Chapter 22
ILIAS
I’ll be Waiting – Cian Ducrot
Being back on tour made him feel stoked. Steven had apologized to him, told him how terrible his behavior had been, and admitted he’d crossed the line.
Sofia, who’d been there when it happened, had replied coolly, “Maybe next time you shouldn’t think so much of yourself to assume you’ll have a chance with me.”
Ilias had nearly dropped to one knee right then and there. That was it. He was done for her.
Steven had mumbled something unintelligible and walked away, leaving them alone on their way back to the rented apartment.
They had spent dinner with Amira, Alejandra, and Carlos. Coach and Gretchen had introduced themselves to Sofia, a chance they hadn’t had in Ericeira, and had already returned to the house. Sofia’s presence made the familiar atmosphere of the USL feel unexpectedly intimate.
“It’s good to have you on my side,” Ilias said, her hands in his. She was wrapped in one of his sweaters, looking adorable, and utterly fuckable. How was that mix possible?
“Steven’s an idiot,” she declared, with no trace of hesitation.
A soft silence fell between them as they entered the house.
“Are you tired?” she asked, letting out a yawn, motioning towards the kitchen.
“Jet lag’s kicking in. I can sleep on the couch if you don’t want to share the bed.”
Sofia frowned. “God, no. You’ve got a competition coming up. I can sleep on the couch.”
“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. I refuse.”
She shrugged. “Then I guess... we can just sleep in the same bed.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Are you sure?”
“Nothing has to happen,” she said, opening the fridge and deliberately avoiding his gaze. “We’re two mature adults, sharing a bed.”
Ilias pressed his lips together, trying to stay calm. “Sure. Absolutely. I’m going to take a shower, okay?”
“Sure,” she replied with a neutral nod. Not at all like she’d just made him the happiest man alive.
Under the hot spray, he reminded himself that sleeping in the same bed didn’t mean anything. But still, they were slowly, very fucking slowly, getting closer.
Once she’d showered too, they found themselves in the bedroom that overlooked the ocean.
Sofia was wearing an oversized shirt, old, worn, with faded Italian writing he couldn’t decipher.
Her tanned legs were bare, and his mind immediately slipped under the hem of that shirt, right to the space between her thighs.
Right to the thought of him kneeling there.
“Which side?” Sofia asked, still avoiding his gaze.
“Whichever you want.” He paused, watching her. “You okay?”
Her brown eyes snapped to his. “Sure. Why?” Her voice cracked a little too high.
“Did something happen today?” Ilias asked, sitting down on the bed.
“No, why? I’m just tired.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright then. Let’s go to bed.”
Sofia chose the left side, and he took the right. Good for him. But why did the air feel so... charged? She seemed cool, but the air between them was tense. Tight.
Once they laid down, staring up at the ceiling, Sofia turned off the light. Moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a silver sheen on her face: her straight nose, those plush lips, freckles kissed across her cheeks. She looked divine.
“Care to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, prying gently, not pushing.
She pressed her lips together. “Everything’s fine.”
“Then why are you acting weird?”
“Because…” She sighed, stalling. “Because we’re sleeping in the same bed. And we shouldn’t be.”
“We’re adults, aren’t we? You said it yourself,” he teased, rolling onto his side and propping his head on one arm.
Her brown eyes, dark galaxies in the moonlight, locked on his.
“Yes. You’re right. We are adults.” She gave a forced smile. A fake fucking smile. “Goodnight.” She turned away from him.
“If you want to keep things PG-13 between us,” he said, voice low, “you’re going to need to turn around.”
Sofia stiffened, then slowly faced him, deadpanning. “Adults.”
“You’re the one making it hard,” he murmured. Then softer, “Turn my way.”
As if accepting an invitation to hell, she turned to face him. Now, face to face, she studied him, and he studied her. She wasn’t top-model stunning. She was Botticelli stunning. Her curves were a sculptor’s dream. Her skin looked like it would taste like honey and sunshine.
He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her cheek, then drifted lower, tracing her lower lip in lazy circles. She didn’t stop him. Her eyes stayed locked on his.
“I’m going to say something now,” Ilias said. “And I need you to listen carefully.”
Sofia nodded, breath shallow.
“It’s no mystery that I want you. Not just as a fake PR stunt, more. I crave you, like I crave a wave. But I’m ready to wait. I know what happened with Thomas scarred you. Anyone would’ve been. I understand. And I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“Why?” she whispered, her fingers twisting the blanket.
“Because I need you in my life, Sofia. And I’m willing to suppress every damn thing I feel just to keep seeing your smile. To hear you laugh. When you're ready, when the time is right, I’ll still be here.”
“Thanks,” she breathed, eyes glossy.
“Anything for you, habiba.”