eighteen
The first thing I noticed was how normal it felt.
I was sprawled across the middle of his bed, one leg kicked over the expensive gray duvet, my phone propped between my cheek and shoulder. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains in soft stripes, warming the sheets under my bare skin.
Two months ago, I wouldn't have believed I could be here—wearing his T-shirt, feeling like I wasn't just waiting to be told to leave.
Now, it felt...comfortable.
I propped my phone against the pillow, the screen split into two boxes—Tati on her couch in a satin robe, and Sam sitting cross-legged on her bed.
I knew how easy it would be to start believing this was normal. That it wouldn't all fall apart when the lights came back on.
Tati didn't waste any time. "So you've been hiding out in that man's penthouse this entire time?"
"I leave sometimes," I said, even though it sounded unbelievable.
Sam raised her brows. "Oh I bet you do."
I tried not to smile. "I go to the club."
Tati tilted her head, unimpressed. "Three times. I've seen you three times in the last two weeks."
"I am not living here," I insisted.
Sam shook her head slowly. "You look pretty comfortable like you're at home to me".
I groaned, pressing my palm to my face. "I hate you both."
"No you don't," Tati said, her mouth curving. "We just haven't seen you that much and we miss you, so we're being haters."
I hesitated, feeling a little warmth press behind my ribs. "I miss you guys too."
Sam softened. "So...how are things?
I didn't have to ask what she meant.
"It's...going good," I admitted.
"You sound happy," Tati said, watching me closely.
I picked at the hem of Brooks's T-shirt. "I don't know if I'd call it that."
I'd definitely say I've been happy. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this happy. I don't want to say it out loud though because it seemed like every time I put a positive name to a feeling I lose it.
"Then what would you call it?" Sam asked.
"I don't know." My voice was quiet. "But I don't hate it."
Before either of them could answer, I heard a soft creak behind me.
Brooks stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulder, his hair still damp. He looked...calm in a way that made something tighten in my chest.
Sam's eyes went wide. "Oh."
Tati grinned. "Well, yes."
I tried to look like I wasn't blushing. "Stop."
Brooks glanced at the phone, then at me. "Hey." His voice was warm, a little amused.
Sam smiled carefully. "Hi."
Tati lifted a hand in a small wave. "Hi...we're just...checking in."
He inclined his head, polite in that way he always was. "Nice to see you both again."
Sam glanced at me and mouthed, He's polite.
I swallowed, feeling ridiculous. "They were just saying bye."
Brooks' mouth curved in a small smile. "No rush. I'll be in the closet."
"Thanks," I said, a little too quickly.
He nodded once, then disappeared into the closet without further comment.
Tati waited until he was out of earshot, then looked back at me. "Okay, I get it."
Sam pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. "Yeah. I...definitely get it."
I rolled my eyes. "Guys."
Tati grinned. "We'll see you tonight?"
"Yes."
"Promise you won't vanish for another two weeks?"
"I promise."
Sam leaned in closer to the camera. "Bye, Mr. Senator," she called sweetly, even though he was gone.
I hung up before they could say anything else, my face warm.
I set the phone aside, heart tripping over itself as I sat up. The hem of his shirt slid low over my thighs.
I followed Brooks into the closet seeing him pick out a pair of loafers. He looked so unbearably good—shirt open at the throat, tie draped careless around his neck, that steady look on his face.
He crossed the room in a few unhurried steps. Close enough that the air changed, close enough I could smell the faint clean scent of his soap. His hand came up, fingers brushing lightly over my jaw.
"Their names are Tati and Samantha right?"
"Yeah."
"What were they saying about me this time?"
I tried to look stern. "They think you kidnapped me."
He huffed out a soft laugh. "Did I?"
"Maybe." My throat felt tight. "If you did...I'm not sure I want to be rescued."
Something flickered across his face—heat, tenderness, something I couldn't name. He leaned down, pressed his mouth to mine in a slow kiss that tasted like mint and warmth and something dangerously close to relief.
He didn't say anything for a moment. Just watched me like he was memorizing the way I looked in his clothes, in his bed, in this life that wasn't supposed to fit me.
"Help me?" he asked, lifting the ends of his tie.
"Turn around," I murmured.
He obeyed, and my hands brushed the warm line of his spine as I looped the tie around his collar. The cotton of his shirt was still faintly damp from the shower, heat radiating through it.
"You smell nice," I blurted, before I could think better of it.
He let out a low, surprised laugh. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I focused on the tie, folding the fabric carefully. Every time my knuckles grazed the back of his neck, my pulse jumped.
"You know," he said, voice lower now, "I could get used to this."
"To what?"
"You. Here. In my space."
I tied the last knot and let my hands fall to my sides. "You sound sure."
He turned to face me, so close I had to tilt my chin up. "I am."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he kissed me again, deeper this time. My hands came up to brace against his chest. The heat of him sank through the thin cotton, warming me from the inside out.
He broke away first, though he didn't go far. His forehead rested lightly against mine. "I have to go."
"I know."
"I'll have Monte take you to the club tonight."
"Okay."
His hand skimmed my jaw, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "I want you here when I get back."
Something in my chest pulled tight. "Alright."
"Good." His voice was almost a whisper.
He stepped back to grab his jacket off the chair. For a second, he stood there, watching me in the soft morning light. Like he wanted to say something else but wasn't sure how.
Instead, he lifted one hand and brushed his knuckles over my mouth. "Be safe."
"I will."
The door clicked softly behind him.
For a long moment, I just stood there in the hush he left behind.
I didn't know what we were. I didn't know where any of this was going, but for now, there was no title, no promise, no expectations.
Just the quiet fact that he wanted me here.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
The rest of the afternoon slipped by in that quiet, suspended way I was starting to associate with being here.
A little after seven, my phone buzzed with a message from Monte.
I padded barefoot to the window, watching his sleek black SUV idle by the curb. For a second, I hesitated.
It would have been so easy to stay. To pretend the club, the girls, the version of me I wish I could erase didn't exist anymore.
But I couldn't. Not yet.
I slipped back into my dress and heels, combed my hair, and let myself out.
Monte rolled the window down as I approached. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a way that almost felt fatherly.
"Evening, Miss Amira."
"Hey." I tugged the door shut behind me. "You didn't have to wait out front."
He pulled smoothly away from the curb. "Boss's orders."
I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "Of course."
"Long day?" he asked after a beat.
"Not really." My gaze drifted to the blur of lights outside the window. "Just...different."
When he pulled up behind the club, I thanked him and climbed out.
"Be safe," he called as I shut the door.
I slipped inside through the back entrance. The moment the neon glow and bass thump swallowed me up, it felt almost like stepping into another life.
Tati was the first to spot me in the dressing room.
"Well, well, well," she crowed, grinning wide. "Look who finally remembered this old place."
"I'm fine," I muttered, but my face felt too warm.
"Yeah," Tati drawled. "Fine and thoroughly laid."
"Tati" I laughed, ducking my head to hide my grin.
"Sure you do," Sam said. "Just don't forget us when you're Mrs. Brooks Whitmore."
"The fourth," Tati cut in. "Don't forget that part."
The night passed in a blur of familiar motions—music, laughter, the ache in my feet that was almost comforting.
But when I counted my tips at the end of my shift, I didn't feel the usual jolt of relief. Just a quiet sort of inevitability.
I slipped out the back door a little before two. Monte was waiting in the same spot, engine idling, as though no time had passed at all.
Neither of us spoke on the drive. The city lights blurred past, soft and unreal.
When we pulled up to Brooks's building, he glanced back. "Everything's okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Have a good night," he said simply.
I let myself into the penthouse on silent feet. The lights were low, casting the sleek lines of the living room in gentle shadow.
I set my bag on the console table and slipped off my heels. My body was tired in the best way—a little sore, a little loose.
Down the hall, the bedroom door was ajar.
I pushed it open, breath catching when I saw him.
Brooks was sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, still fully dressed except for his tie and jacket. His hair was mussed, his shirt half-untucked, like he'd sat down and never made it back up again.
Something in my chest went warm and unsteady.
I moved quietly to the en suite, shedding my clothes and stepping under the hot spray of the shower.
When I emerged fifteen minutes later, steam curling around my shoulders, he hadn't moved.
I crossed to the bed, hesitating at the edge.
His arm slid back just enough that I could see his eyes—heavy-lidded, watching me in that quiet, steady way that always made me feel too exposed.
"Hey," he rasped. His voice was rough, lower than usual.
"Hi."
He reached for me without hesitating.