Chapter 26 #2
I stare at him.
He stares back.
I hate that I almost laugh.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“No, you don’t.” His mouth brushes mine before I can decide if I want to argue or bite him. “Speaking your language, Pip? You’re the only friend I’m getting benefits from.”
My pulse trips over itself so violently it should file a workplace injury claim.
He doesn’t smile when he says it.
That is the worst part.
He just looks at me like the statement is obvious. Like it has already been true for a while and he is only now informing me because I have been emotionally unavailable to the facts.
“And I’m off the market,” he says, voice dropping. “Whether you’re ready to call me yours or not.”
Oh.
Holy shit.
My chest goes hot and tight and weirdly breakable all at once.
I stare up at him, too awake now, too aware of his hand at my waist and his knee pressing into the mattress beside my hip and the fact that he just said the most boyfriend-coded thing I have ever heard without asking me for anything in return.
He doesn’t demand a confession. Doesn’t ask what we are. Doesn’t make me promise him some shiny title I am not ready to hold without panicking. He just tells me where he stands. And apparently where he stands is directly on top of every excuse I have left.
“That was a lot for four in the morning,” I manage.
His mouth twitches. “You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
“You survived worse.”
The words are simple, but they land deep.
Not pity.
Never pity.
Just fact.
I look away before he can see too much, but his fingers find my chin and bring my face back to his.
“Hey,” he says.
I blink at him.
“I’ll talk to the guys after practice. You go to class at eleven. I’ll meet you back here after. Then we sit down with Aura and Charm and make sure everyone knows what to watch for. When you tell your family they’ll be less likely to twitch if they know you are taking safety precautions.”
“You make my emotional collapse sound like a Google Calendar invite.”
“It basically is one now.”
“Oh my gosh.” I press my lips together because laughing feels too close to crying. “That is horrifyingly efficient.”
“I’m good at planning.”
“You’re good at hockey and being bossy.”
“And planning.”
“And ruining my life with emotionally devastating statements.”
“You used emotionally correctly that time.”
I shove weakly at his chest. “Get out.”
He catches my wrist and kisses the inside of it, and the casual intimacy of it nearly takes me out at the knees, which is impressive because I am horizontal.
“I’ll be back,” he says against my skin.
I hate how much that helps.
I hate how badly I needed to hear it.
I hate that part of me had still been waiting for the morning-after version of panic, for the emotional distance, for him to decide I was too much now that he had seen the museum exhibit of my damage.
But Cade just kisses my wrist and tells me he’ll be back like leaving me has never even crossed his mind.
“Okay,” I whisper.
His eyes move over my face for one long second before he leans down and kisses me again.
This one is different.
Still slow, still quiet, but deeper than the first. More certain. His mouth moves over mine with enough control to make my toes curl beneath the blanket, and when his tongue brushes mine, my fingers tighten in the front of his hoodie like my dignity has once again left the premises.
He pulls back first, because he is evil.
“Practice,” he murmurs.
“Terrible priorities.”
“You want me sharp for opening night.”
“I want many things.”
His eyes darken.
I regret nothing.
“Careful,” he says.
“I’m literally in bed. This is the safest I’ve ever been while being threatening.”
“You’re never safe while threatening me.”
“That sounds like flirting.”
“It is.”
My stomach flips again because apparently I have learned nothing.
He kisses me one last time, quick but still possessive enough to make a mess of my pulse, then stands before I can drag him back down and ruin both our lives. He grabs his bag from the chair, checks his phone, and looks back at me from the doorway.
The room is still dark around him. His hoodie stretches across his shoulders. His hair is messy from my hands. He looks like he belongs in some tragic hockey commercial about discipline and cheekbones.
Annoying.
“Text me when you’re up,” he says again.
“Needy.”
“Obsessed.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I never denied it.”
That one lands too.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Cade notices, because of course he does, and his expression shifts into something almost smug.
“Go back to sleep, Pip.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He leaves before I can answer, the apartment door clicking softly a minute later.
For a while, I just lie there in the quiet, staring at the ceiling while the ghost of his mouth stays on mine and the weight of everything he said settles slowly inside me.
You’re the only friend I’m getting benefits from.
I’m off the market whether you’re ready to call me yours or not.
I should be terrified.
Technically, I am terrified.
But underneath it, beneath the fear and the exhaustion and the Luke-shaped shadow still waiting outside this room, something warm keeps spreading through my chest.
Cade has blown every reason I had for keeping him at a distance straight to shit.
And the worst part is, he didn’t even do it dramatically.
He did it by waking up in my bed.
By making plans.
By kissing my wrist.
By leaving for practice and making sure I knew he was coming back.
I roll onto my side and bury my face in the pillow that still smells like him.
Friends with benefits, my ass.