Chapter Twenty-One #3
But when she looks at me I panic. “I messed everything up. The caterers bailed, the decor people said our tables are halfway to Texas, our balloons deflated, and our DJ dropped out.”
I breathe hard. Summer’s quiet for so long, I’m about to have another bout of word vomit.
“Okay,” she finally says.
My head snaps to her. “Okay? Is that code for you’re going to hurt me in my sleep?”
She laughs—she actually laughs. “Why would I do that? Did you cause any of that?”
I shake my head.
“Besides, I got emails from the caterer and a decorator a few hours ago. I hoped they were errors, and I tried calling you.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No, I’m not. It’s okay, Kian. It’s not your fault.”
“But I can fix it. I’ll—”
She shakes her head. “It’s my fault for trying to plan it when everyone just wants booze and wings. No one even cares about quiche or pastries.”
“But it’s the only thing you wanted.”
“No. The only thing I wanted was my boyfriend, and he’ll be there. Dylan is going to love that everyone is together again, just like old times.”
“You’re sure you’re not mad?” I ask again.
She punches my arm before pulling me in for a hug. “Super sure. Now, stop sulking and go tell Uncle Frank’s that we’re going to need a whole lot of pizzas and wings.”
···
I’m in bed, chasing sleep that won’t come. Only a few more days, and my insomnia will disappear like clockwork. Or rather, I’m tricking myself into thinking it will. Placebo or whatever.
But even better than placebo is Scarlett’s name popping up on my screen. It’s a picture of her in a baggy shirt—mine—with her glasses on and papers spread around her on her dorm room floor. Textbook, laptop, highlighters. It’s pure chaos.
Kian: You look just like the nerd that tutors me.
Scarlett: She must be hot.
Kian: You have no idea.
I cringe the moment I send it, quickly typing out another text. Something that hopefully works as a distraction for my stupidity.
Kian: Does the floor help? I need to start doing that when I study.
Scarlett: The floor makes things fun! But you’re probably too massive to sit cross-legged for four hours.
Kian: Four? You can’t study all night, Scar. You have to sleep.
Scarlett: So do you.
Scarlett: If you must know, I’m waiting for the shower rooms to clear so I can unwind in peace.
Kian: Please don’t study all night. Go shower.
Scarlett: Keep telling me what to do. I might need a cold shower.
Kian: Go. Shower.
Scarlett: Why? Do you want a picture?
Heat creeps up my neck, and I hold my breath when I read her texts again.
I don’t need another picture; it’s the one in my baggy shirt and her glasses perched on her nose that does me in.
My gaze catches her eyes so quickly, they’re all I see.
Sometimes I wonder if she notices that my eyes barely move away from her face, that they’ve created a home there.
I like her like this, open. Like she doesn’t feel the need to correct the innuendos or make every joke run through a checklist of what she’s allowed to say in accordance with the new reputation she’s been chasing.
Kian: I want you to sleep.
When she doesn’t text me again, I put my phone on the dresser. There’s still a lazy smile on my face as I drift off.
Suddenly it’s light in the room, as the moon illuminates a familiar figure. The white of the moonlight bathes her in a soft glow, making the art on her skin come alive. It’s an angel, I think. I’m dreaming of an angel.
She guides her hand over my face, pressing her thumb over my ears. Her fingers comb through my hair, coaxing a moan from me.
Her soft hands trail down to my neck, over my throat, then lower to my pecs. Each slide makes me release a shallow breath, my abs tightening, my body contracting in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
“Kian,” she whispers. The voice disarms me completely, and I’m floating.
“Hmm?”
“Do you like it when I touch you?”
A pathetic “Yes” makes its way past my lips. Her fingers run over my tattoos, outlining a few.
“What about like this?” Then her small hand runs down my abs, lower until they slide below my boxers, holding me in her soft palm before she strokes my cock. Once, twice, then a third time. I’m done for.
“Fuck,” I grind out, pressing a hand over hers as my eyes roll back.
“I like it when you let go,” she purrs. “Let go with me, Kian.”
I can’t speak. I can’t move. All I know is that I’m living my last moments, and I’m okay with that.
A name floats somewhere, waiting for me to catch it. To place it on the softness pressed up against me, to use it to take me where I need to go.
“Let go?”
“Mm-hmm. Can you do that for me?”
“Anything,” I whimper. “I can do anything for you.”
“Then open your eyes,” she whispers, soft as honey. “And look at me.”
My eyes wrench open to glimmering brown eyes, shiny red hair, and a smile as soft as ever.
“Scarlett.”
I jolt right out of the dream, breathing hard and disoriented as the name I moaned practically writes itself on my walls in glowing red. The sheets pool at my waist, slipping past my abdomen, leaving a sparking sensation in their wake. I look down to see the erection tenting my boxers.
Uh-oh.