Trying to block out the night, I dry myself off and make work of getting ready. Every once in a while, Halsey’s voice passes through my thoughts and makes me pause, but I keep moving forward.
I don’t bother drying my hair. I just put it in a low, tight bun, and because I’m so sore, I opt for business-casual joggers, a simple white shirt tucked in the front, and sandals. I dress up the outfit with a necklace, earrings, and some bracelets.
Given the tornado my body went through last night, I don’t have to worry about walking in heels or feeling uncomfortable.
I spritz some perfume on my neck, and then on a deep breath—and a hope and a prayer that Halsey’s still sleeping—I open the door to my bedroom and walk out . . . only to find Halsey leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand.
Of course.
Dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and nothing else, he looks positively gorgeous with his messy hair, scratch marks across his chest—did I do that?—and a sleepy daze in his eyes.
“Morning,” he says as I steel myself and try not to be awkward.
I lift my hand in a short, concise wave and say, “Morning.”
Yup, not awkward at all.
His brow knits as he sets down his coffee. “Everything okay?” He starts to approach, but I move around the couch in the other direction so he can’t get too close.
“Oh, yup, everything is great. Just . . . have to get into work.”
“It’s six fifteen,” he says.
“Yeah, early day. Lots of emails and stuff like that. You know how those VIPs are. Oh God, did I say VIPs? I mean V-I-Ps. I don’t want to refer to them as VIPs, as that seems douchey. Anyway, early morning so I better get started.” I move toward the door, where I find my clutch from the night before. That will do. I tuck it under my arm and grab my keys from the side table.
“Blakely, wait,” he says, trying to close the gap between us.
“Those emails won’t answer themselves,” I say as I tug on the door. But it doesn’t open. He comes closer. Dear God, if I smell him, I might not leave this apartment. My legs are already trembling from the way he’s approaching me...with determination in his eyes. I tug on the door again, but it’s not budging. “What is this, some sort of trick door?” I ask with a nervous laugh. “Does it need a command?” I use my index finger as a wand and say, “Blakely says open now.”
Halsey walks up right behind me, reaches around me, and unlocks the door.
I can feel the heat of his chest at my back.
The feel of his breath on my neck.
The slide of his hand over my hip.
“There, you can escape now,” he says, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
I glance over my shoulder and say, “Not escaping, just, work, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” he says, rocking back on his heels with a hurt look in his expression.
Dammit.
I don’t want to hurt him. But I also . . . fuck, I don’t know what’s going on.
Sex isn’t supposed to be like that!
I want to scream it at him.
Pound him on the chest.
Tell him that it was the best and worst night of my life.
But instead, I slide the door open and say, “Well, have a good day. See you at the arena.”
“Yeah, see you there.”
