Page 157 of Dream On

“I’ve always been here.”

A slow blink. “Hmm.”

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Your bed?”

“No. Your bed.” After he swallows down the pills and chugs the entire glass of water, I help lift him to his feet, and he stumbles twice before maintaining his balance.

We make our way to Lex’s bedroom, and I realize I’ve never been inside it for longer than a minute. It’s spacious and empty, void of any knickknacks orcolor pops. Slate-gray bedcovers, white walls, a few pieces of contemporary furniture. A little sad and joyless.

I plop him on the bed, and he rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his face.

Lifting my hands, I remove my scrunchie along with a necklace my mother gave me a few years back. It’s nothing expensive—just a tarnished chain with a small, heart-shaped locket containing a photo of my parents on their wedding day. I hold the tiny weight in my hand for a moment before depositing it on his nightstand with the ponytail holder.

“Think I drank too much.” Lex pulls himself up on a pillow, wincing with effort. Heavy, lidded eyes pan in my direction and hold tight as he slouches back against the headboard. “You’re so pretty.”

My insides buzz with warmth.

I study him, his chalky skin, rumpled hair and clothing, dilated pupils. He’s a mess, but he’s a stunning mess, and all I want to do is touch him. I want to sprawl out across his chest and spill my heart into the chasm between us until he has no choice but to take it. “I don’t like seeing you like this,” I whisper. “It hurts. It hurts so much.”

I think that’s as honest as I’ve ever been with him, and it’s a shame he won’t remember in the morning.

Stiffening, Lex drops his head back and peers up at the ceiling fan with whiskey-glazed eyes, his scent a mix of faded nautical cologne and bourbon. “Sorry I didn’t defend you. To my mom,” he says, blinking lazily. “Fuckin’ kills me.”

Tears fill my eyes as I cautiously take a seat beside him. “I’m trying to understand it.”

“Don’t want you to. Hope you never will.”

I press closer, my fingers twitching with the need to tease his hair or brush his cheek. “Do you regret this?” My throat clogs. I know it’s the wrong time to ask him this, but his guard is down, regardless of why, and I need to know. “Me coming here? To LA?”

His eyes flicker open, then close again, a frown creasing his brow. A heavy silence tugs the air. “It’s been the best couple months of my life,” he says softly,the words dangling. Another long pause stretches the distance between us, and then he adds, “Wish it could last forever.”

I hold back a little sound as I shift closer to him, his body heat blazing into me. “Lex—”

He stalls my words, wrapping an arm around my middle and flipping me onto the other side of him. My back bounces atop the mattress, my hair fanned out in a chocolate frame across his white pillow. His face comes into view, hovering over me, brows pinched with more than I can decipher in the darkness.

He grazes a finger down the side of my cheek, staring at me intently. “Can’t stop thinking about it,” he murmurs, his breathing growing heavier. “Being inside you.”

The room narrows, oxygen hard to catch.

Awareness courses through me.

I drag my fingertips through his bangs, pushing them back. “Why did you wait? To have sex?”

His eyes close for a beat, like he’s mulling over the words, searching for an answer that makes sense. Bending, he brushes his lips against my temple. “Don’t know,” he says. “I just never wanted to. Growing up, I only ever saw it used as a weapon. My father, Bianca, people in the industry.” His lips travel to my mouth and linger gently. “I guess I thought if I kept that part of me inaccessible, I could protect myself from becoming like them.”

“Lex, no…” I press a kiss to his lips, heartache bubbling over. “You’re not like them. And you’re safe with me.”

“Need you to be safe too.”

“I am safe.”

He flicks his head. “Don’t know if you are. Not here. Not with me.”

Everything inside me burns.

Warm, golden pain.