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 stomach flutters 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.
He made me promise that things wouldn’t become awkward between us after last night, but everything seems different now.
There’s a strange tension hanging between us, a reminder of the uncharted territory we crossed.
I can’t tell if it’s the weight of what we did or just the gravitational pull of Jace himself, but this suddenly feels more tangled than a conspiracy theory board.
I want to bridge the gap and break the awkwardness with a joke or a sharp remark, but the words are stuck in my throat.
He shifts, creating a careful inch of space between us, but it seems louder than it should, leaving an echo that reverberates through the silence. I pull the blanket up a little higher around my chest—a flimsy barrier against the cold reality seeping in.
The trailer appears different in daylight, with every corner now sharp and unforgiving.
He rubs a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away whatever is going on in that head of his. He clears his throat, the sound awkwardly loud in the stillness.
“We should probably…” he trails off, the unfinished sentence heavy with implications.
Probably what?
Get dressed.
Pretend.
Reset.
I push myself up onto one elbow, clutching the blankets tightly around me like armor. His eyes purposefully avoid mine, fixed on some distant point, as if lost in thoughts he won’t share. Without looking, he reaches for his jeans on the floor, a lifeline to the normalcy he’s searching for.
The distance between us isn’t just physical anymore. It’s an invisible chasm, widening with each second, filled with unspoken words and unvoiced truths. It forms like a storm on the horizon, threatening to break and wash everything away.
Last night, he made me promise it wouldn’t become awkward, his words smooth and convincing. But now, the morning light reveals the truth. He’s distant, avoiding my eyes, and the silence only grows heavier. It’s as if he’s already packed up and left, leaving only the weight of what’s unsaid.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask, because I can’t stand the silence any longer, pulling tighter with every passing second.
He doesn’t look at me.
“Nothing.”
It’s flat. Automatic. The same dead tone he uses when someone pisses him off and he acts like they don’t fucking exist.
“Don’t do that,” I say softly, my voice barely staying steady.
“Do what?”
“That.” I gesture at the way he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his back half turned to me, jeans clutched in his hand like they’re some kind of shield. “Whatever the fuck this is.”
The air is thick and suffocating. Last night still clings to my skin—the heat, the way he’d pulled me close, whispered shit that made me believe him.
And now he won’t even meet my eyes. Like I’m something he needs to shake off.
Some mistake he’s already regretting. The silence screams louder than anything he could say, and I hate that I can feel him slipping away, already halfway out the door before he’s even put his pants on.
He lets out a slow breath through his nose, as if I’m testing his patience.
“It’s morning, Bells. That’s all.”
“Yeah... That’s all?” I repeat, my voice sharper than I intended.
He shrugs, finally pulling on his jeans and standing to slide them over his hips. He doesn’t rush, but he avoids eye contact. Every move is deliberate, as if he’s already practiced this exit a hundred times.
“Last night was...” He runs a hand through his hair, and I watch the muscles in his back shift under his skin. “It was what it was.”
Something sharp lodges in my chest, twisting deeper with each word.
He glances at me then, and there’s something flickering behind his eyes. Not indifference. Not exactly. Something tighter. Controlled. He’s holding back whatever the fuck he’s actually feeling and serving me this watered-down bullshit instead.
“I just don’t want you to think this means something when it clearly doesn’t.”
There it is. The familiar script, delivered with that practiced ease.
The resident fuckboy reclaiming his territory, drawing lines in the sand.
And now here we are—him buttoning up his armor while I’m left sitting here, blankets tangled around me, feeling like I’m the punchline to a joke I should’ve seen coming.
I sit up in the bed, clutching the blankets to my chest before anger sears through the embarrassment, hot and fast.
“What does that even mean, Jace?” I demand, my voice cutting through the tension. “You think I woke up planning our wedding?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It sounds exactly like what you’re saying.”
He drags his hoodie off the floor and pulls it over his head, still avoiding my eyes like a coward. The fabric covers him completely.
“I don’t do...” He gestures vaguely between us, his hand waving as if he can erase what happened with a single motion. “This.”
“This?” I snap, the word sharp as a blade. “Or me?”
His silence speaks louder than words ever could. It fills every corner of the trailer, confirming every shitty thought swirling through my mind.
Heat rushes to my face. Not from shame but from fury, white-hot and blazing.
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” I spit out, each word filled with venom. “You made me promise last night. You looked me in the eye and made me swear it wouldn’t get weird, that nothing would change.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. The cold hits immediately, but I ignore it, too pissed off to care. I scan the floor until I find my jeans tangled near the foot of the mattress, half-buried under his discarded shirt.
“You’re the one who kissed me,” I say, yanking the denim up my legs, the fabric rough against my skin. “And now you’re standing there acting like I’m some clingy mess when you’re the one making this awkward as shit.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he shoots back, his jaw tight.
“Then stop making it weird.”
He chuckles softly, but there’s no amusement in it. “I’m not making anything weird.”
“You rolled away from me like I was on fire,” I throw back at him, my voice rising. “The second you woke up, you couldn’t get far enough away. So yeah, you’re making it weird.”
He finally looks at me, and there’s a raw flicker of vulnerability beneath the irritation—something almost exposed before he buries it again.
“I’m trying not to screw this up,” he says, his voice lower now, strained.
“Well you’re doing a fantastic fucking job,” I snap, reaching for my shirt and yanking it over my head with more force than needed. “Really stellar work.”
I slide my feet into my boots without untying them properly, the laces catching awkwardly as I force them on.
“You treat every girl like they’re disposable,” I say, turning back to him, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Fine. That’s your thing. But don’t act like I’m just another name on your fucking list.”
His expression hardens, and that mask slips back into place.
“You’re more than just a name, Bells.”
“Then stop treating me like that.”
For a moment, I see it. A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face. Something he doesn’t know how to handle. Then it’s gone, hidden behind that carefully constructed wall.
“I don’t want you expecting more,” he says, quieter now, as if that makes it better.
I laugh once, the sound bitter in my throat.
“Expecting more? Jace, I came here because my dad is in a coma and I couldn’t stay alone in that house for another second. I didn’t show up with a five-year plan. You don’t get to push me away just to make yourself comfortable.”
He swallows hard, his muscles working beneath the skin.
“Bells—”