Page 2

Lydia stirs, dragging me from the murky depths of my mind. She mumbles something incomprehensible, turning her head like she can’t get comfortable. She flops all over the mattress while I watch from my spot on the floor. I’ve been sitting down here for two fucking hours waiting for her to wake up.

Dragging a hand over my face, I roll my stiff neck. I had to give her my bed. I might not want a relationship with her, but I’m not a complete fucking asshole. I don’t like her. It was just the decent thing to do. She lets out an exasperated sigh, shoving her dark hair from her face as her eyes squint open.

“Sloane,” she whines, “why didn’t you force me to drink water last night?” Fuck, she doesn’t remember coming back to my place. I internally face-palm, contemplating my next move carefully.

“Sloane,” she whines louder, blindly patting the empty mattress beside her.

Deciding to make my presence known, I clear my throat. She abruptly sits up, her eyes popping open and darting straight to mine. I give her a half-smile and a shrug. Her mouth pops open and then slams shut. Right as I’m about to make a joke about a fish out of water, she speaks.

“You’re not Sloane.”

Her eyes trail down my frame, taking in my bare chest and plaid pajama pants. The sound of her slightly raspy voice is like smoke curling around my spine, threading into the nerves it has no business touching. I flinch beneath her stare, suddenly feeling entirely exposed.

“Sorry to disappoint, love,” I reply, tilting my head.

I try not to notice the way she licks her lips before her eyes flick up to mine. She narrows them at me, and I pretend she wasn’t using them to eye fuck me moments before. I’m not making assumptions when I say that. Lydia has never been one to hide her feelings. That’s my thing, not hers.

“What … why?” She pauses, sighing as she throws her hands over her face.

I get the feeling Lydia Aston isn’t often speechless, and I find it intriguing that she is now. She removes her hands and tilts her head before those ocean eyes widen in disbelief.

“Oh my god! Did we—”

“Jesus … no,” I interrupt. She scoffs, clearly offended by my tone. “I don’t make a habit of fucking women who are wasted,” I elaborate. “I prefer my women to be coherent, and a little less bratty.”

That last part was a lie, something I threw in just to hurt her feelings. I realize that I’ve failed when my words have the opposite effect. Her features relax as a soft but wary smile breaks out. I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised. My eyes briefly fall to her full lips before I avert them elsewhere.

Oh, look, a ray of sunshine. I follow the warm glow down to the curve of her—

“Oh,” she mumbles, wincing and pulling me from my reckless thoughts.

“Mhm. You were pretty shit faced,” I say. “You threw up all over my car. I brought you back here to clean you up and give you a change of clothes.”

I eye the extremely oversized T-shirt that hides my boxers beneath it. It was the only thing I had to lend her.

“And then?” she asks, eyeing me with defiant suspicion.

“And then you walked right over to my bed, climbed into it, and fell asleep within seconds. I-I tried to wake you. You never budged. I figured it would be easier to let you sleep it off.”

It’s a half-lie. I leave out the part where I never tried to wake her at all. I couldn’t. She looked so peaceful sleeping in my bed. So quiet. I certainly don’t mention how I watched her for hours to make sure she kept breathing, or to ensure she didn’t throw up in her sleep and choke to death. It’s not like I care about her; that’s just basic human decency. I couldn’t let the woman die. I mean, could you imagine what Sloane would do to me?

“Oh,” she says, biting on her bottom lip and bringing my attention down to them once more. God, as far as lips go, hers are so—

“I’m so sorry.” She sighs, pulling me from my derailing thoughts yet again. “This is so embarrassing.”

She stands from the bed, swaying immediately once upright. On instinct, I jump from the floor and have her in my arms before she can hit the ground. Her face hovers inches from mine, entirely too close.

“Lydia. Jesus, are you okay?” She leans into me, and I let her, holding her body against my chest a little too firmly.

“I’m fine. I need water. Sloane always makes me drink water before bed,” she mumbles, sucking in a deep breath, and then another.

She’s so close that I can smell her scent—feel her warmth bleeding into my own. I snap back to my senses, pushing her away and standing. Her eyes catch mine, her brows furrowing in confusion. I flex my jaw and retreat a couple of steps, needing distance to fucking breathe.

“It’s okay. I’m fine, really. I just need some—”

“Water. Yes, I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

Turning on my heels, I leave the room. As soon as I cross the door frame, I exhale long and hard. The air out here feels thinner, less suffocating. I need to get her out of there and out of my goddamn house as soon as possible.