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I can imagine him standing here, watching the sun dip below the horizon. In this penthouse, there isn’t a room with a bad view.
He’s still carrying my duffel in his hand. “There are more options.”
He crosses the hallway and opens a bedroom door with a tallbed and dark blue walls, the color of his eyes. It has a gothic vibe, and I like it.
“Moody. This your sex room?”
“Itcanbe,” he says, shooting me a wink. “Want to see the office?”
I nod.
Weston leads me down the hall, setting my bag down, and I’m happy for the distraction. He pushes it open, and a large desk faces the windows. I can almost imagine him working here.
Bookcases fill the walls, and I run my fingers across the spines of books, not recognizing any of the titles. He sits on the edge of the desk, still dressed in the black tux he wore to Obsidian. Hours have passed since we were there, but it already feels like last week.
“Maybe this is a sign I shouldn’t write again,” I say. The thought makes me want to cry.
“I don’t believe that,” he says as I yawn.
“Sorry. I’m so exhausted. I’ve been up for nearly twenty hours.”
“You should go to bed. I’ll talk to you until the sun rises if you don’t,” he says, his eyes kind and full of something I can’t quite place.
I glance at the clock on the wall, knowing I have to be at work in seven hours. “Life is better with you in it.”
He meets my eyes. “I don’t remember life without you. I’m grateful you spoke first.”
My emotions are on overload. “I don’t want this night to end.”
“Tomorrow is a new day,” he tells me, walking toward me. “You need rest. Have you chosen your room?” he asks.
“Hmm. I think I want yours,” I say.
He tilts his head and smirks, leading me from his office. “Go ahead.”
I push open the door. His bed is neatly made, and the lamp is on. This is the room where he kissed me. I glance at the place where I stood, replaying that memory, and it makes me smile.
“Where will you sleep?” I turn to him, watching me from the doorway, and I wonder if tonight was a dream.
“What side do you prefer?” He unbuttons his jacket and pulls his tie loose.
“I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” I say as he moves to his closet.
My feet stay planted, and I hear a dresser drawer slide open.
I step into the doorway, and he looks at me as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing those beautiful tattoos across his chest. I immediately turn around, knowing it’s for the best.
“I need to be completely honest. Whether you want to accept this or not, but …”
I turn to meet his eyes. Time briefly stands still as I try to predict his next words.
“I’m a cuddler,” he says with a shrug.
I chuckle, and it feels good to laugh. His shirt falls to the floor in a pile.
“And if I remember correctly, that’s againstyourrules, so you probably shouldn’t. Don’t want to give the wrong impression.”
I yawn again, knowing I need to walk away from this situation. “You’re absolutely right. Good night, Weston. Thank you for everything.”