My eyes widen. “Umm . . .” I cough awkwardly. “I mean, there’s adoption. I’ve never really thought of having kids.”
“Hmm, true. Zia is possessive, so he might hate the child if you pay too much attention to them. At least one, and you have to name it after me or I’ll take my son back.” He offers me his hand again.
Laughing, I shake it. “Deal.”
“What deal?” Zia asks as he walks into the dining room, and we break apart.
“Just talking about who is going first in chess next.” His father winks at me as he stands and ushers us to the door. “Now, go have fun.”
“You’re being weird, Father,” Zia remarks as the door opens, and he guides us to it. I step out as his father laughs.
“Son?” Zia turns at his father’s voice, and he steps closer. I linger outside to give them privacy, but I can still hear what they are saying. “Remember when I told you to find your happiness? I think you did. Now don’t let it go.”
Zia is quiet for a moment, and my heart pounds, as I know his father is referring to me. “I don’t plan to,” he finally replies, and I want to yell in victory. He’s finally giving in, finally letting himself keep me. It isn’t a love confession, but I have no doubt I’m going to make Zia fall for me.
I’ve never really been inside Zia’s house for long. I’ve seen parts of it, but this is the first time I’ve seen his space fully and it’s beautiful. It’s all sleek, clean lines, with incredible art and décor, but with a twist and hints of him. It suits Zia perfectly. He shows me around it before taking me to the roof, where there is a lush paradise, then he leans into my side and stares at the river.
“I bought this the day after we met. I stood here and wondered if you were thinking about me too,” he shares as he glances at me.
“I was,” I reply without shame as I wrap my arm around his waist and kiss his head. “There wasn’t a day during those months when I didn’t.”
Smiling, he turns in my arms and sighs. “I know you live above Nexus, but technically, you’re still healing, so you’ll stay here, right?”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” I tell him just as a yawn splits his lips. “Come on, beautiful, let’s get you to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, but another yawn creeps up. Laughing, Iswing him into my arms, ignoring the twinge of my injury, and walk down the stairs to the master bedroom. I gently lower him onto the bed. “Don’t move. What do you want to sleep in? I’ll grab it.”
He looks away for a moment, and I swear I see a blush stain his cheeks. “Zia?” I murmur.
Biting his lip, he crawls up the bed, sticks his hand under his pillow, and tugs out a hoodie, holding it to his chest as he looks at me. Frowning, I slide onto the bed to reach for it. It seems familiar, and that’s when it hits me.
It’s mine—the one he took when we went shopping.
“I usually sleep in this,” he admits.
“You sleep in my hoodie? Since when?” I ask incredulously.
“Since that day. It smells like you.” With an elegant shrug of his shoulders, he smiles at me. “I couldn’t even bring myself to wash it.”
My eyes narrow as I stare at the tattered fabric, and something akin to jealousy fills me, which is strange since it’s my hoodie. Knowing it spent nights wrapped around him when I couldn’t? Yeah, I hate a piece of fabric with a deep, burning passion. All those nights when I wished I were with him, this was keeping him company instead,
I snatch it from his hands and throw it behind me before I even know what I’m doing.
He almost appears panicked as he scrambles across the bed to retrieve the discarded hoodie. I wrap my good arm around him and haul him back until he presses against my chest. “You don’t need it anymore, baby. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Are you jealous of a hoodie?” he scoffs.
“Very,” I admit. “I want you wrapped in my arms, nothing else.”
Huffing, he leans back into me. “It’s my favorite.”
“Make me your favorite. I can keep you just as warm, and that smell you like? It’s all me.” Gripping his shirt, I carefully undo it and drape it on the bed next to us before dragging his pants off and guiding him under the covers. Shaking out his clothes, I head to his walk-in closet and hang them before leaving my jeans and shirt on the floor. Climbing into bed next to him, I wrap my arms around him. He strugglesagainst my hold, so I drape my leg across him, pinning him until he sighs.
“Nikko . . .”
“Shh, I’m sleeping.” I bury my face in his neck, gently kissing his soft skin with a happy sigh.
“Nikko.” He taps my shoulder, and I groan, dragging him closer. “Nikko.” He laughs. “My phone is ringing.”
