Chapter 10
Chiara
I wake up in a dark room and for a moment I have absolutely no idea where I am.
Then I feel it.
Him.
Warm. Solid. Sleeping beside me.
One very large arm is wrapped around my waist like it belongs there.
My eyes widen.
“Oh, shit,” I mouth silently.
Because this?
This right here?
This is not how a one-night stand is supposed to go.
There are rules for these things.
Rule one: You do the deed.
Rule two: You leave.
Rule three: You definitely do not wake up cuddling the man like you’re auditioning for a Hallmark movie.
And yet, here I am.
Cuddled.
Entangled.
My leg is half thrown over Noah Walker’s hip like it lives there now.
Fantastic.
I carefully lift his arm off me.
It takes approximately all of my strength and the stealth skills of a Navy SEAL.
He shifts slightly in his sleep.
I freeze.
Heart pounding.
If he wakes up right now, I will simply perish on the spot.
Fortunately, the rugby gods take pity on me.
He settles again.
I slide out of bed inch by inch.
This is when the noises start.
First, the mattress squeaks.
Next, the floor creaks.
Then, somehow, my elbow knocks into the nightstand, and something rolls across the floor like it’s auditioning for a percussion solo.
I wince.
Still no movement from Noah.
Miracle.
Now comes the next challenge.
Finding my clothes.
I drop to my hands and knees and begin crawling across the floor like a burglar in a very poorly planned heist.
There’s my dress.
Victory.
But my underwear?
Gone.
Vanished.
Apparently sacrificed to the romance gods sometime last night.
“Great,” I whisper.
I find my shoes near the door and my phone wedged under the edge of the bed.
Perfect.
Because I am absolutely calling a rideshare.
The quicker I get out of here, the quicker my brain can pretend this was just a fun, reckless decision and not the beginning of a full emotional meltdown.
And right on cue, my brain finally catches up with my heart.
Panic slams into me.
What am I doing?
What I should be doing is easy.
I should be leaving.
Immediately.
I creep toward the front door, moving as quietly as possible.
Freedom is three steps away.
Two.
One and I am—a door opens.
“Chiara?”
Oh no.
I slowly turn.
And there he is.
Noah Walker.
Standing in the hallway.
Completely.
Distractingly.
Gloriously.
Naked.
His hair is messy from sleep, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, and for a split second my brain forgets every single reason I had for leaving.
Because wow.
Just wow.
His blue eyes search my face.
Confusion first.
Then concern flickers there.
“Everything alright?” he asks, voice rough from sleep.
My stomach flips.
This is the moment.
The moment where I could say something honest.
Something real.
But honesty feels terrifying.
And it’s morning.
Morning means reality.
So instead I do what cowards everywhere have done since the dawn of time.
I panic.
“I—uh—thanks for last night. Gotta run,” I blurt.
Smooth.
Very smooth, Chiara.
Before he can say anything.
Before he can ask questions.
Before my resolve crumbles entirely—I bolt.
Out the door.
Down the steps.
And straight into the bright, humiliating light of day.