands fall away just before he steps around me, pushing the door open.
His room’s surprisingly clean. A little messy, sure—there’s a sweatshirt slung over the chair, a water bottle tipped on its side by the bed. But the bed’s made, and it actually looks soft and inviting.
I drop my bag by the desk and turn just in time to see him collapse face-first into the mattress.
A smile involuntarily tugs at my lips at the sight of him completely wiped out. But when he starts unbuttoning his jeans, my cheeks flare hot, and I whip my head away.
“Sorry,” he murmurs a few seconds later. I sneak a glance back, and his previous smirk is gone, replaced with a faint crease between his brows. “I forgot about tonight.”
“It’s okay.”
He runs a hand down his face, letting out a deep exhale. “I didn’t mean to. I just…” His voice drops. “Everything’s a mess. I’m not playing, failing classes, coach is pissed. Feels like I’m letting everyone down.” He rolls onto his side, his eyes fixed on me. “I just needed to blow off some steam, y’know?”
I nod and sink down onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath me. “I get it.”
He doesn’t say anything else. But the way he’s looking at me makes my skin prickle.
I want to look away, but I can’t stop myself from stealing glances, tracing the shadows under his eyes, the curve of his jaw. He’s just… so pretty.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat and start to stand. “I should go?—”
“No.” His hand clamps over my wrist and his eyes lock on mine. “Stay. Please.” My chest twists tight. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Every part of me knows this is reckless. I should say no and walk out the door.
But my body betrays me, and I nod.
He scoots back, patting the spot beside him. After a moment, I slide in, curling onto my side to face him. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so they settle beneath my head as I keep my eyes on him.
His eyes search mine in the dim light, and he shifts closer, his fingers tracing a slow line along my cheek. My breath catches.
“My mom thinks you’re pretty,” he says softly.
I blink, caught off guard. “She does?”
He hums, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Mmhmm. So do I.”
I blink again, my heart skipping at his words. I swallow hard. “You’re drunk,” I whisper.
“You’re gorgeous.”
I don’t know how to respond. No one’s ever said that to me—not like this, not while looking straight at me like they actually mean it.
So I stay quiet, lying there, my heart hammering as I fight the urge to look at his mouth.
His hand moves up my back and I feel his fingers pressing lightly through my shirt as he rubs my back slowly. A shiver runs down my spine.
He pulls back slightly. “What’s wrong?”
