Chapter 19 #2
“I so don’t care,” Luc says with a shrug. “But if you do, take a shower.” He nods toward the en suite.
“I’m not showering in your room. With you in here.”
“Why?” He raises an eyebrow. “Oh… I bet you shower naked. You hoe.”
A laugh escapes me, and right now, it feels like a small miracle.
Luc abruptly stands and crosses the room in two easy steps, like he’s not making a decision so much as following gravity.
Stopping in front of me, he’s close enough that his warmth rolls off him in waves, hitting my chest first. Then it spreads, sinking into the space between my ribs before curling low in my stomach.
His hands find my waist again, fingers pressing just enough to make me shiver as he pulls me in. I know I should fight it, but I don’t. I’m too tired.
And I like him holding me too much.
As he leans in, I feel every inch of him, his thigh brushing mine, the heat of his breath skating down my throat. He lowers his face to where my collarbone dips into the slope of my shoulder, and his nose brushes the skin there, just above the hoodie’s neckline.
My knees grow weak, and I reach out, one hand curling lightly around his bicep, the dense muscle tense under my touch, the other drifting to his forearm, anchoring myself to him.
“You don’t stink,” he murmurs, lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “You smell like me.”
Goose bumps rise along my arms, spine, and the back of my neck.
Then he bites me. Not hard or painful, but a soft, sharp nip right at the edge of my jaw, just beneath my ear, where my pulse is stuttering like it skipped a beat.
I gasp, hips jerking forward a little, unbidden. His teeth drag slightly before he pulls back, and then he does it again.
Another soft nip, followed by a kiss, and this time, the gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
“Why are you biting me all the time?” The question comes out too breathy and not nearly annoyed enough.
His mouth curls into the smuggest goddamn grin I’ve ever seen. “My love language is gentle acts of violence.”
I stare at him in disbelief, arguing, “That’s not a love language.”
“It is now.” He starts walking backward toward the bed, and I have to release him as he goes. “Come on.” He pulls back the rumpled covers. “Get in. Let’s talk it out. You look damn tired, and I am too,” he adds, flopping onto the bed dramatically. “Let’s be exhausted together.”
“Luc…” I hesitate, shifting my weight awkwardly.
“I know.” He is suddenly more serious, leaning up on his elbows.
“I know you’re not as into me as I’m into you, okay?
That’s fine. That’s cool. I’m not a monster.
” He lifts a brow. “I’m a multi-purpose friend.
I’m down for partying, brunch, six a.m. practice, petty revenge, illegal road trips, deep emotional spirals, and…
” he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him and wiggles his eyebrows, “… non-horny cuddling.”
He pats the mattress again. “You get under the covers, and I stay on top. No funny business. Just two dudes, hanging out, talking feelings, and maybe taking a nap.”
He tilts his head, his grin softening just enough to make my chest ache.
“Come on, Petit. Let me be your emotional support himbo.”
Fuck.
I want that. Not just the bed or the soft promise of rest.
Him.
This unhinged, chaotic, ridiculous man who seems to genuinely care about me, despite having no reason to. Despite my giving him every excuse not to.
And the idea of curling up somewhere that isn’t the bus, a gym floor, or inside my own screaming head is too tempting to resist.
If he stays on top of the covers, he won’t accidentally grope a breast, right?
With fake nonchalance, I pull my hoodie around my head, kick off my shoes, and crawl into the bed, sinking into sheets that smell unmistakably like Luc.
He drapes the blanket over me with a weird kind of gentleness, like he thinks I might bolt, and then he scoots close behind me, the heat of his body soaking through even with the fabric between us.
One arm wraps around my waist, and the other reaches over to tug the hood off my head.
I huff, but he just smirks. Then, he does exactly as he promised, he holds me, and it doesn’t take long for the tears to start again, much quieter this time, more of a release than a lament.
But that doesn’t mean they’re harmless because each tear still carries weight, and the longer I lie there, still and trembling in the space between his arms, the more the voices in my head get loud again.
You fucked it all up.
You let him see too much.
You kissed him.
My chest aches, not from crying but from the fallout. From the crash that wasn’t on a bike but inside me. From Finn. From what it meant. What it didn’t.
The physical pain flares up again, too, letting me know that my last dose of pain meds was far too long ago, but just when I think I’m going to break apart, Luc pulls me closer.
He’s here, holding me like I’m worth the trouble, even though all I did was be mean and lie to him.
Still, I don’t pull away. Despite the chaos in my head and the bruises on my heart, it feels good to be held. Safe.
Like maybe, just for tonight, I don’t have to be the one holding myself together.