Page 99
Now, I just want her near.
The silence stretches. I close my eyes. Open them again. Her silhouette is faint in the moonlight slipping through the window.
I take a deep breath, my throat dry.
God, this is so simple and so hard at the same time.
“Mia,” I whisper, voice low. “Are you awake?”
There’s a pause. Then a soft, sleepy hum. “Hmm.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to cross a line. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
But I also don’t want to lie here and keep pretending I don’t need what I need.
“Um… can I hold you?” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be. Honest. Stripped bare. “I swear I won’t be inappropriate. I just want to hold you.”
A beat of silence.
Then, “Okay.”
The sound of her sheets shifting, the gentle rustle as she rolls over and moves closer?—
It hits me harder than I expect.
And then she’s there.
Close.
Her body slides against mine like a puzzle piece falling into place. My arm wraps around her waist, fingers splaying gently across her back. I feel her breath on my chest, and I bury my face in her hair.
She fits.
She fits.
No words. No pressure. Just warmth. Contact. Peace.
The war in my chest stills. And for the first time tonight… I feel like I can finally sleep.
MIA
Iwake up before Jack does.
The sky outside is pale blue, and for a moment, I just lie there, listening to the silence of the penthouse. His breathing is even, steady. He’s asleep beside me, his back turned, one hand curled loosely near his chest like a boy still guarding old wounds.
Nothing happened last night.
Well—except the kiss.
I slip out of bed quietly and pad to the kitchen. My body is still humming with the memory of how it felt to hold him, to feel him break and not try to fix it, just… be there. I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t let myself care this much.
I distract myself with breakfast.
The fridge is cleaner and more organized than I expected. I pull out eggs, tomatoes, bread. Something simple. Grounding. Something that reminds me that I exist outside of whatever Jack Calloway stirs up in me.
I’m making him breakfast because he didn’t have dinner last night. I’m not sure he had anything outside of what he ate with Hayley. I mean, I didn’t, either. But no one told me to go around stalking and trailing him.
I keep moving—whisking, slicing, flipping toast—pretending last night didn’t mean anything. Pretending it didn’t tear through me like a storm.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99 (Reading here)
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118