Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
The poetry slam was something else.
Yawning, I stretch my arms and rub my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of last night’s late hours.
I check my phone for the time, and find it’s already afternoon.
Hanging out with Adam was a nice change of pace, even though he doesn’t care for poetry.
He joins me with one primary goal in mind—picking up girls.
Which I usually don’t mind because, let’s be honest, I never go home alone after one of these nights.
But not last night.
Last night was different. None of the girls at the slam caught my attention. My mind was elsewhere, which irked me.
The little cockblocking siren still lingers in my thoughts as I make my way to the kitchen. It’s like a gravitational pull. No one has had this kind of effect on me, and it’s unnerving.
Turning the corner, I catch sight of her sitting at the kitchen table, and it’s as if my heart skips a beat.
Fuck.
It’s not like me to be flustered, but there is something about her that does it every fucking time. I can’t help but wonder if she’s been thinking about me too.
She would deny it, of course.
Maybe I need to kiss it out of her again.
When I sit beside Sloan, she doesn’t even look up from her laptop. She sips her tea before she sets it back down, and without thinking, I reach out and take a sip from her mug. Her sudden glare makes me grin.
“Good morning, pretty girl. What are you doing?” I ask, trying to catch a glimpse of her screen.
“Looking for a used heater,” she mutters, her voice distant and distracted as her fingers dance across the keyboard.
“Why?” I press on, my curiosity getting the better of me. “You can stay here. Why do you want to leave so fast?” She’s avoiding something, and I can’t quite put my finger on what.
I’m used to being the one who leaves others wanting, but here, with her, the tables are turned, and I’m the one grasping.
“Why are you ignoring me?” I finally ask, unable to endure the awkward tension any longer.
I lean in, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin, close enough that if she looked up, our lips would be just inches apart.
She pauses, and I know I’ve caught her attention, even if she is pretending otherwise.
Sloan finally turns to face me, and it’s like staring into the sun.
Her glare softens just for a moment, and I see the conflict raging behind her eyes.
It’s the same storm that has been brewing inside me since I met her, a tempest of desire and defiance.
Her mouth opens, then closes, and she shakes her head, a silent admission that she has no answer for me. For a second, I think she might lean into me, close the final distance. But instead, she takes a deep breath and turns back to her laptop, the shield between us once again.
“What’s got you running so hot and cold? Friday night, you were all fire and ice, and now you’re here, acting like I’m nothing more than a ghost.”
She freezes and tenses up before finally replying tersely, “I’m not,” her attention fixed on the laptop screen. I reach out to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, but she leans away from my touch as if my presence is unwelcome.
Why is she avoiding my touch now? She was practically begging for it.
I thought we had fun.
Fun I wouldn’t mind repeating, even if it’s dangerous.
My mind races back to our night together. It was even better than the first time. Maybe that’s because I know her now, but it’s best I don’t dwell on it too much.
She fell asleep under me while I was still deep inside her, and I watched her sleep for a few moments, her long lashes resting on her cheeks.
I remember thinking how perfect she was, every detail of her face etched into my memory.
That’s when it hit me. I needed to get the hell out of there before I caught feelings.
It was a terrifying realization, one that sent panic surging through me.
Is she pissed because I left?
She must be wondering why I disappeared without a word or any explanation.
But how could I tell her the truth?
I left because I couldn’t bear the intensity of the moment. Because I was afraid of what it meant to catch feelings for you?
As I sit in tense silence, I can’t help but wish I could turn back time, go back to that night, hold her a little tighter, kiss her a little longer, and find the courage to stay. My heart rate picks up at the possibility.
But it’s too late now.
Besides, I wouldn’t do it anyway. I’m not looking for anything more.
Even if she makes me question the decision I made for myself.
Maybe she’s so distant because she thinks I pushed her to the curb, but I haven’t. I need to keep my distance where it counts. It doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company for a while longer.
Right?
I have never slept with anyone repeatedly, but there is always a first time. There just won’t be any more sleepovers.
The cuddling is the risky part. Trying to steer us back to the flirty banter we had before I messed up, I lean in and whisper, “When I think about you, I touch myself.”
She lets out a short breath in reply, but I can see the side of her mouth turn up slightly before she counters, “Yeah, me too. I rub my temples because you give me a damn headache.”
I chuckle, more than happy that she’s at least reacting in some way. She reaches out to grab her mug, but I intercept her hand and take it in mine, tangling our fingers. She looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “What do you want, Nash?” she asks, her tone turning cold again.
“Where should I start,” I reply, my gaze fixed on her lips.
Would it be too bold to drag her up to my room and eat her out until the frown on her face is replaced by that little crease she gets between her eyebrows when she comes?
She pulls her hand out of mine and states, “That won’t happen again. I’m just as done with you as you were with me.”
Ah… yes, she’s definitely pissed that I just left.
“I wasn’t done. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, no strings attached.”
Fuck, I sound like an asshole, even to my own ears.
“It does mean exactly that. The fun…” she nearly spits the word, “… is over. We can be friends if you want, but I’m not going to stay much longer anyway. I just need to fill my funds and get some damn hoses and a heater, and I’m gone.”
Why does that make my skin crawl?
Normally, I’m relieved when my hookups get rid of themselves.
“Okay, let’s be friends. Friends fuck each other all the time. You know there is even a term for that, ‘Friends with Benefits.’”
Sure, that will make her sleep with you, fucking idiot.
“I’m sure you have enough friends to get your benefits. I need to go to work,” she states in a bored tone, standing and taking her mug to the dishwasher before she grabs her laptop and leaves the kitchen.
Well, fuck.
My mind is spiraling.
I find myself wandering into the dimly lit kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water again. Even though I’m dead on my feet, I can’t seem to sleep.
I haven’t seen Saylor since he got pulled away after the talk with Hunter, and it haunts me.
Maybe something about the conversation helped him find the light, and he couldn’t say goodbye?
Maybe he’s mad, after all?
Not to mention the rest of the Joneses who take turns in my head.
Not like that.
Although when I’m honest…
I hadn’t given it much thought that the kitchen light was on when I walked over, but I should have because the man already standing there freezes me in my tracks and makes my heart race.
Satan, dressed in only sleeping pants, his chiseled chest on full display, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His presence startles me, but I can’t bring myself to turn and walk away.
I’m not backing down from him.
Instead, I continue my quiet approach, my steps nearly soundless on the tiled floor as I make my way to the sink. I grab a glass from one of the cupboards and fill it before turning to him, leaning my hip against the kitchen counter while taking a sip.
He turns and leans against the table with his hip, his gaze locking onto mine.
He’s clearly drunk.
There’s something unsettling in his eyes, not just drunkenness but desire and…
… anger.
As if he’s mad about… wanting me?
But that can’t be right.
His head tilts slightly, and he licks his lips before they turn into a cruel smile. Something about this rough, mocking smile is starting to get to me.
This isn’t good. I need to get back to bed.
I put the glass down, thinking I will put it away tomorrow, and start to walk past him.
But he grabs me by my upper arm and spins us so I’m between him and the table.
He’s leaning in so the table edge presses into my ass.
I’m trapped, pinned by his hold, and unable to tear my gaze away from his intense stare.
His hand reaches out, fingers encircling my throat. The suddenness of it takes me by surprise, and I instinctively grip his wrist with both hands, my heart pounding in my chest. His gaze narrows, and for a moment, he glares at me with aggression that sends a shiver down my spine.
Is he going to hurt me?
Then, just as quickly, his expression shifts. Desire takes over, and he tilts my head up with his thumb, his touch surprisingly gentle. I can’t help but obey as his thumb pushes its way into my mouth. His gaze flicks between my eyes, and after a moment of hesitation, I suck on his thumb.
A low, guttural groan escapes his lips as he closes his eyes and presses his hardness into my stomach. The pure, unadulterated lust on his face as he opens his eyes again ignites an inferno. The pull between us is undeniable, yet it’s mixed with a sense of danger that leaves me breathless.
We stand there, panting, the tension ready to rip, but then something flickers in his eyes, and with sudden force, he lets go of me.
Taking the whiskey from the table, he staggers out of the kitchen without uttering a word, leaving me standing there, my heart racing, my body trembling, and my panties wet, wondering what the fuck just happened.