23
23
Win’s house is incredible. And I mean showstopping. As we step through the entrance I’m reminded of why I love his place so much. Nestled high up in the Hills, he’s got a view for miles—I even spot my own high-rise, and a shiver rushes through me at the thought he’s always watching over me. Not that he could see much except the rays of sunlight glinting off the windows of my building. I’m suddenly more aware of the space his body takes up as he leads us past sleek furniture and surfaces that shine, they’re so polished and clutter-free. Minimalism suits him.
“Why don’t you settle down in there and I’ll get us a drink?” He gestures to the main living space, the best view in the house. There’s a sunken couch looking out over the city, and the sky’s a deep orange as the early-morning sun creeps onto the horizon.
“A drink?” I chuckle. “Win, don’t you have meetings to be at soon? The sun is coming up.”
He pushes his cell phone into his pants pocket and lifts the smooth crystal top of the whiskey decanter. “I postponed my meetings. Too tired after all that driving.” He shrugs.
“And yet still awake enough to drink.” I watch as he pours two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler and then presses his finger on top of a brand-new bottle of vodka, spinning it around to face me.
“Call it a nightcap,” he says, and then he winks at me and my stomach flips. “A morning cap, I guess,” he corrects himself. “You want a cocktail?” Then he shakes his head. “No, I know what you want.”
I laugh as he grabs another whiskey tumbler and pours another two fingers for me. It’s a running joke between us, how similar our tastes are. Even when we go out to eat Win never needs to ask what I want. He always knows what to order for me.
He joins me on the coziest couch a moment later, a tan leather love seat closest to the window with a huge gold lamp hanging over it offering the only light in the wide-open space aside from the soft glow of dawn.
“I don’t think I’ve ever needed anything more than this,” I say with a smile, taking a sip and savoring the taste as the smooth liquid passes my lips. “Thank you, Win.”
“Enjoy.” He grins as he watches me, eyes on my lips when I take another sip. But all too quickly Win averts his attention back to his own drink, which he balances on the arm of the couch as he gets comfortable beside me. “God, we’re crazy, aren’t we?”
We. I love how he couples us together like that. It makes this feel even more like a secret mini adventure, just the two of us.
“What excuse did you give for postponing the meeting?” I ask with a grin, immediately aware of the heat of his thigh against mine as he spreads his legs and leans back, dropping his head back to look up at the ceiling, sending the butterflies in my stomach wild.
“I don’t need to give an excuse. Perks of being the boss.”
He doesn’t say it cockily, just as a matter of fact. Which it is. I try to imagine how freeing it would be to have the power to blow off a meeting just because I didn’t feel like it. Kimi and Wayne would be on me immediately, and besides, I’d beat myself up with guilt. But god, sometimes I wish I could take a break unplanned.
“Your life’s so impressive,” I say dreamily, twisting to face him in the love seat and drawing my legs up beneath me. I rest my head in my hand, my elbow on the back of the sofa.
Win moves his head sideways to face me, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Don’t say that. Everyone says that.”
“Sorry.” I giggle. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“My life is impressive,” he says. “From the outside. Underneath it all it can be lonely, I’m sure you know.”
I swallow hard, my voice turning quiet as I say simply, “Yeah. I know.” On the seat between us, my phone buzzes with another notification, and Win glances down. I swipe to clear the home screen. “Just a stream of never-ending social media notifications, nothing important.”
“No escape, is there?” He takes a swig of whiskey, then another, finishing off the tumbler and setting it down on the end table. “Even through the night there’s always someone wanting to feel a connection with you.”
“Always,” I agree. “Which I guess is kind of nice, to know I’m not alone. Always someone thinking of me.” But the words feel empty in my mouth, untrue. “But are they thinking of the real me? That’s the question,” I admit.
Twisting around on the love seat, too, Win reaches out to pull my hand from where it’s resting underneath my hair, using both his hands to massage my fingers idly. It’s the most natural, casual movement, like something we always do. Except I’m acutely aware that this is so unlike any other time I’ve been with him. Much more intimate. I’ve never had so much of his attention, and the pressure of his fingers moving over mine makes my blood run hot, energy practically vibrating through me.
“It’s the dream for everyone, right,” he says, “moving to Hollywood, the life of the rich and famous, fast cars, a house in the Hills, condos in the city, private jets. No one talks about how once you make it here it’s all so fucking lonely.” He looks down at our hands, his still massaging mine gently. Then his thoughts seem to shift, his expression softening as if he’s trying to hold back a thought. He nods to a door leading off the room we’re in. “I’m thinking of building a library. I’d like to start reading some more. In that room over there, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a desk so I can write down my thoughts.”
“That actually sounds perfect.” I sigh wistfully. “Invite me over more often when it’s done. I’ve always wanted a home library.”
His hands stop massaging for a second to squeeze mine tight. “You’re welcome in this house anytime, Princess.”
I hold his gaze for a moment longer than normal and lean into him, hoping he can see I’m grateful for that.
Win glances over the living room, surveying the furniture. “I’d love for this place to feel more like a home. More like mine. Right now, it’s just so . . . big and empty.”
“Minimalist and tasteful,” I correct.
He chuckles. “I’m not talking about the décor.”
“Then what else do you mean?”
He sighs. I watch carefully as he scoots a little closer, repositioning himself so he’s comfortable again. He keeps hold of my hand, waiting a second to answer as he contemplates his words.
“I mean, when all’s said and done, some nights—most nights, actually—I’m back here all on my own, it’d be nice to appreciate it all with someone. And I mean one person, my person, not someone just checking in on the other end of the phone. Deeper than that. Someone who matters.”
“Someone worth skipping work for,” I say without thinking.
Win looks directly into my eyes. “Exactly.”
The air stills around us for a second. Two seconds. For a stretch of time I couldn’t count even if I tried. I’m far too distracted by his energy and the way his hands have stopped massaging but instead are now encasing mine with so much heat, his legs once again pressed against mine, his face so close either intentionally or not, but either way enough to make it difficult to see anything except the way his eyes trace my features, his gravity pulling me in . . .
I use my free hand to lift the cocktail glass to my lips, taking another sip just to cool down. I don’t want to make a mistake here. If we take things too far, what if he regrets it later? Does Win see me fitting into his world? Could I be the one who matters?
I run my tongue over my lips. “This whiskey is amazing. You’re gonna have to get me another.”
His eyes hold mine but with a sad sort of expression. My heart sinks—I ruined the moment. “Sure, let me get that for you.” He stands up and takes my glass, but this time our fingertips don’t brush each other’s. “Back in a sec.”
He returns holding a fresh glass, and I try to ignore the way my pulse drums as he stands in front of me, his waist at my eye level, so close his cologne floods my senses. His gaze meets mine as he holds the glass out to me, and something seems to shift behind his expression for a second like maybe he’s seeing—feeling—something else too. Before I can take the glass from him, he holds it up to my lips instead, tipping it carefully so I can take a sip with him still holding it. I watch him the whole time as I do, standing above me with the LA sunrise softening the sky behind him; everything feels totally surreal. I’m in Win’s house. He just drove to Coachella Valley and back in the middle of the night to pick me up. We’re drinking together on a love seat in front of the waking city. He’s holding my whiskey while I drink it . . .
He’s looking at me like that.
I can’t drag my eyes away fast enough as I swallow the drink and finally take the tumbler from his hand. As if I’ve broken a spell, Win looks away, too, downing his next glass in one go. He sets it on the table and steps over to the window, hands in his pockets.
“Did you notice you can see your apartment from here?” he asks, back to normal now.
So he noticed too. “Yeah,” I say, moving off the love seat to join him. “You can see everything from here. And I thought I had the best view of the city.”
He smiles fondly, silence settling between us again as we look out over the Hills. When I yawn involuntarily, Win slides an arm around my shoulders and steers me gently back into the room. “We should get some sleep,” he says with a glance at the pendulum clock on the far wall. “Can you believe we really drove through the night?”
“I’m gonna be honest, Win, I’m still in shock that you answered my call.” I laugh.
“Some calls are worth losing sleep over,” he says easily, guiding me up the floating stairs to the bedrooms. I don’t know how to answer, so I follow him in silence, a private happiness tugging at my lips.
Upstairs, Win shows me to the guest room next door to his; the sheets on the bed are perfectly pressed and spotless. “No one ever sleeps in here,” he explains. “Everyone else prefers the third-floor rooms that connect to the rooftop patio.”
“And why don’t I deserve that luxury?” I ask with a pout.
He opens the guest room door and steps into the hallway again, gesturing for me to follow. “You can sleep anywhere you like. Follow me.”
“Win.” I reach for his arm and laugh. “I’d rather stay down here—seriously.” I glance around the large room, the sheets tucked in tight as if we’re in a hotel, not his house. “I only need a catnap anyway. Weirdly, I’m not even that tired now we’re back.” I glance down. “I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
“I’ll get you a shirt of mine. I have plenty,” Win offers.
“Thank you.”
“You want to watch a movie?”
Instant. Chills. “Oh, yeah, that sounds nice. In here, or . . . ?”
He closes the guest room door behind us. “I have surround sound in my room.”
My heart thumps an extra-loud beat as I realize that means sharing his bed. “All right, lead the way.”
His lips quirk in amusement as he leads me into his room. In here it’s much cozier. I recognize the crumpled sheets and the art on the wall behind his bed from our FaceTime calls.
“Pick a side,” Win says, moving over to his walk-in closet. He disappears into it for a moment while I linger beside the bed, trying to figure out which side he usually sleeps on from the way the sheets are messed up. Then, choosing the other side, I place my phone down on the nightstand and turn around in time to see him walking back toward me holding a brand-new pair of Calvin Klein boxers and a plain white T-shirt.
“Will these work?” he asks, offering them out for me to take.
“Perfect, Win. Thank you.”
“The bathroom’s through there.”
When I’m done in the bathroom a few minutes later, I step out in the too-big shirt and boxers feeling a little self-conscious . . . until I see Win’s face. He’s sitting up in bed, the lights dimmed as he scrolls through Netflix, and maybe it’s just thanks to the whiskey, but something about the way his eyelids drop as he drinks in the sight of me walking over to join him sends an electric current through my core. I have to focus on my breathing as I climb into the bed, hoping the heat in my cheeks isn’t noticeable.
It’s never felt this intense with John. Or with anyone, in fact.
I can’t help but notice he spends longer than expected in the bathroom. As I lie there in his bed staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, I wonder what he might be doing behind the closed door. It’s feral, and I have to stop myself before my body reacts in ways I don’t need it to. Not here. Not now. Not with so little space between us.
And yet the distance has never been more tantalizing when Win finally returns to bed and takes care not to shift too close into the center of the mattress. I can smell the fresh spice of some sort of bodywash or cologne on him, a rich new scent now, different from earlier, and it draws me in with a gravitational pull: first my legs, then my body roll over into his space, and before I know it there are mere inches separating us.
“How do you feel?” he murmurs out of the blue, his voice so deliciously close to my ear, husky and warm.
“About being here with you? Pretty damn safe,” I answer. “Comfortable.”
Win chuckles, and the movement brings his body closer. I feel the bare skin of his leg tickling mine. “I meant about the situation with your ex,” he says. “But that’s nice to hear. I think I feel the same.”
“Oh.” I cringe with embarrassment. “God, sorry, I think at this point my brain’s just trying to block him out.” And then my mind returns to that word: ex. John’s my ex now. Again. “Hey, Win, thanks for everything tonight.”
“It’s nothing. It’s what friends are for.”
Friends. My mind holds on to the word, and I instantly feel dumb for thinking for a second someone like Win could ever want more from me than just that.
“You okay?” he asks, and I realize I’ve zoned out.
Perking up, I say, “Yeah, I was just thinking. How about we just watch a show, not a movie? I am feeling pretty sleepy.”
“So which episode of The Office are we going for?” His eyes twinkle when I gasp.
“How did you know that’s my favorite?”
He just winks, and my stomach flips, and then I’m snuggling in next to him and we’re both laughing together at Michael and Dwight until my eyelids droop and I find myself naturally snuggling farther under the duvet with Win, no longer worried about putting any space between us.
Because we’re just friends, right? He’s just looking out for me because we sometimes do business together and we’re friends, right?
And yet when I feel his hand fall into the dip of my waist as I drift off to sleep, something about the word doesn’t add up. Win can’t treat all his friends like this. He said he feels lonely here, but right now I feel the furthest thing from that. It’s peaceful beside him. Safe with his hand on me. Easy. Simple.
It just feels right.