Chapter 11 #3
He smirks. “Not as glamorous as it sounds. Mostly meetings and red-eye flights. But the penthouse view in London is almost as good as here.”
I nod, trying to imagine him in London, walking those old stone streets with the same predator’s prowl, the blue of his eyes even colder against a sky that’s always wet and gray.
“Will you miss me?” I say, keeping my voice light.
He meets my gaze, and his answer is instant. “Yes. I will.”
Something in my chest tightens, and for a second I forget how to breathe. I want to say it back, but I don’t. Instead, I take a sip of coffee and let the moment pass.
After a while, he asks, “What about you? Tell me more about you, Andie. Are you graduating soon? What comes next?”
The question is so adult it takes me a second to answer.
“I have one year left. I know, I know. I’m a senior now, but with all the work I do, I don’t have enough credits.
So it’s a fifth year for me. But I don’t think I want to live in the dorms anymore.
Don’t get me wrong because I love my roomie, but it’s time for a change.
After I’m done with Century, I don’t know.
Maybe find a real job—writing, if I’m lucky.
Mostly, I just want to not drown in student loans. ”
He nods, then says, “You’ll make it. You’re resilient.”
I snort. “You don’t even know me.”
His hand slides across the sofa, finds my wrist, and rests there. “I know enough. You are an amazing woman.”
For a minute, neither of us says anything. It’s comfortable, the kind of silence that’s only possible with someone who sees you without asking for anything back.
Eventually, I say, “Actually, speaking of moving out the dorms, I’m considering moving in with Stella and two other girls from our hall. There’s nothing set in stone yet, but yeah.”
He goes perfectly still.
For a second, the air between us is razor-thin, every molecule charged. Then he lets out a slow breath, and his jaw tightens.
“Stella,” he says, tasting the word. “My daughter.”
I nod, fighting the urge to apologize, as if it’s my fault for being her friend.
He turns his coffee mug in slow circles, his eyes gone blank and distant.
I can tell he’s calculating something, but I don’t know what.
Maybe he’s imagining me and Stella in the same room, secrets leaking out in the dark like blood from a nicked artery.
Maybe he’s planning how to keep our worlds from colliding.
“I won’t tell her,” I say, softer than I mean to. “I mean, she saw that picture of you from the fundraising event, but I haven’t said anything since.”
He glances up, a flicker of gratitude in his face. “Thank you.”
I twist a lock of hair around my finger, feeling twelve years old and ancient at the same time. “Is that weird, though? I mean, I might be her roommate after this summer?”
He thinks about it, then says, “Everything is weird. But I want you to do what makes you happy, Andie. That’s what’s important to me.”
The words hit me sideways, so earnest and unlike him that I want to laugh, or maybe throw my arms around his neck and never let go.
Instead, I reach for my coffee, and our fingers brush. A static shock passes between us, bright and sharp.
For a while, we just sit like that, side by side, his hand on my leg and my foot tucked up beneath me, both of us watching the city outside the window. The lights looks softer somehow, less dangerous, more dream than reality.
After a while, I stand, bones creaking in protest. My body aches everywhere, but it’s the good kind of ache—a souvenir, a proof of what happened last night.
I look down and see Thomas’s hand still trailing along the back of my thigh. I arch an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
He grins, wicked and warm. “Just appreciating the view.”
I roll my eyes and head toward the bedroom, my bare feet silent on the cold tile.
He calls after me, “If you want a shower, use the one in the master. It’s better.”
I pause at the door and turn to face him. “Are you coming?”
He shakes his head, and for once, I see something close to shyness on his face. “I want you to have it to yourself. You deserve that.”
I’m not sure what to make of this softer Thomas, but I like him, maybe even more than the other version.
In the bedroom, I strip out of the shirt and toss it onto the bed, then walk naked to the bathroom.
The mirror over the sink is huge, and I catch sight of myself: flushed cheeks, golden hair wild, the faint shadow of a bite on my collarbone.
My body is marked all over, a map of where his hands and mouth have been.
The shower is glass and marble, big enough to hold a football team. I step under the rain-head and let the water run as hot as I can stand, sluicing away the dried sweat and the faint, sticky evidence of what we did last night.
I close my eyes and lean against the tile, feeling the ache in my thighs, the tenderness between my legs, the slow burn of satisfaction that pulses from my core all the way to my scalp.
It should be enough. But it isn’t. Because under it all, there’s this heavy, tangled feeling in my stomach—a knot of guilt and desire and something almost like love.
I think about the bet, the video on my phone, the thousand dollars waiting for me if I just press send.
I think about what I could buy with that money, the books and notebooks and volume of poetry that I’ve been craving.
But I also think about the way Thomas looked at me across the kitchen, the way his hand lingered on my skin even when he didn’t have to.
I should feel triumphant. I should want to win.
Instead, I stand under the scalding water and let myself feel everything at once: the hunger, the fear, the thrill, the dread.
I’m so alive it almost hurts.
When I step out, the whole room is steamed, the mirror a blank, silver canvas. I wipe it clear, look myself in the eyes, and try to decide who I want to be.
For now, I leave it open.
I wrap a fluffy towel around myself, wander back to the bedroom, and find Thomas sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to the door, elbows on his knees.
He looks up when I enter, his eyes taking in every inch of me. I feel exposed, but not in a bad way.
He stands, crosses the room in three strides, and pulls me into his arms.
We stand there, holding each other, the world outside spinning away into silence.
Neither of us says anything. We don’t need to.
For now, this is enough.