Chapter 12 Max
TWELVE
MAX
The room is quiet except for Eli’s breathing, the faint creak of the building settling in the cold. The storm must still be going strong outside; the window rattles when the wind hits just right. But in here, with him curled against me, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
I shouldn’t feel this good. Not after what we just did, which was irresponsible, fast, too much too soon.
But I can’t stop my arm from sliding around him, pulling him closer until his head fits just under my chin.
His hair tickles my jaw, the faint scent of his shampoo—something clean and citrusy—mixing with the last traces of my cologne.
It’s warm and cozy, and it makes my body feel heavy and relaxed.
He murmurs something half-asleep, shifting closer, and instinctively, I tuck the blanket tighter around us. ‘To keep warm,’ I tell myself, even though the heat radiating off him is already enough to make me sweat. The truth is, I just want him closer.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to convince myself this was a mistake, that I can pull back tomorrow and everything will settle into neat lines again. But with Eli’s breath ghosting over my chest, the weight of him heavy and solid against me, it’s hard to believe a word of it.
I brush my thumb along his shoulder, gentle, the kind of touch I don’t let myself give anyone. He makes a soft sound—content and trusting—and it goes straight through me. God. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him.
But I do. I want every bit of sunshine he’ll give me.
The laptop is still open at the end of the bed, screen gone black, movie forgotten. Christmas lights glow dimly with their battery power, little bursts of color against the dark. The whole room feels magical and surreal, as though we aren’t part of reality.
My eyes start to close before I can stop them. His warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it’s too much, too easy. I press my nose into his hair, inhaling slowly like it might keep me awake, it might keep me from giving in completely.
It doesn’t.
Sleep takes me anyway, Eli’s weight in my arms, his body fitting into mine as if it’s always belonged there.
I wake to weight and warmth.
For a second, I don’t remember where I am, the chill of the room pulling me half out of sleep. Then Eli shifts against me, his nose nudging my chest, his hair brushing my jaw. His whole body is sprawled on top of mine, a blanket tangled around us like we tried to wrestle it in our sleep.
The power’s still out. I can tell by the way the silence presses, the lack of the low hum from the heater. The air is colder now, my breath almost visible, but Eli—he’s a furnace. His cheek is warm against my shirt, his legs tangle with mine.
And yeah, I’ve got morning wood. Of course I do. I’m a guy with a gorgeous boy sprawled across me, and last night was…Christ. Reckless. Intense. Better than it had any right to be.
I’m not about to act on it, though. Not like this, not when morning light brings clarity I didn’t have in the dark.
Because the truth is, we jumped in fast. Too fast. And if I’m not careful, I’ll ruin whatever this is before it even has a chance.
Not that it actually has a chance. What we did is against all of the rules.
It could get me tossed out of school, kicked out of my program, fuck it could ruin my whole life.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache low in my body and focus instead on the rise and fall of his breathing.
I peek back down at him. He’s adorable like this, mouth parted slightly, lashes resting against his cheek.
His hair’s a mess, his cheek flushed from sleep, and the way he’s clinging to me—like I’m the only solid thing he’s got—it twists something in my chest I don’t want to look too closely at.
My hand’s still on his back, holding him without realizing it. I should move. Wake him up, untangle us, put distance between us before he opens those eyes and makes me forget every good reason I’ve got to slow down.
But I don’t.
I tighten my arm around him instead, just a little, as if I can steal a few more minutes of this before reality sets in.
I’m just starting to convince myself to move when Eli stirs. His nose scrunches against my chest, he makes this tiny humming noise like a cat stretching in a patch of sunlight, and then his eyes blink open.
And just like that, he’s smiling.
Like it’s his default setting. Sleep-mussed hair sticking up in three directions, no heat in the room—but he looks at me as though the morning itself is a gift.
“Morning,” he says, voice still scratchy from sleep but bright as hell.
“Mm,” I grunt, because words feel dangerous right now.
He props his chin on my chest, blinking up at me. “That’s all I get? Just ‘mm’? I wake up in your arms, Calder. You could at least pretend you’re happy about it.”
“I’m freezing my ass off,” I mutter, though my arm tightens around him without my permission. “That’s what I’m thinking about.”
He grins wider, undeterred. “Oh, sure. Not the guy keeping you warm. Just the lack of heat.”
“Exactly,” I say, trying to keep my face straight.
“Liar.”
The word comes with a smug little smirk, as if he’s already won some unspoken game. He props his chin higher, blue eyes practically glowing.
I glare down at him. Or try to. Hard to glare when his hair is a mess, his cheeks are pink from the cold, and he looks like this. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”
“I know I do,” he says easily. “You’re grumpy in the morning, secretly like being cuddled, and you only pretend to hate sugar because you’re jealous of how good I look licking whipped cream off my lip.”
I choke on a laugh, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he drawls, tapping his finger against my chest, “here you are. Still holding me. Almost like you don’t actually want to let go.”
I should shove him off, roll out of this bed, get my head back on straight. Should. Instead, I tighten my arm around him, my hand spreading against his back, pulling him closer, as if I really can’t let go.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say, but my voice comes out softer than I meant it.
His grin says he knows it.
God, this is dangerous. I like him. More than I should.
More than makes sense for one night and one kiss in the snow.
He’s supposed to be an athlete I’m helping keep in shape, someone I should keep a line with.
And instead, he’s pressed against me, warm and smiling, as if I’m not already thinking about kissing him again.
Like I’m not already halfway gone for him.
Eli shifts against me, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at me. His hair sticks out in every direction, and his grin is pure trouble.
“Speaking of whipped cream,” he says, like we were actually talking about it a second ago, “do you think the coffee shop off campus lost power?”
I blink at him. “You wake up and that’s your first thought?”
He nods solemnly. “Absolutely. Priorities, Calder. Peppermint latte with whipped cream, that’s survival.”
I huff out a laugh before I can stop it, dragging a hand over my face. “Unbelievable.”
“You love it.”
“No,” I mutter, but the corner of my mouth twitches, giving me away.
And maybe it’s a good thing he’s already shifting to grab his phone, chattering about caffeine and sugar like he didn’t just spend the night wrapped around me.
Because if I keep looking at him like this—soft and warm and so damn him—I might forget every reason why I should be adding distance between us instead of craving more.
Eli’s still scrolling his phone as if he’s mapping a battle plan for his latte when I finally sigh. “Fine. We’ll check. But we’re stopping by my room first. I need a clean hoodie and my jacket.”
His grin is instant, smug. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”
I roll my eyes, tugging the blanket higher around him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. I’m not freezing my ass off because you’ve got a sugar craving.”
“Princess?” His laugh is bright, incredulous, and it shoots straight through me. “That’s a new one.”
“Fits,” I say, deadpan. “You’re high maintenance, demanding, and apparently believe the world revolves around whipped cream.”
He gasps as if I’ve just wounded him. “Excuse you, Calder, I am low maintenance. I only require minimal adoration, a steady supply of caffeine, and seasonal baked goods. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” I stand, stretching, trying to ignore how damn good it felt to wake up with him still plastered against me. “C’mon. Before you start composing an ode to French silk pie next.”
Eli slides off the bed, still grinning, and bumps my shoulder as we head for the door. “Don’t knock it. I could probably write killer poetry.”
And just like that, I know I’m screwed. Completely, absolutely screwed.