Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MIA
Ihear the front door click softly and I stay curled on the sofa where he left me until the silence stretches long enough to be convincing. But the moment I hear his car pull away, I’m darting off the sofa and heading back into my bedroom like some lovesick teenager.
The pillow next to mine still holds his scent. That faint, musky aftershave and something deeper, something inherently him. I bury my face in it for all of two seconds before I groan and shove it aside, flopping onto my back.
What the hell did I do last night?
I kissed him. But worse; I asked him to stay.
And then I actually slept. Not tossed and turned, not dozed for an hour and jolted awake with anxiety. I slept. With Dylan Winters wrapped around me like he’d never let go.
The sun slants through the blinds, and I squint up at the ceiling like it holds all answers. Like it’ll spell out what I’m supposed to do next.
He was careful with me last night. He always is. Even when he placed his hands on my waist to pull me closer and deepen the kiss, and when his voice drops to that low, rough register that melts my spine, he’s careful. It scares the hell out of me, how much I want him to stop being so careful.
But this isn’t a fairytale.
This is real life, where we both have careers built on reputation and professionalism and not crossing lines. And last night? That was a line so thoroughly crossed I might as well be standing on the other side waving a flag.
I roll onto my side and grab my phone off the nightstand. No messages, which is somehow worse than a hundred unread ones. I stare at the screen until my stomach growls in protest, and I drag myself back out of bed.
By the time I’ve showered and thrown on joggers and an oversized hoodie, I’ve talked myself in and out of texting him about seven times. I settle on coffee instead.
And Sophie.
Because if anyone can talk me off this particular emotional cliff, it’s her.
“I KNEW IT!” Sophie shrieks through the speaker as I set the phone down on the kitchen counter. “I knew you were going to cave!”
“I didn’t cave,” I mutter, pouring milk into my mug and deliberately not meeting my own reflection in the shiny chrome kettle. “It was a temporary lapse in judgment.”
“Oh, honey. It was a full-body freefall into lusty chaos. Tell me everything.”
I sigh and lean against the counter. “I kissed him.”
“No surprise there.”
“And then I asked him to stay.”
“Boom,” she says, and I can practically hear her grinning. “That’s the sound of your last ounce of willpower spontaneously combusting.”
“It’s not funny, Soph.”
“Oh, it’s a little funny.”
I smile despite myself. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t have to know. That’s the point. You’re allowed to feel your way through this. You’re allowed to want someone and still be smart about it.”
“It doesn’t feel smart.”
“No,” she agrees, “it feels terrifying. But also, he stayed. Right? He didn’t bolt the moment things got complicated.”
“No,” I admit. “He didn’t. He…he was sweet. Really sweet. I don’t think he even slept properly. He just sort held me.”
“Okay, wow,” she says after a pause. “That’s unexpectedly tender. Was he wearing clothes or am I allowed to picture his abs right now?”
“He kept his clothes on. Mostly.”
“You’re no fun.”
I laugh into my coffee. “My car’s still at the rink. His mate’s supposed to fix it today.”
“So he’s still helping you out even after you broke all your own rules and let him stay the night? Damn. The man’s persistent.”
“Or just patient.”
Sophie hums. “Is that a bad thing?”
I think about it. About the way Dylan looked at me before he left. That hesitation at the door, like he didn’t want to go. The way he brushed a hand down my arm like he couldn’t help himself. “No,” I say softly. “It’s not bad. It’s just a lot.”
“You like him.”
“I do,” I admit. “And it’s a problem.”
“No, Mia. It’s a complication. Problems can’t be solved. Complications can.”
“Thanks, Confucius.”
“You’re welcome. So, what now?” Sophie lifts her coffee to her lips and blows gently across the surface.
I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand. “I honestly don’t know. I think I need to be around him and not fall apart. See if I can still do my job without my pulse going haywire.”
“Solid plan. Just remember, self-control doesn’t mean self-denial. Sometimes you have to let yourself have the thing you want before you can figure out what to do with it.”
I exhale, nodding slowly. “You should write a book.”
“I should,” she agrees. “But for now, I’ll settle for watching my best friend fall ass-backwards in love.”
“I’m not.”
“You so are.”
I spend the rest of the morning deep-cleaning my kitchen, because nothing says emotional avoidance like scrubbing grout with a toothbrush. I text Dylan once to ask if his mate’s definitely picking up the car today. He replies a minute later with: Already sorted. Told you he owed me.
No kisses. No innuendo. Just that. Which somehow feels more intimate than a dozen flirty texts.
He’s respecting my space. And I don’t know what to do with that either.
By the time two o’clock rolls around, I’ve nearly talked myself out of everything; last night, this morning, the way I said stay and meant it.
But then I walk into my bedroom and see the pillow that still smells like him, and my heart does that ridiculous thing where it clenches and softens at the same time.
I pick it up, hug it to my chest, and sit on the bed.
Maybe Sophie’s right.
Maybe this doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing disaster.
Maybe I just let myself feel it for a while. See where it takes me. See if he keeps showing up, even when it’s not easy. Even when I’m moody or stressed or being a total nightmare about boundaries.
Because last night, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.