CHAPTER FOUR
THROUGH THE WALL
Wyatt
It’s one AM and I’m staring at my ceiling like it holds answers.
It doesn’t.
Never does.
Sleep is for people who don’t have nightmares waiting behind their eyelids. For people who didn’t stand helpless in their driveway at fourteen, watching firefighters battle a blaze that consumed everything. Everyone.
So I stare at the ceiling instead. Every light in my room blazing because darkness means fire means screaming means—
I cut that thought off. Practiced. Clean. And take a deep breath.
The house settles around me. Old bones creaking. Jordie snoring down the hall. Grant’s room silent as a tomb next door.
And her.
Elise.
Dark hair that falls in waves she doesn’t bother styling, hazel eyes that shift between green and gold depending on her mood, and a mouth that defaults to a smirk like she knows something you don’t. The girl who showed up last night and made my carefully controlled world tilt sideways.
I don’t do complicated. Don’t do feelings or connection or any of that shit that requires trust. Trust gets you hurt. Gets you left behind in another foster home with another family who couldn’t quite make it work.
I close my eyes, try to fucking sleep for once when I hear it.
A sound through the wall.
Faint. Barely there.
A buzzing.
My brain catalogs it automatically. Electric. Mechanical. Rhythmic.
Then I hear her gasp.
Fuck.
Is that?
Elise…using a vibrator?
My body responds before my brain catches up. Heat pooling low, cock going half-hard in my sweatpants because apparently I’m seventeen again with zero self-control.
She’s getting herself off. Ten feet away through this thin-as-paper wall. And I’m lying here listening like some kind of pervert.
I should leave. Go downstairs. Put headphones on. Do literally anything else.
I don’t move.
Another sound. Softer. A moan she’s trying to muffle and failing.
My hand moves to my dick without permission. Palms it through my sweats. I’m hard now. Fully. Pathetically.
This is wrong. I know it’s wrong.
But I can hear her breathing speed up. Can imagine what she looks like—her lush mouth relaxed in pleasure, those thighs spread, hand or toy or both working between her legs.
My hand slips into my waistband. Just to adjust. Just to relieve some of the pressure.
Liar.
I stroke myself once. Twice. Slow and firm because if I’m already going to hell for this, might as well make it worth the trip.
I imagine it’s my hand on her instead of whatever toy she’s using. My fingers learning what makes her gasp like that. My mouth on her throat while she falls apart. My fingers deep in her pussy, strumming her g-spot.
Would she say my name? Would she dig her nails into my shoulders? Would she—
She comes.
I hear it. Muffled but unmistakable. That sharp intake of breath followed by a shaky exhale.
The sound goes straight to my cock.
I’m gripping myself too hard now, hips rocking up into my fist, chasing friction that won’t be enough because what I actually want is on the other side of this wall.
Then silence.
I lie there, hard and aching and hating myself a little. Okay, a lot.
This is why I don’t do complicated. Because complicated means wanting things I can’t have. Means listening to my roommate come and losing my mind over it.
I shove off the bed. My dick protests. I ignore it.
I head downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of cold water. Maybe if I drink enough of it I’ll drown this wanting.
The kitchen is dark except for the light above the stove. I flip on every other switch. Flood the space with harsh fluorescent brightness that makes my eyes water.
Better.
I grab a glass. Fill it from the tap. Drink it in four swallows that do nothing to cool me down.
I’m refilling it when I hear footsteps on the stairs.
Soft. Hesitant.
Then she appears in the doorway.
Elise.
Hair messy. Cheeks flushed. Wearing tiny sleep shorts and a tank top that shows too much skin. Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed. She looks relaxed and satisfied.
She looks like every fantasy I just had and I’m standing here with an obvious hard-on in thin sweatpants.
Fantastic.
We stare at each other.
She doesn’t know I heard. Can’t know. I’d die before admitting it.
“Can’t sleep?” Her voice is a little rough.
“Never can.” I turn back to the sink. Give her my back so she can’t see how affected I am. “You?”
“Same.”
She moves past me. Close enough that I catch her scent—something clean and warm with an undertone of sweat and sex that makes my jaw clench.
She fills a glass, leans against the counter and drinks it.
I should leave. Go back upstairs. Lock myself in my room and finish what I started alone like I always do.
Instead I turn around. Face her.
Big mistake.
Her tank top is thin. I can see the outline of her nipples. Can see the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.
She notices me noticing. Doesn’t cover up. Just raises an eyebrow.
“You always stare at people this much?”
“Only when they wander into kitchens at one AM looking like—” I stop. Regroup. “You startled me.”
“Sure I did.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. She’s amused.
I’m not.
“Why are you really down here?” I ask.
“Told you. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Try again.”
Her eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means you look like you were sleeping just fine.”
Her cheeks go pinker. “How would you know?”
I shrug. “Thin walls.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Her expression shifts. Understanding dawning. Then mortification.
“Oh my—” She sets her glass down. Hard. “You heard.”
Not a question.
I don’t answer. Don’t need to.
“How much did you—” She stops. Closes her eyes. “Fuck.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. That’s—God, I didn’t think anyone could—”
“The walls are thin,” I repeat. “It happens.”
“It happens?” Her eyes snap open. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“What do you want me to say?” I shrug.
“I don’t know. Maybe lie? Tell me you were asleep? Pretend you didn’t just hear me—” She gestures vaguely. Can’t say it.
“Come?” I supply.
Her face is scarlet now. “You’re an asshole.”
“Been called worse.”
She grabs her glass. Starts to leave.
“Elise.”
She stops. Doesn’t turn around.
“I wasn’t trying to listen.” My voice comes out rougher than I want. “I was already awake. Heard it by accident.”
“Great. That makes it so much better.”
“If it helps, I left. Came down here.”
She turns then. Looks at me. Really looks.
“When did you come down?”
Right after I almost came to the sound of you.
“Few minutes ago,” I say.
She’s still looking at me. Those hazel eyes scanning my face like she’s trying to read something written there.
Then her gaze drops.
Lower.
To the obvious bulge in my sweatpants that I can’t hide and didn’t have time to take care of.
Her breath catches.
“You—” She stops. Swallows. “You’re—”
“Yeah.” No point denying it. “I am.”
The air between us changes. Gets heavier. Charged.
“Because you heard me.” Her voice is quieter now. Less embarrassed. More curious.
“Yeah.”
“Did you—” She gestures vaguely at my crotch. “While you were listening?”
I could lie. Should lie.
“Started to.”
Her pupils dilate. “But you didn’t finish.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a complete asshole.”
“Just a partial one?”
“Something like that.”
She takes a step closer. Then another. Until we’re two feet apart and I can see the pulse hammering in her throat.
“You could, um.” She clears her throat. “If you needed to. I wouldn’t—I mean, it’s only fair, right?”
Is she seriously offering—
“That’s not how this works,” I say.
“How what works?”
“Any of this.” I wave between us. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know that.” Her chin lifts. Defiant. “But maybe I want to.”
My cock throbs. Traitor.
“Want to what?”
“Watch.” She says it so quietly I almost miss it. “Maybe I want to watch.”
Every coherent thought evacuates my brain.
“Elise—”
“You listened to me.” Her eyes are bright. Challenging. “Seems fair.”
My cock throbs at the thought. Her watching me. Those hazel eyes tracking every stroke. Seeing exactly what she does to me. It would be hot as hell and I’m already half-gone just imagining it.
Which is exactly why this can’t happen.
“That’s—” I stop. Try to find words that don’t involve me agreeing to the worst idea I’ve ever heard. “That’s not the same thing.”
She tilts her head. Studies me. “Why not?”
“Because I wasn’t trying to listen.” My hand flexes at my side. Wants to reach for her. I shove it in my pocket instead. “You’d be watching on purpose.”
“So?” She takes another step closer. The kitchen suddenly feels too small.
“So that’s different.” My voice comes out rougher than I want.
“How?”
The question hangs there. Simple. Impossible to answer without admitting things I’m not ready to admit.
“It just is.” Weak. I know it’s weak even as I say it.
She takes another step. Now we’re close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her body. Close enough to touch.
“You want to,” she says. Not a question.
“Doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my roommate. Because you just moved in. Because this is complicated and I don’t do complicated.”
“Who said anything about complicated?” Her hand lifts. Hovers near my chest but doesn’t touch. “It’s just bodies. Just want. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”
The words hit like a punch.
I catch her wrist. Stop her before she makes contact because if she touches me I’m done.
“It always means something,” I say.
Her pulse races under my fingers.
I drop her wrist. Step back. Put distance between us because if I don’t, I’m going to do something stupid like kiss her. Touch her. Find out if she tastes as good as she sounds.
I take a breath, regroup. “This is a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Because Grant will lose his shit. Because Jordie’s already halfway in love with you. Because you’re going to have three guys losing their minds over you and this house is going to implode.”
She blinks. “Three?”
Fuck.
“Two,” I correct. “Grant and Jordie.”
“But not you.”
“Not me.”
“Liar.”
The word lands soft. Knowing.
I am lying. We both know it.
“Go to bed, Elise.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret.”
“Like what?”
“Like kiss you.” The words come out rough. Raw. “Like push you against that counter and find out if you taste as good as you sound. Like making you come on my fingers instead of that toy you were using.”
Her breath stutters. “Maybe I want that.”
“You don’t.”
“Stop telling me what I want.”
We’re staring at each other now. Two feet apart. The air between us crackling.
“Why do you keep all the lights on?” she asks suddenly.
The subject change throws me. “What?”
“In your room. Every light. All the time.” Her voice is softer now. Curious instead of challenging. “Why?”
I could lie. Deflect. Tell her to mind her business.
Instead I hear myself say, “I can’t sleep in the dark.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s when I see it.”
“See what?”
“The fire.”
The word hangs between us. Heavy and final.
She doesn’t ask for details. Doesn’t push.
Just nods like she understands.
“Nightmares?” she asks.
“Every time I close my eyes.”
“That why you don’t sleep?”
“Part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Waiting for the next bad thing to happen.” I lean against the counter. Exhausted suddenly. “It always does. Eventually.”
“That’s a shit way to live.”
“Yeah.”
“You ever try to, I don’t know. Not wait for it?”
“Doesn’t work like that.”
“How do you know if you don’t try?”
I look at her then. Really look. She’s still flushed. Still beautiful. Still so far out of my league it’s laughable.
But she’s also looking at me like I’m not damaged goods.
“You should go to bed,” I say. Quieter this time. Less order, more plea.
“Probably.”
But she doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
“For what it’s worth,” she says. “I’m glad you were already awake. When you, um. Heard.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Would’ve been weird if I woke you up.”
A laugh escapes me. Short. Sharp. “That’s what would’ve been weird?”
She grins. “Okay, fine. This whole thing is weird.”
“Little bit.”
“We’re not going to talk about it again, right?”
“Definitely not.”
“Good.” She picks up her water. Heads for the stairs. Stops at the doorway. Looks back. “Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not broken.” Her voice is steady. Sure. “You’re just a person who’s been through some shit.”
Then she’s gone.
I stand there in the too-bright kitchen, still half-hard, listening to her footsteps fade.
This house is going to destroy me.
I’m already sure of it.