Page 12 of Venus

I wake up to the smell of laundry detergent and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat under my cheek.

For a second, I forget where I am. Who I’m with. Then I shift, feel the weight of his arm across my waist, and remember everything.

He’s still asleep, mouth slightly open, one hand resting on my hip like it’s always belonged there.

And God help me, I like it. I like him. I like the way my apartment doesn’t feel so chaotic with him here.

Callie and I are always coming and going after long shifts, that this place feels less like a home and more like a hotel.

But with him here, it feels more grounded.

He fits perfectly in my bed despite it being too small.

This is not casual. It’s quickly turning into more and I can’t let it. He knows it because I told him, but I know it because I know me and the baggage I come with.

I can’t do long term. It’s not in the cards for me and I’ve made peace with that. Carter is a nice guy, and I don’t want to play with his heart.

It’s so obviously big and aching for love .

Love that I can’t give him.

I slide out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him.

My feet hit the cold floor as I shuffle into the kitchen, pulling his shirt down to cover my rear a bit more.

It smells like him. Like cedar and soap and something warm underneath it all.

I lift the fabric to bury my face in the collar for a second before shaking myself out of it.

Get a grip, V.

I don’t do this. I don’t feel things. Feelings are messy. They make me do irrational things, like plan your outfits for a man or get butterflies when I wake up next to him.

I brew a pot of coffee and try not to think about how he stayed. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. He didn’t even flinch when I told him there was a chance I might run. He planted his feet and practically promised he’d wait for me.

And I know those weren’t just empty words or a ploy to get in my pants. He meant it.

My phone vibrates on the counter with a text from my roommate and best friend.

Callie: So…did he bring the thick hose?

I roll my eyes and reply:

Me: He brought the whole engine.

Callie: Damn. I’m jealous. Think he’s got any friends?

I laugh to myself and put the phone face down before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet. Behind me, I hear footsteps and turn to see Carter walking in, shirtless, rubbing sleep from his eyes like the small-town Roman statue he is.

“I was gonna bring you coffee in bed,” I say.

He yawns. “And miss the chance to see you in my shirt? Not a chance.”

I wrinkle my nose when he takes a sip of it with no cream or sugar. He sets the mug down and leans on the counter, his gaze warm and unreadable. “So… was last night okay with you?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “It was good.”

He studies me for a moment. “I didn’t mean the sex…I meant me staying the night.”

I study him back. “I asked you to.”

He leaves that conversation there as if he’s afraid pressing further will bite him in the ass. He takes another sip of his nasty bean water, then gestures toward the fridge. “Mind if I make something?”

“Be my guest.”

He finds eggs, spinach, and a little leftover cheddar and starts cracking eggs like he’s done it here a hundred times. Watching him move around my kitchen like he belongs here… it’s domestic.

And dangerous. I shouldn’t be letting him get comfortable here.

I exhale. “I’m not good at this.”

“At cooking breakfast? ”

“At… things .”

He chuckles, but doesn’t say anything back, inviting me to elaborate but not pushing the subject.

“I just don’t want to lead you on,” I add. “I don’t want you to get stuck waiting for something that’s never coming.”

He sets the spatula down and turns to face me fully. “You don’t owe me anything.”

I blink. “Then why do you keep showing up?”

He shrugs. “Because I want to.”

“But what if it doesn’t turn into anything? What if it stays casual forever and you waste your time?”

He walks around the counter and stands in front of me, just close enough that I have to tilt my head to look him in the eyes.

“One day when you’re ready, we’ll talk about why you feel that way, and we’ll figure out what that means for us. For now, how about we make a deal that whatever this is, it stays real?”

My throat tightens. I want to say something but nothing comes out.

Instead, I nod. He gives me a smile that assures me this is all good enough for him.

For now.

But will it be enough when he finds out how broken I really am?