And still, Ash doesn’t speak. I can see him trying to find the words—his jaw tightening, his throat working around a swallow, a flicker behind his eyes that makes my breath catch. Something raw. Something real.
Hope flares in my chest, even now.
Maybe he needs a second to catch up, because I know what we just shared wasn’t meaningless. Ifelthim in every touch, every kiss, every slow, reverent movement like he was worshiping my body and trying to keep from falling apart at the same time.
He looked at me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted to hold onto.
So when he finally speaks, I brace myself for something tender. Maybe even hesitant. But what I don’t expect—what knocks the wind from my chest like a sucker punch—is his voice, low and flat.
“I think…” He pauses, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder. “It’s probably better if we just… stick to the deal.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
He shifts beneath me, sitting up, and I instinctively clutch the blanket to my chest. The movement is sudden, jarring—like someone slammed the emergency brakes and we’re skidding across concrete.
“The fake relationship thing,” he says, like I’m slow to catch on. “That’s what this is. That’s what itshouldbe. Let’s not… make it more complicated.”
Morecomplicated?
My spine goes stiff. “Is that what this was to you? Complicated?”
Ash exhales and finally meets my eyes. There’s a war happening on his face, emotion flashing too quickly to pin down—guilt, longing, fear—but in the end, it all hardens into something cold. Controlled.
“I think it’s better if we keep it simple,” he says.
And just like that, I feel something inside me shrink.
“What about what just happened?” I whisper. “Was that fake too?”
His jaw clenches. “You know it wasn’t.”
“Then why are you pretending it didn’t mean anything?”
“I’m not,” he snaps—too fast, too sharp. Then he scrubs a hand over his face and looks away. “I just… This was never supposed to be real. You and me. We had a plan. Something clean. Something with boundaries.”
I sit up straighter, wrapping the blanket around myself like armor. “Andyou’rethe one who kissedme. You’re the one who climbed into my bed, Ash. Don’t rewrite history now just because you’re scared.”
That lands. His mouth opens, then closes again. His eyes flash, but instead of answering, he stands—naked, beautiful, and emotionally unreachable as ever.
“I’m not scared,” he mutters, pulling on his boxers. “I’m being realistic.”
Realistic.
Right.
“Got it,” I say, voice tight. “Back to business, then. The good little fake girlfriend, keeping things uncomplicated.”
He flinches, barely, but his back is to me now. I can’t see his face, and I hate that it hurts. That even now, Iwantto see some kind of regret in his eyes. Something to tell me I’m not losing my mind.
But when he turns back around, his expression is unreadable.
And distant.
Like a wall has slammed down between us. One I wasn’t invited to climb.
“I’ll go for a run,” he says, already turning away.
I sit there, blinking at the empty space where he stood, and feel the emotional whiplash hit me full force.
