Page 169 of Collide

Ican’tmove.

I wonder…What if I’d met him first?

What if Alex wasn’t sleeping upstairs in my bed?

Would he kiss me now? Fuck me on this counter?

Would I let him?

My heart slams against my ribs, so loud I swear he can hear it. But then he stops. Pulls back slightly, his jaw ticking.

“You’re trouble, Elena,” he says, almost gently. “You know that?”

My chest heaves, breathless.

I could say the same abouthim.

He lingers, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of soap and smoke and something else I can never name but always feel, and then he smiles wide enough to break whatever that was.

The moment I almost gave in. Again.

“Elena…I’d like my phone back, please,” he murmurs.

I laugh awkwardly, his words cutting through the tension.

I nod toward my purse, sitting on the edge of the counter, trying to catch my breath.

He turns, grabs it, opens it, and takes his phone out before placing it back on the counter.

“Thank you.” He starts to walk out, then pauses in the doorway, every muscle in his back pulled tight.

Doesn’t look. Just stands there for a moment.

I wonder if he’s fighting it too.

If he’s thinking about my legs brushing his hips, my breath catching when his thumb grazed my lip.

If he wonders about all the what-ifs.

But he leaves.

And I’m still on the counter, too full of want, guilt, tasting grilled cheese and everyalmostthat passed between us. Again.

I exhale—then drag in air and sense in the same breath. Slipping off the counter, I dart upstairs, desperate for release. Desperate to erase the lingering of what-ifs.

Pushing open my bedroom door, the hallway light spills across the bed where Alex lies flat on his back, mouth parted, chest rising, slow and deep with sleep.

Walking to him, my heart hammers, feet silent on the carpet. For a moment, I watch him, the way the sheets cling to his hips, the way one arm flops loose across the mattress.

I crawl into bed beside him, pressing my body into his, needing the warmth, the solidity, theyesI know he’ll give me without hesitation.

“Alex,” I whisper, lips brushing over his bare torso in soft, open-mouthed kisses. I’m tempted to ask him to fuck me—beg for it, even—just to drown out the thoughts of Broderick. But I won’t. I know I’ll regret it if I do it for the wrong reasons, if my heart isn’t fully in it.

Still, I need Alex to make me feel good—in the way I know only he can.

He stirs, grumbling low in his throat, shifting toward me. My fingertips trace the line of his stomach, inching lower, finding him already half-hard under the thin fabric of his briefs.

I stroke his cock—slow, coaxing—and feel him swell under my hand.