Page 138 of Collide

“Alex…I wouldn’t want to use you like that.” The words come gently. “It’s not right.”

He looks at me, and for a second, something shifts. His eyes widen—not in shock, but in something softer. Gratitude. Relief.

“That’s so refreshing to hear,” he whispers. Quiet, almost like a confession. He’s told me before how people have used him, twisted their proximity into opportunity. Madison included.

He always looks so composed, so glossy and unbothered, but with me, he lets the polish slip. Shows the boy underneath the fame. And I like that version of him. Iwantthat version of him.

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” he asks, his hand squeezing my thigh, gentle and warm.

I blink. “I didn’t bring anything—no toothbrush, no clothes.”

“You could sleep naked.” He winks. “Like I usually do.”

My breath catches.

The condom in my purse suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.

I shouldn’t have packed it.Am I ready for that? For him? For what it would mean?

Fuck.

“Elena,” he says softly, like he sees the storm crossing my face. “Relax. We don’t have to have sex. Stay over. Spend the night. We can talk. I’ve got a spare toothbrush. You can borrow something of mine.”

There’s no pressure in his voice.

“Okay,” I whisper.

We finish the rest of dinner, rosé included. Conversation flows easily now, a soft blur of shared stories and low laughter. We talk more about the Hamptons—I leave out the part about a certain best man—and drift into music playing low in the background. He tells me about his sister, Ingrid, the writer who lives in England. The way his voice warms when he mentions her makes me smile.

The hours slip by unnoticed. By the time we finally head to his bedroom, it’s well past midnight.

He pulls out a pajama set for me—soft cotton in a deep maroon—and hands it over with a gentle smile.

“Help yourself to any skincare. There’s heaps. I get sent a lot of stuff,” he says, gesturing toward the ensuite. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

He slides the door shut behind me.

He wasn’t kidding. The counter is adorned neatly with rows of expensive skincare, high-end labels, and tiny frosted jars. Lotions, serums, and potions in glass droppers. I undress slowly, folding my clothes into a tidy pile on the bench.

I twist my hair into a messy bun, shower, brush my teeth, remove my makeup. Wash my face with something that smells like cucumber and money.

The routine feels quiet. Mundane.

Is this what it would be like?Sharing a space with him. Doing ordinary things beside someone extraordinary. I can’t help the thought.

And I can’t help how much I like it.

When I step back into the bedroom, the lights are low, casting everything in soft amber. Alex is already in bed, propped against the pillows in nothing but briefs. My breath hitches.

His body is lean, golden, chiseled to perfection. He looks over at me and grins.

“Come here,” he pats the space beside him.

I bite my lip as I walk to the edge of the bed, fingers hooking the waistband of his shorts. They’re far too big, already slipping down my hips. I let them fall and step out, climbing in beside him.

His gaze catches on the bare stretch of my thighs—and lingers. Hunger flashes across his face, raw and unguarded.

He wants me.