“Yeah. Don’t get on the wrong side of my mum.”
Warren bit down on his bottom lip, thoughtful, then released it, flicking out his tongue to soothe the spot.Fuck.Even that made Jude’s stomach pull tight.
“And what does your history say aboutyou, Mr Ellison?” Warren’s voice was smooth. Curious. And laced with something else Jude couldn’t place over his hammering heart.
Jude swallowed. “That I should learn from it, too.”
“And have you?”
“I thought I had.” Jude waited a beat. “Until now.”
Warren tilted his head. “Why now?”
“Cause I’m sharing a bed with a stranger.”
Warren’s smile was quiet. Confident. “I’m not a stranger.”
Jude didn’t smile back. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“Then ask.”
There was a beat. A longer pause this time, because Jude didn’t know what answer he was hoping for. So he said, “Who are you?”
Warren looked at him for a moment. A long, unreadable moment.
Then, “Warren.”
JustWarren.
No last name. No job title or past inventory. Enough truth to feel honest but enough omission to feel as if it was anything but. And Jude, heart already traitorous in his chest, let it go. Because in the dark, beside this man who hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t pushed, who’d seen the worst scar on his body and hadn’t flinched,Warrenfelt like enough.
“I like the tattoo,” Warren said, finally breaking the silence.
Jude kept his gaze on the ceiling. “You admire amateur artwork?”
“No.” Warren exhaled, quiet but sure. “I don’t know shit about art. I just know that when I saw that on you… something happened in me.”
That made Jude turn his head. Warren’s eyes found his, even in the dark.
“Then you looked embarrassed about it.” Warren tilted his head. “Hurt, maybe. Is it about your ex?”
Jude couldn’t look at him while he thought about Callum. “I don’t want to talk about my ex,” he said in an almost pleading hushed whisper.
“Right. Yeah. Sure.” Warren shifted beside him. “Didn’t mean to pry.”
Jude snorted. “Yes, you did.”
Warren winced. “Yeah, alright, I did. But it’s because I want to know more about you. I want to know what made you flinch the other day. When I touched you. What happened in your past to make you feel…unsafe.”
“Like much of the stuff I teach, my history is just as ugly.”
“Whose isn’t?”
“I imagine there are plenty of people who have fond memories. Ones they can sit in without choking on them.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Why do you think I bury myself in other people’s history? It stops me thinking about my own.”
