Page 5 of Ex- Factor

I woke up to the smell of food and the sound of a man singing off-key in my kitchen to Paramore’s “Misery Business.” I blinked against the sunlight spilling through my curtains, stretched, and frowned.

Silas was still in my house.

Everything that happened the night before flooded back—the kiss, the drinking, us talking and falling asleep in my bed.

I didn’t even want to think about the implications of it.

Especially now, when I had to pee, my mouth tasted terrible, and my head was fuzzy.

I pushed myself up and dragged myself to the bathroom.

“You drank a lot,” he said, noticing me watching him, as if I’d asked why he was still in my house looking so comfortable.

His honey-brown eyes connected with mine.

“You needed something greasy and decadent to sop up all that wine.” He gestured toward the coffee table where he knelt, unpacking the bag.

I nodded and sat on the floor to eat, lost in my own thoughts, running through reasons why I should kick him out.

We didn’t really talk—just ate. I ended up sitting between his legs after we finished, because somehow he talked me into letting him help take down my braids.

It was helpful, but it felt a little too domestic, like we’d done it a thousand times before.

And I kept thinking about the fact that I’d known this man for two days and had more of these couple-like moments with him than I ever had with Donte.

It made me sad… how does a man I barely know manage to show up in ways the man I begged for years never did? But instead of letting myself slip back into that melancholy, I concentrated on Silas’s fingers.

He was gentle with my hair. No tugging, no rushing—just quiet patience as he unraveled me, one braid at a time. I turned just enough to give him a half-smirk.

“You done this before?”

“Helped Angel. Naomi. A few times,” he said, voice casual like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Well,” I mumbled, “you’re good at it. I almost feel pampered.”

“Shh.” He dropped the synthetic hair into my lap and nudged my shoulder with his knee. “You’re missing the best part.”

Eurotrip was playing, and he was right—it was dumb as hell, but also hilarious. I wouldn’t have picked it on my own, but I found myself laughing way more than I expected to.

By the time the credits rolled, he had finished my hair. I leaned my head back against his leg, stretched my arms out, then craned my neck to look up at him.

“So when you going home?”

He shrugged, like the idea of going home hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“You’re not a hobosexual, are you?” I asked, giving him side-eye.

He blinked. “A what?”

“You know—a man who dates women for a place to stay. Gives you dick and a sob story in exchange for shelter and utilities.”

Silas burst out laughing. “That’s the name for it?”

“It is, and you better not be one.”

He grinned, and I noticed he had the nerve to have dimples you could only see if you looked real hard.

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang.

I frowned. “I wonder who that is?”

He gave a lazy shrug, and I got up to check the peephole. It was Cassius, holding a duffel bag.

I opened the door. “Um. Hi? What’s up?”

Cassius smirked and shoved the bag in my direction. “I came to pick up my car and I brought a change of clothes for your boy.” As soon as I took the bag, he turned and left.

Silas was picking up hair from the floor and couch when I turned around, avoiding looking at me.

“Why did he bring you a change of clothes here?” I asked, stepping back into the living room and holding up the duffel like it was evidence in a trial.

Silas rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the bag.

“Oh. Uh…” He hesitated. “I got a thing later. Like a meet-up. I figured I’d just go from here. Less running around.”

I tilted my head. “You figured you’d get ready at my house?”

He shrugged again, trying to look innocent, but there was a little smile playing on his lips. Like he knew damn well what he was doing.

“I mean, I was already here. Didn’t want to waste time going back and forth.”

“Mmhmm.” I narrowed my eyes and sucked my teeth. “You’re lucky you cute.”

He nodded like he agreed. “I get that a lot.”

I tossed the duffel bag onto the couch. “Fine.”

Again, I don’t know why I was letting him do what he wanted—but I was.