“You should take a break.” I clear my throat, letting my hands fall from her shoulders. “We should go for a walk or something."
Her eyes dip down to my mouth, watching—waiting.
The suggestion was meant to be casual, but the way she’s looking at me now, all I can think about is her, and how impossible it feels to just sit still beside her.
She blinks once, followed by a quiet single nod.
I stand from the chair, and my instincts are begging me to take her hand, but I don’t want to freak her out. It doesn’t stop me from resting my hand on her lower back, though.
The Emillian Library is known for its combined total of thirty-two miles of bookshelves, and it would be my luck that the floor we’re on now is practically a corn maze of shelves. Perfect for taking a little stroll. It’s not often that I’m in here, but I’m still surprised by how empty the place is.
Chloe walks beside me, never pulling away or second guessing the space between us. She’s so soft and pure—the complete opposite of me. There’s no one around to question what the hell she’s thinking by being with a guy like me, but there’s also no one around to make her feel like she needs to be doing this for show.
“It’s so loud for being completely silent in here.”
Chloe stops walking beside me and I turn to face her. “What?”
“Nothing, that was just so…I don’t know. Poetic?”
“Nah.” I smile leaning against the next shelf. “It’s probably just not expected from someone like me.”
I know what my reputation is in every aspect of my life. I know people think I’m just a hothead on the ice, or that I run through women. I knowvastly intellectualisn’t the first term to come to people's minds when—if—they bother to think of my academics.
Chloe leans on the shelf opposite me as her exhaustion sets in. She closes her eyes, drops her head to the side, pulls the thick blue scrunchie from her hair, and sends her tousled waves around her shoulders.
I step forward on instinct. My fingers close gently around her wrist, stopping her hand midair. She stills, eyes flicking up to mine, and there's a soft hitch in her breath like she's trying to decide whether to pull away or let me keep her here.
When she doesn’t say anything, I slide the scrunchie from her grip, stretching it once, before looping it around my own wrist and letting it snap softly into place.
I don’t pull away. I slide my fingers through her hair, slow and deliberate, working along her scalp until her breath catches.
Even if the room weren’t silent, I’d still notice the way her breathing shifts. My gaze drifts to her throat, to the small swallow she doesn’t hide. She’s wearing her usual chain of necklaces: a gold one with her name written in script, another gold one with some kind of deep red stone—if I had to guess, I would put money on it being her birthstone—and then there's the black one. The thin black band hugs her neck so tight that it lifts a little when her throat bobs. Without thought, I reach for her neck, my fingers splay all the way around to the back of her head, while my thumb runs along the velvet material of the necklace that’s choking her.
Her gaze moves from my left eye, to the right, then down to my mouth, and I follow it without thinking. Her lips parton an inhale, but she quickly covers it by pulling her bottom lip between her row of perfect white teeth. All I can think about is the way those lips felt on mine. The last time I kissed her might have been because Nathan was watching. But the second my mouth met hers, everything disappeared, and all I could think about was when I’d get to do it again.
There’s a pull between us, and even with my arm braced above her head, I feel myself leaning in anyway.
We’re close enough that every breath feels heavy, close enough that all I can focus on is her mouth. My eyes fall shut, muscle memory taking over, ready to close the last inch of space between us.
“It’s late,” she breathes.
The words land like a hand to my chest. Not pushing me, away but just reminding me of who we are—or rather what we’re not. “Yeah.” I pull back, dropping my arm, pasting on a smile I don’t feel. “And we’re leaving early tomorrow.”
She nods her head a few too many times, like she’s trying to settle herself back into place.
Chloe’s made herself very clear since day one. This was never going to be anything. The only reason we’re standing here at all is because of a situation I dragged us into.
And I would be better off remembering that.
21
chloe
The sweatshirt Maverickhas given me twice now still smells like him. Faint but unmistakable. I fold it carefully and set it on top of the clothes in my duffle bag, then reach for a pair of socks, forcing myself to stay focused.
I wish I could blame the sweatshirt for the way he’s occupying my mind, but the reality is, he’s been consuming my thoughts well before last night. The line has been blurry since day one, but I chalked it up to my body not knowing the rules. Adamant that this was normal and confusion was bound to happen when we’re pretending to date. Especially when you're dating someone has hot as Maverick Hall. Between his glacier blue eyes, that cocky grin, and his body built for sinning, it’s no wonder he’s had me sexually charged. The problem is, I’ve been thinking about him beyond his looks lately, and that’s the part I don’t quite know what to do with yet.
“Chlo! Your boyfriend’s here!” Savannah’s singsong voice calls from the living room.
