“Happy birthday,” he says softly, like he needs to say it one last time now that we’re here.
“Thankyoufor making it great.” My throat tightens. “It might just be my new favorite.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead before giving my hand a final squeeze and taking a step back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs.
My chest aches with the wordtomorrow.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He steps back, hands sliding into his pockets like he can hide how much he wants to stay. Then he turns and walks away, looking over his shoulder once like he can’t help himself.
I unlock my door and step inside, close it, then press my back against the hard wood and close my eyes.
My mouth still tastes like him. I can still feel the warmth of his body pressed into mine.
I bring my fingers to my lips, like I’m checking whether it was real. It was. Tomorrow.
I exhale a shaky breath.
Tomorrow is too far away.
I grab my phone.
Harlow: I’m inside.
He replies immediately.
Gray: good.
Gray: i’m trying so hard to be respectful right now.
Heat floods my face.
Harlow: What if I don’t want you to be?
Gray: harlow.
I stare at the screen until the letters blur.
My body is still buzzing—mouth swollen, thighs heavy, skin too aware of itself. The hallway outside my door is quiet, but myroom feels like it’s vibrating with the energy flowing through me.
I tell myselfI’mfine.
My thumb hovers.
Because this is the part where I go to bed alone and replay it until my brain turns it into a threat. And I don’t want that.
Not tonight.
Not on my birthday.
I type before I can talk myself out of it.
Harlow: Come back?
My pulse slams so hard it feels like it rattles my teeth.
