“Thanks, Zander.” I cover my mouth with my hand as I yawn. “I think our schedule is clear until next week.”
He nods and I smile, thinking of all the time I can spend holed up in my apartment, makeup-free and far from camera-ready.
Zander walks me to the front of the building, nodding at Donald as I step inside. I can feel the tension leaving my body as I step into the elevator, the stress of the day being replaced with thoughts of snugglingand possibly kissingRoyce as I subject him to a couple of my favorite chick flicks.
My phone buzzes in rapid succession as the doors open to my floor. I unlock the screen on autopilot, my stomach dropping as I take in one picture after the other.
UNKNOWN: (screenshot of news article from library event)
UNKNOWN: (screenshot of Kinsley speaking at library event)
UNKNOWN: (screenshot of Kinsley speaking with the word FAKE drawn over her face)
I don’t even realizeI’m running, the hallway blurring as tears fill my eyes as I bypass my own apartment. My fist pounds on Royce’s door, the sob I’m holding back threatening to break free.
“Jesus, what are you—oof.”
Royce stumbles back as I launch myself at him, his door slamming behind me as I hold on to him with everything I have.
“Kins, hey, it’s all right. Are you hurt?” he asks and I shake my head, his shirt now damp from the tears falling silently down my face. “I need you to say something.” His words are soft. Gentle.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” I whisper, and he nods against the top of my head, pressing a kiss to my hair as he walks us back toward the couch.
“Okay,” he murmurs, lowering us down before he slides off to kneel in front of me. With painstaking care, he removes one boot and then the other. There’s nothing sexy about the way he lowers the zipper or guides it off my foot, but I can’t help the wave of affection that hits me.
He owes me nothing.
But right now he’s looking at me like he’d move mountains to make this better.
To makemebetter.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” he says using the same soothing voice, and I nod as he hustles down the hall to an open door, emerging a minute later with a comforter and clothes.
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” I manage because this isnothow I want him to see me.
“Yeah, well, we didn’t get to this lesson, Coach,”—I chuff out a laugh and he smirks—“but Ithinkthis is like when you’re sick and you just want to relax on the couch.”
“And a movie?”
“Anything you want.”
I eye the clothes, unzipping my jacket then meeting his gaze. His Adam’s apple bobs as he kneels between my legs and pushes the jacket off my shoulders before pulling it off each wrist and tossing it onto the chair beside him. I lift my arms, and with shaking hands, he fingers the hem of my sweater, pulling it up and over my head. Royce blushes, tossing my sweater and reaching frantically for the shirt he brought me without letting his eyes drop to my boobs.
It’s sweet.
And he lets out a heavy exhale when he finds it, helping me into the soft fabric I absolutely won’t be returning. His gazedrops to my jeans and I lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
“Pick a movie.”
“Movie, got it.”
He whirls around, knocking a couple of magazines off the coffee table as he tries to locate the remote. I snort, shimmying out of my jeans and then laughing when I toss them with my other clothes, the movement making Royce slam his knee into the underside of the table as he stands.
“Nervous, Roy?” I tease when I’m snuggled under the blanket in his clothes.
“Listen,” he says, turning and pushing his glasses up, “you don’t get to make fun of me for this one. I was flying by the seat of my pants.”
“And now I’m in your pants.”
