Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A gentle knock wakes me. Ben enters and stops in his tracks.
I look over at Xander and see him asleep for a moment before he yawns himself awake. “Good morning,” Xander says with another yawn. He proceeds to stretch his body like he’s been out like a light for a solid eight hours.
He looks different.
Like this is the first time I’ve seen him.
I thought waking up to his bed face when he slept a solid four hours was something else. But today, holy mother of hotness.
Xander is so relaxed even his curls seem to have relaxed into a soft wave. All the furrows and lines that used to be etched into his face have melted. The red that once rimmed his hazel eyes—gone. The hard edge to his manner, replaced with a softness. The threat of a smile on his lips … permanent.
I know, without a doubt, that this person right here, is peak Xander Miller.
Xander Miller on a solid night’s sleep.
It sets a dull yearning between my ribs.
Xander reaches over and lifts my hand to his mouth, dragging a kiss over my knuckles. The act has me hyperfocused on his lips and his fingers, turning the seemingly innocent kiss into something deeper.
Hotter.
There’s a loud cough, interrupting us. We both look at Ben, who for the first time is smiling while interrupting us.
“Xander, you slept for a total of seven hours. That’s your new record,” Ben says, ready to replace his previous announcement to the Guinness World Records with this one.
I turn to look at Xander. A smile spreads across his face. His hardened features rearrange themselves in front of me. Relaxed, comfortable—happy, even.
“How?” I say, not taking my eyes off Xander even while I talk to Ben.
“I’d say somewhere between his cognitive behavioral therapy sessions and his new sleep habits,” Ben says, flipping through his charts, even though he clearly already knew the answer. “And you,” he adds.
“Me? How did I help Xander fall asleep?” I haven’t had coffee yet. I can’t be expected to have a filter.
“You know, coming here with me, being a supportive girlfriend,” Xander says, cutting Ben off before he can answer. Right. Play along, I remind myself.
Ben nods. “I’m sure that’s part of it. It also likely has something to do with the feeling of safety Xander has around you. His cortisol levels lower significantly as the night goes along.”
I nod. It’s all I can manage.
I tune out the rest of whatever Ben is yammering on about.
He feels safe around you.
The funny thing is, after yesterday, I feel safe around Xander too.
“Thanks, Ben,” Xander says.
As we leave the sleep study, Xander takes my hand and leads me out. We walk in silence until we get to his car, where he spins me around to face him. Then he puts his hands on his knees, crouching down so my whole world is Xander and his curls, and says, “You good?”
Am I good? I’ll be good when we skate right over the feelings and get this banter bandwagon back together. Not let a silly little comment from Ben ruin a good thing.
We fuck real good.
And Xander now sleeps real good.
So I look up at him and let a smartass smirk grow across my face. “All you needed was a good lay for a good night’s sleep,” I say, joking.
His eyes narrow on me for a moment before his lips curl up at the ends. “I’ve had plenty of great lays over the years.”
Ouch.
Why the fuck did that hurt? An image of Scarlett flutters behind my eyelids. She’s on her knees, doing things to Xander that I like doing. Jealousy burns through my body.
Ignore it.
Xander stands to his full height and rubs his hands through his hair, but his curls aren’t playing. They stick up everywhere.
Neither of us speaks for a moment.
Are we fighting?
“Ash,” he says, caving first, the smartass replaced with softness. “I needed you,” he says, serious like the heart attack I feel I’m about to have.
Feelings.
Safety.
Need.
Nope. The words spur me on.
“You needed a warm body,” I say, trying to joke my way out of this.
“Really?” Xander’s eyebrows shoot up, unimpressed with me. “Don’t do that.”
What? I’ve been honest the entire time about my rules.
“Do what?”
“Don’t reduce whatever this is”—he points between us—“to a warm body.”
“Xander, we’re fake dating. You know that, right?” I implore him to agree with me. That the only real thing about what we have is the orgasms. “It’s not real.” I just stare at him.
Then he leans forward like he’s about to pop the car door for me like he always does, but instead, his lips crash into mine.
He pushes me hard up against the car door, demanding.
My lips part and I willingly let him in.
His fingers find my hair and he grabs the back of my neck.
I tilt my head back, giving him access to all of me.
Showing him just how much I need him.
He pushes his hips into me. And the combination of the cool metal of his car door and the heat coming off his body has me feeling hot and cold and horny all over.
I moan. And that’s enough for him to pull back.
“Tell me that was fake,” he says, his voice rough like gravel. His fingers gently slide over my swollen lip.
Proof.
I stare at him. Not answering. Because how I feel in this moment isn’t fake. But I’m not about to tell him that.
“EMILY!” I scream at my reflection in absolute horror.
I drop my kohl jet-black eyeliner into the bathroom sink and spin around as she comes running in. It’s ten AM and I’m sweating like I’ve just taken a hot yoga class—which I would never ever do. Because no one needs to sweat that much. But here I am, taking boob sweat to the next level.
I’ve spent the last forty minutes trying to mimic Taylor Swift levels of winged eyeliner perfection, and in a dangerous game of trying to get flawless symmetry, the line got wildly out of control, and here I am looking more like the newest member of KISS about to embark on their “farewell” tour.
The no really, we mean it, we’re never playing again (jokes we’ll be back when the money runs out) tour.
Em appears in the doorway of the bathroom and her eyes dart around my face, surveying the situation. Her expression tells me all I need to know. I’m a mess.
“I was gone three minutes,” she says, shaking her head. “How is this even possible?”
I’m nervous, okay. Not that I say it out loud. The truth is, I’ve been a nervous fucking wreck since the realization hit me sometime between fucking Xander and snuggling him.
I don’t just like Xander Miller. I have a debilitating crush on Xander Miller.
And I haven’t told Em any of this.
And so I just sit, unnaturally still, on my hands so I don’t fidget. Avoiding eye contact at all costs.
I’m completely and utterly obsessed with Xander, who I am constantly doing things with that not only break my rules but are illegal to my lifestyle.
I am a criminal.
If my mom found out, I’d be shunned. No, I’d be donated to science. How did a Hutchinson contract feels?
And on top of that, while I may have dabbled in acting to secure my spot inside the sleep study, for the past seven days, I have acted professionally, pretending Xander doesn’t take up every single all-consuming thought.
I have acted competently, like Xander doesn’t light me up like a pinball machine every time he smiles at me.
I have acted skillfully, as though Xander doesn’t make my heart beat wildly out of control.
And now, I must maintain this level of mastery while I get Em to fix my face for the wedding.
The wedding that is happening today.
Today being the day I thought maybe, just maybe, I could master the winged eyeliner look. When will I learn that a high-stakes makeup situation is not the time to even try?
The intensity of the situation also means I now need to redo my hair—and the clock is ticking. Xander is picking me up in an hour and my hair, which forty minutes ago had a casual wave that was anything but casual to create, is now limp and sticking to my face.
Em grabs a handful of cotton tips from the medicine cabinet behind the sink.
“Close your eyes,” she says.
I do as she says. Em is the queen of winged eyeliner, which is funny because I’m the one who studied advanced geometry as part of my science degree before majoring in chemistry.
Em took the concepts I learned and applied them to real life, very important world-changing situations—like matching winged eyeliner.
She could probably start a TikTok channel dedicated to winged eyeliner and be famous in forty-eight hours, she’s that good.
I smell the citrus tang of the mimosa on her breath as she gets to work, dragging, dabbing, and drawing the cotton tip over my eyelids. So we had a few cocktails. What’s a wedding without a breakfast mimosa?
“Are you okay?” Em says. Before I can even formulate a response because how does one answer such a loaded question, she continues.
“I know it’s some upside-down shit that your dad’s getting married.”
Oh. Right. That’s what she thinks I’m worried about.
I fling my eyes open, and there’s a kindness in hers, letting me know she’s here and she’s not going anywhere. Truthfully, I haven’t had an opportunity to think about Dad getting married. Not when Xander is consuming my every thought.
When I don’t say anything, Em’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. She’s onto me. “You boned him,” she says, just straight-up calling me out. Her eyes sparkling with excitement at this realization.
I have never lied to Em before in my entire life.
Sure, I’ve omitted information. Like how Xander and I have been boning for the past week.
But now faced with having to lie, I can’t.
Instead of telling the truth, I reach for my half-drunk breakfast mimosa, my sustenance, and take a sip, avoiding saying anything else.
This acts as confirmation.
“You like him,” she says.
I don’t know what to say, so I offer a noncommittal ppffftttt.
This pathetic attempt at brushing her off is all she needs. “Holy shit, you like like him.”
All I can do is blink at her rapidly as my heart answers with a single resounding yes.
“Ash?” she says, softer this time. So as not to spook the girl who stopped talking because she felt too many things and thought she was going to explode. I put my hand on my knee to stop it from bouncing, but she continues. “Do you want to love him?”
“No. I don’t,” I say, firm. I desperately do not want to love him. And that is the truth. Sure, I can admit I like Xander. But hearing her use the L word out loud?
I am biologically programmed to reject it.
Am I willing to accept this crush? A stupid hormonal thing? Yes. But love? Impossible.
“I haven’t seen you this distracted since, well,” she stops midthought like she’s trying to remember, and I send a prayer up that she has no fucking clue. To no avail. “Since you came home from that one night with Xander,” she says.
Her eyes are pinned on mine like she’s daring me to argue with facts. And so I take that dare.
“Em, you told me that I didn’t have to do anything with these feelings,” I say, trying to remind her that she’s known me for fifteen years and that track record should count for something. “Once the sleep study wraps up, this will all fizzle out to nothing.”
She opens her mouth to argue and I shake my head at her, cutting her off. “Because feelings are always fleeting.” And then I stare at her and wait for what she always does. Moves on from the conversation.
And just like that, Em lets out a heavy sigh. “You used waterproof eyeliner,” she says, groaning. “Now close your eyes while I scrub a layer of skin off to fix this, Gene Simmons.” I win. Although, it doesn’t feel like a victory.
“Am I supposed to take offense to that? The dude spits blood, breathes fire, and tongues thin air while playing the bass for KISS, and has enough energy to slay groupies into the thousands? Thank you,” I say, taking it as a compliment, and do as I’m told, grateful for the change in topic.
“You’re welcome,” Em says, and I can feel a fluffy makeup brush circling the corner of my eyelids. There are butterflies in my stomach as Em’s words wash over me. The mere suggestion that I want anything to do with loving Xander puts me on edge.
“We’ll finish with Dragon Girl,” Em says, reaching for my favorite red lip pencil from NARS.
I do that thing where you partially open your mouth in a semi-relaxed fashion that is anything but relaxed, all so Em can draw on my lips.
I watch as Em steps back and examines her work. Her eyes roam my entire face before breaking out into a wide grin. “Done.” The woman works quickly.
I look at myself in the mirror. I could cry. I won’t, because I will not ruin Em’s art, but not only did she manage to one-up Taylor Swift’s winged eyeliner look, she also added a smoky eye and outlined my lips, and still somehow managed to not make me look like a clown.
“I look so fucking hot,” I say, turning to Em, who’s staring at her handiwork. “Thank you.”
“That’s all you, Ash,” Em says, as she starts putting my brushes away. “When will you learn that the right ones never walk away?” Em squeezes my arm.
“Not true, but thanks for the pep talk,” I say palming off her compliment. She’s my best friend. She’s supposed to say shit like that. “And thanks for being there. Always.”
“Always.”
At exactly eleven AM, my intercom buzzes. Shit. Xander’s here.
I let him up and study myself in the mirror one last time. Em did good. I’m wearing the blood-orange puffed-sleeve deep V neck, exposed back, cut above the knees dress Em bought for me. She did real fucking good.
I grab my clutch and head to the door. I open it just as Xander raises his hand to knock.
His hand is frozen midair while he takes in the sight of me. I don’t care because I’m staring at him.
He’s wearing a suit. It’s a three-piece light-blue linen complete with white shirt.
His hair is styled back into a coif and perhaps for the first time in his entire life, his curls are staying put.
It’s like they rallied together and decided they were going to play as a team today.
And they’re winning. All I can think is, why isn’t there a “men wearing suits” category on Porn Hub?
Damn. Am I breathless?
It’s only then that I realize I’ve got my hand on my own heart like a lovestruck teenager at a One Direction concert. Get it together, Ash.
We finally make eye contact.
And when Xander smiles, the edge I felt about the line I’m dancing on, about liking him, melts into goo. I start to relax, and I wish I could blame something else, anything else, but I know it’s the effect of his smile.
His sweet, sexy smile.
Em’s words echo in my head like a goddamn yogi mantra. You want to love him.