Chapter 6
Chapter Six
GIDEON
The bed is cold when I reach over.
Too cold.
Her side’s still warm, the pillow dented, the sheet wrinkled from where she slept. She was here. I remember every second of her coming undone beneath my hands. And then, like always, she disappeared before sunrise.
I sit up, scrub a hand down my face, and stare at the faint imprint her body left on my sheets. Her perfume still hangs in the air, soft and warm, like vanilla and something darker underneath. It kicks at something in my chest I don’t want to name.
She thinks disappearing keeps things clean between us, that I won’t get attached. She doesn’t think I can share her, but I can and I will.
I check my phone. No message. No missed calls. Nothing.
“Of course,” I mutter. “Little Menace.”
I stand and stretch, muscles tight from sleeping in one position too long.
I head straight into the bathroom and let the shower run hot.
The water wakes me, but not enough to rinse her out of my head.
I replay last night on a loop—her dress, her mouth, that look in her eyes when she told me soon about the other man.
When I’m done, I pull on sweats and try to pretend like I washed her from my system.
But I didn’t, and soon isn’t a real timeline.
Soon can stretch forever if you let it.
She has another guy outside the club now. A second life outside of Velvet that someone else gets access to. I don’t like that I don’t know who he is, if he is good enough for her, if he’s safe.
And that student from her TA class. The one who saw her at Velvet. He’s not my business, apparently.
But he will be if he keeps threatening my girl.
Terrific. I get to fight ghosts and boys.
I dry off and grab my phone again. One name jumps out.
Best Asshole
I smirk. The only correct way to label your best friend. Dominic, Silas, and I met and became friends in high school. Well, I was in eighth grade and they were freshmen. Gideon was my brother’s best friend and after he died, Gideo and I got closer—family that didn’t need blood to count.
I hit call and he answers on the second ring.
“Who died?” he asks without a hello.
“No one.” I grab a glass of water from the kitchen. “Not yet.”
“That sounds like you’re about to make sure someone does.”
I sigh. “She left before I woke up.”
A low whistle. “Again?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a pause like he’s picturing me pacing like a lunatic.
“So, this woman…” he starts.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m whipped.”
There’s a full second of silence before he cracks up laughing. “You are so whipped.”
“Am not.” I take a big drink so he can’t hear me lie.
He groans like he’s settling deeper into his chair. “Okay, tell me what’s actually going on.”
I lean against the counter, staring at the empty space by the stove where she leaned last night, hair falling over her shoulder while she teased me.
“She’s seeing someone else,” I say. “Another guy.”
“Ahh. A triangle.” He sounds way too entertained.
“It’s not a triangle.”
“You’re right. It’s a competition, and you don’t like to lose.”
He’s not wrong.
I don’t like losing.
Sharing isn’t the problem. I just need to know who has their hands in the game with me.
“She has a right to see whoever she wants,” he continues. “You’re the one who told her she could.”
“I know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I just want to know who he is. If he treats her right or if he thinks she’s just access to free kinky shit outside of Velvet.”
“Did you tell her that?” he asks.
“I did, and she still asked me to be patient. So I’m trying.”
“She made the right choice with you outside the club, so trust her instincts. But let's change the topic to me now. I decided to ask the woman I told you about on a date.”
“No shit? You finally manned up?”
“I did. And she said yes.”
“Look at you. My best asshole is all grown up and actually dating.”
“Fuck off.” He laughs. “So how serious are you about this girl?”
I stare at the window, at the reflection of my own stupid grin when she smiles at me.
“Serious enough,” I say quietly.
“Shit,” he says. “You’re done for.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
I end the call before he can keep poking the bear and I end up giving him shit about the woman he finally got the balls to ask out.
I’m not the kind of man who worries about where someone goes in the morning. I don’t wake up and check messages. I don’t lose sleep over who else gets their time. But she’s different. She makes me want things I shouldn’t want. Things that feel dangerous.
I look at my bed again. The dent where her head was. The sheet tangled where her knees pressed.
I’m not done with her.
Not even close.
I decide to text her something short and simple. Something I know will make her roll her eyes and bite her lip at the same time.
Me: Morning, Little Menace. Hope you didn’t leave a glass slipper at my place. I’d hate to have to come hunt you down.
I stare at the screen for a few seconds, waiting for those three little dots to show up.
Nothing yet.
That’s fine.
She’ll text when she’s ready.
I pull on a shirt and run a hand through my hair before grabbing my keys. I have clients to meet and papers to sign, but already I’m thinking about when I’ll see her again. It won’t be long.
She asked for patience.
I can give her a little of that.
But soon has an expiration date.
And whoever this other guy is, I’ll be shaking his hand and sizing him up before long.