Chapter 11
How to memorize important details under duress
Finn
I rubbed my eyes as I padded down the hall to the room I was supposed to have slept in—Alex and Enzo’s voices low behind me. I lifted my bag onto the unused bed and opened it, digging for anything that wouldn’t make me look like a bum Alex took pity on and let into the building. Unfortunately, all I had was an extra pair of joggers, a few t-shirts, and my light gray hoodie. I pulled out the clean dark gray pants and hoodie. Dressing in the same color—tone on tone?—was a thing that looked polished, right? I’d never cared before, but suddenly I did.
I took my toiletries bag to the bathroom and locked the door. It wasn’t until I was standing in the bright, quiet room, cool tile under my feet, that I realized I hadn’t woken up with the faint throb in my head that usually greeted me. The light wasn’t stabbing at my eyes, and I didn’t feel like I needed six more hours of unconsciousness.
I turned on the water and stripped down, stepping under the mildly cool spray. Too hot and it would overwhelm my scarred skin—might trigger a migraine. Too cold and, well, same thing. It had to be perfectly tepid. Boring. Just like my life had become.
The memory of Alex’s gentle words washed over me. “The guy who continues on because he knows what it means to need saving.”How did she do it? Soothe my soul with her soft acceptance of who I was now. Not once did she exhibit pity for me. Instead, it was just—what was it? Understanding.
And the feel of her body against mine. I groaned, resting my forehead against the cool tile wall as the memory flooded my senses—soft, generous curves quietly chipping away at my control.She was built to withstand whatever life threw at her and I got the feeling that if Alex asked anyone for help, it was simply because she trusted the person enough to invite them to contribute.
But when she’d melted against me this morning, she’d become someone entirely different—someone that made my blood run hot just thinking about it.
The way she’d mapped me when she thought I was asleep, careful fingers tracing my scars like she was memorizing me. The soft sound that escaped her when I pulled her closer. The warmth of her hand splayed across my chest. Fuck, I was getting hard just thinking about the weight of her against me, the way she fit perfectly tucked against me like she’d been designed for exactly that spot.
I forced the thoughts from my mind, quickly washed and stepped out of the shower—my skin stinging slightly from the temperature change. The towel I wrapped around my waist was the softest thing I’d felt in years—probably Egyptian cotton, knowing Alex.
I worked product into my hair, half hating that I’d become one of those guys putting expensive shit in his hair. But Dom insisted that if I was going to grow my beard and hair out to hide the scars, I needed to know how to take care of it. And he was right—I hated that even more. But I liked the way Alex’s curious eyes had tracked across my face this morning, and the way they’d lingered on my mouth before flicking up to study how I’d pulled my hair back.
I pulled half of it up this time. Leaving enough down to cover the scarring on the left side of my neck. I wasn’t overly self-conscious about the lines and splotchy marks that grew in size and intensity as they made their way down my back, but they made other people uncomfortable—nervous. Either that or they asked completely out-of-pocket questions about them. I’d developed a habit of responding with absurd answers, and the more exhausted I was, the more absurd they got. Best to leave them covered.
I shoved my toothbrush in my mouth and took an extra beat to make sure there were no errant hairs anywhere else on myface, suddenly feeling the pressure to make a good impression on Alex—forAlex. She was trusting me to be part of her professional world. What sort of fake boyfriend would I be if I embarrassed her?
Satisfied, I moved back to the bedroom to dress, remembering my sneakers were still in her room as I pulled on my socks. Her door was closed, so I went to the kitchen instead. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out how to make a pot of coffee.
The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and cinnamon. Enzo stood at the counter with his back to me, humming the same song from the day before while he worked at the coffee maker.
“Morning, sunshine,” he called without turning around. “Sleep well on top of the covers in all of your clothes?”
“Like a baby,” I settled against the island, watching him measure coffee with the precision of a chemist. “Alex still getting ready?”
“Mmhm. She’s in GSD, getting shit done, mode,” Enzo glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “Which means we have approximately thirty minutes before she emerges looking like she could convince half of Hollywood to give up $15 cold-pressed celery juice.”
He pulled a tall glass from the cabinet and filled it with ice, the cubes crackling as they hit the bottom. “Want to learn the sacred art of Alexandra Archer’s iced coffee? Because trust me, this will earn you more fake boyfriend points than flowers ever would.”
“Hit me.”
“Sheshouldcold brew,” Enzo poured the hot coffee directly over the ice and watched it cloud. “But my dear sister has the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to planning ahead for her own comfort.” He left space at the top, then opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of oatmilk. “She’ll prep cold brew for the entire office but forget to do it at home. So we improvise.”
He poured the milk in a thin stream, watching the color change from dark brown to something lighter. “See that? That’s the color. Café au lait. Not too light, not too dark. She’s weirdly specific about it. Like,weirdly.”
I watched him stir it with a long metal straw, the same kind she’d used at Dom’s pool. “She only drinks it iced?”
“Hot drinks make her feel like she’s burning from the inside out,” Enzo set the glass aside and pulled out a mug—black coffee, no ice. “ADHD thing. Temperature sensitivity.”
He handed me the black coffee and kept the iced one for himself, taking a sip and nodding in approval. “Perfect. Small gestures like this, remembering how she likes things, that’s what gets through her walls. I don’t know if she even realizes it.”
The casual way he said it made my chest thump. Like he was already planning for me to be around long enough to make Alex coffee regularly.
“Enzo,” I set my mug down, “about last night—”
“Oh, we’re doing the serious conversation now?” He leaned back against the counter, studying me with sharp dark eyes that missed nothing. “Good. Because I have things to say.”
The easy humor dropped from his voice, and suddenly I was looking at the man who’d stepped between Alex and Graham without hesitation. Someone who’d watched his sister’s self-esteem get torn down by a monster and wouldn’t let it happen again.
