I rest my forearms on my thighs and glance at the floor a moment longer.
I wait for the numbness. The easy switch that flips me back into the guy who doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. The one that tells me to stand up, pull on my jeans, and tell her to leave so I can reclaim my space.
It never comes.
Instead, there’s a heavy, quiet pull in my chest.
I let out a slow breath.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Then I turn. I don’t make a big deal out of it. I roll back onto the mattress and lie down beside her. On my back. Staring at the ceiling as if this isn’t a big deal.
As if I do this all the time.
She rolls closer, her arm resting loosely across my stomach, and for a second I freeze.
Every instinct I have urges me to move. To peel her away and create space. To remind both of us of the promise we made.
But I don’t. I let her stay. Her hand is warm against my skin, not demanding anything from me.
I stare at the ceiling, heart pounding a bit too much for a guy who just came less than five minutes ago.
And the fact that I am not pulling away right now tells me everything I don’t want to admit.
That’s the moment I realize I am screwed
Chapter Nine
Lola
The first thing I notice is warmth. Not the kind that comes from heaters or sunlight, but from him.
Skin against skin.
I am cuddled into Jace’s side, my cheek against his bare chest, his arm heavy around my waist. Three mismatched blankets are tangled around us, one slightly slipping toward the floor, and the cold still bites at my shoulders where the sheet has slipped.
But he is warm.
For a moment, I remain still, allowing the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing to drown out the chaos in my mind.
Last night wasn’t just a dream. I let the resident fuckboy, Jace, fuck me. I swore I’d never go there; I didn’t want my name added to his ever-growing list of conquests. But damn, he made me forget about the shitstorm brewing in my life. My stomachflutters at the memory. The way he kissed me, like he had all the time in the world. The way he pulled an orgasm out of me like it was a magic trick—abracadabra, and I’m undone.
But reality hits hard like a bad hangover. I’m tangled in the sheets, and the sunlight shining through the dusty curtains appears like judgment. I can’t ignore the growing dread in my stomach. I hear the girls’ voices in my head, warning me about guys like him. Yet here I am, pressed against the very guy I know is a walking red flag.
Jace is trouble wrapped in a smile, and I’m a moth drawn to his flame, ready to get burned. But for now, I’m cocooned in this moment, savoring the warmth while I can, even though I know it’s just a temporary escape from the cold reality waiting to drag me back under.
I shift slightly, my thigh brushing against his, and his body stiffens. It’s subtle. If I weren’t pressed so close, I might have missed it.
His breathing changes first, slowing down and becoming more controlled. I lift my head just enough to steal a glance at him. His eyes are open, but he’s staring at the ceiling as if it just told him he’s a terrible person.
“Morning,” I murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep.
There’s a pause, stretching like a rubber band ready to snap, and I can sense the tension thickening the air.
“Yeah,” he finally replies, but it’s laced with something else. Like an unease that wasn’t there before.
His arm slips from around my waist. Cold rushes into the space where he was touching me, like winter crashing a summer party.
