Page 24

I wake up slowly, consciousness filtering in through layers of the best sleep I’ve had in years.

There’s warmth pressed against my chest, soft curves molded to my body like she was made to fit there.

Sage is wrapped around me completely—one leg thrown over mine, her face buried in my neck, her arm draped across my torso.

This is it. This feeling, this rightness. She is the one I’m after. Not just to fuck, not just to possess, but to keep. Forever.

Her in my bed, in my arms, feels like coming home to a place I never knew existed.

Then she shifts in her sleep, and suddenly her hand is moving down my body, slipping beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts. My breath catches as her palm settles directly over my morning wood, separated only by the thin cotton of my boxer briefs.

Fuck.

I go completely still, my entire body tensing as conflicting impulses war in my chest. Part of me wants to wake her up, wants to show her exactly what her touch does to me. But the larger part—the part that’s been carefully building her trust—knows this could ruin everything.

I don’t want to cross a line with her, especially not when I feel like I just got into good territory. I want her trust more than I want her body, and that realization shocks me.

Her hand starts moving, patting my dick through my underwear like she’s testing the firmness of a pillow. The innocence of the gesture combined with the intimacy of the contact makes my head spin.

“Sage,” I whisper, my voice rougher than I intended. “Sage.” I murmur her name into her hair, hoping to gently pull her from whatever dream she’s having.

Instead, her fingers curl around my length, squeezing gently, and I have to bite back a groan. The pressure is light, exploratory, and completely unconscious, which somehow makes it a thousand times more torturous.

Then her eyes snap open.

She flies backward so fast she nearly bounces off the headboard, a squeal escaping her throat as she tries to extract her hand from my shorts. But somehow it gets tangled in the fabric, and she’s stuck there, tugging frantically while her face turns three different shades of red.

I can’t help it—I start laughing. The whole situation is so absurd, so perfectly chaotic, that it breaks the tension completely.

“Good morning,” I chuckle, making no move to help her as she finally manages to free her hand.

She glances around my bedroom with wide, confused eyes, like she’s seeing it for the first time. “What the... Slater?”

I just stare at her, waiting to see what she’ll do next now that she’s fully sober. The panic in her expression is clear. She had too much to drink last night.

“How did I get here?”

I lean up on my elbow. “So, last night you were at a gay bar with your roommate,” I explain calmly. “She pulled a move on you, you rejected her, so she kicked you out. Then I picked you up and now you’re… staying with me.”

“What?”

I nod.

“I’m staying with you? Long term?”

“Forever,” I state, letting the word hang between us like a promise and a threat.

“I committed to forever?” she asks, her voice rising slightly. Then she glares at me with sudden suspicion. “Is that why my hands were down your pants?”

“I was going to ask you about that,” I say, fighting back another smile. “What kind of dreams were you having?”

She turns bright red again, so I drop the subject before she combusts entirely. “What do you want for breakfast?”

She runs her hand through her tousled hair, looking utterly lost. “This feels like an awkward walk of shame.”

“It’s not a walk of shame,” I state firmly. “What’s a shame is your roommate getting you drunk and trying to take advantage of you.”

Her face falls. “That… wasn’t a dream?”

I shake my head, watching as the full weight of her situation settles on her shoulders.

“Great, so I’m actually homeless? You’re not lying?”

“You’re not homeless. You’re staying with me.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her mind working, trying to process everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours. “Slater, I can’t just move in with you because my living situation fell through. We barely know each other.”

“We know each other well enough,” I say, sitting up and turning to face her fully. “Well enough for you to trust me to pick you up last night. Well enough for you to sleep in my bed.”

“That’s different. I was drunk.”

“And now you’re sober and still need a place to stay,” I point out. “So, you’ll stay here. There’s more than enough room for you.”

She doesn’t talk right away. She looks around my room with new eyes.

“This is temporary,” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself.

I don’t argue with her. Let her think it’s temporary if that makes her feel safer. She’ll figure out the truth eventually—that I’m never letting her go, that this is exactly where she belongs.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” I say instead, climbing out of bed. “But right now, you need breakfast and coffee. And probably a shower.”

I head toward the door, then pause and look back at her. She’s sitting in my bed, surrounded by rumpled black silk, her hair a mess and her eyes still wide with confusion. She looks perfect.

“For what it’s worth,” I add, “you’re a very active sleeper. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

She shakes her head. “I am not sleeping in your bed.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I’m smiling as I head to the kitchen to make her breakfast.

She can protest all she wants about not sleeping in my bed and this being temporary. But we both know she has nowhere else to go, and I’m not about to give her any other options.

In the kitchen, I pull out eggs, bacon, and bread, moving around the kitchen. Cooking isn’t something I do often—usually it’s protein bars and takeout—but there’s something satisfying about making breakfast for her. My guest.

She appears in the doorway wearing one of my t-shirts that hangs to her mid-thigh, and I have to focus very hard on not burning the bacon.

“Coffee?” I ask without looking up.

“Please.” She settles onto one of the bar stools, watching me work. “You can cook?”

“Guess so,” I say, sliding a mug across the counter to her.

She takes a sip and makes a face. “Jesus, this is strong.”

“Hockey player coffee. Gets the job done.”

“Gets the job done and strips paint off walls, apparently.” But she keeps drinking it, so it can’t be that bad.

I plate the eggs and bacon, setting it in front of her along with buttered toast. She stares at it.

“I can’t eat all this.”

“Eat what you can.” I lean against the counter, studying her face. “So, what were you doing at a gay bar anyway? Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

She shrugs, picking at her eggs. “I’ve given up on the opposite sex completely.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Completely?”

“Men are...” she waves her fork vaguely, “disappointing. Dangerous. Not worth the trouble.”

“Is that why you were covering your mouth when your roommate tried to kiss you?” I ask, unable to keep the smirk out of my voice.

Her cheeks flush. “That’s different. I don’t swing that way either, apparently.”

“So, you’re what, celibate?”

“Maybe. It’s working out well for me so far.”

I set my coffee down and move closer, bracing my hands on the counter on either side of her stool. “I could change your mind about the opposite sex.”

She looks up at me and laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is mocking and sharp. “You? You’re exactly the type of guy I need to stay away from.”

“What type is that?”

“Arrogant. Controlling. Probably emotionally unavailable.” She ticks off each trait on her fingers. “The kind who thinks his dick is magic and every woman should be grateful for the privilege.”

I lean closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. “Who says it’s not magic?”

She rolls her eyes hard. “Case in point.”

“You seemed to think so this morning when you were—”

“I was asleep!” she protests, nearly choking on her coffee. “That doesn’t count!”

“Felt pretty real to me.”

She glares at me, but there’s color in her cheeks that suggests she’s not as unaffected as she wants me to believe. “Can you take me home? I need to talk to Emma about... everything.”

“You mean you need to confirm that last night actually happened.”

“Maybe.” She stands up, pushing the half-eaten plate away. “I need to get some of my things anyway.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re in my car heading across town to her place. She’s quiet during the drive, staring out the window like she’s trying to prepare herself for whatever conversation awaits her.

When I pull up to the small duplex, she doesn’t get out immediately. Instead, she turns to me with an expression that’s almost shy.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For last night. For picking me up, for... everything. And I’m sorry for invading your space like that.”

I shake my head. “It’s no problem.”

She searches my face like she’s looking for something, then nods and opens the car door. “I’ll probably be a while.”

“I’ll be here.”

“What? Why?”

“We have a flight to catch.”

“Shit!” she panics, looking at the clock.

“Don’t worry. We have a few hours, so make it fast.”

“Oh my god. I’m so stupid.”

I watch her walk up the front steps, noting the way she hesitates before entering the apartment. When it opens and she slips inside, I settle back in my seat.

She said she’d make it fast.

Let’s hope she does so we don’t miss our flight.

I tap on the steering wheel.

Three days.

Three days to convince her to live with me.