Page 11

Rilee

I can’t sleep.

Again.

It’s past midnight, the house quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old pipes. My room feels too hot. My thoughts won’t shut up. And apparently, caffeine after seven p.m. was a bad call.

I step into the hallway barefoot, dressed in shorts and a tank top, debating whether popcorn at this hour qualifies as a cry for help.

That’s when I see it.

A faint glow slipping from Grayson’s room. The door’s cracked an inch, soft yellow light spilling out, warm and quiet. Like a secret.

I hesitate—just for a second—then knock lightly and push it open.

He’s at his desk, shirtless, back to me, bent over something with a pencil in hand. There’s music playing low, something acoustic and wordless. A small desk lamp casts gold over his shoulders, and his tattoos shift when he moves, like they’re breathing with him.

He turns slightly, sees me in the doorway. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak.

Just nods once.

I step inside, suddenly aware of how little I’m wearing. “Couldn’t sleep,” I say.

He gestures to the empty side of the bed without looking up. “Join the club.”

I cross the room and sit, watching him work for a second. “What are you drawing?”

He tears the page out and hands it to me without a word.

It’s me.

Sitting on the stairs, hoodie half-off one shoulder, hair wild, a cereal bowl in my lap. Head tilted, eyes distant—like I’m thinking about something I don’t want to say out loud.

And he caught it. All of it.

My breath catches. “This is…”

“I drew it the night you moved in.”

I glance up. He’s watching me now, pencil forgotten in his fingers.

“Why?” I ask, softer than before.

Grayson shrugs. “You looked like someone trying not to fall apart.”

There’s no pity in his voice. Just fact.

And understanding.

I stare at the sketch again. “You really see people, don’t you?”

He leans back in his chair, head tilting. “You make it easy.”

The silence stretches—comfortable, electric.

And then he stands.

Moves toward me, slow and steady, until he’s right in front of me. Close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that I stop breathing.

“You always walk into people’s rooms uninvited?” he murmurs.

“You always draw people without asking?”

He smirks. “Touché.”

He reaches up, brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my cheek—light, almost hesitant.

And then he kisses me.

No warning. No question.

Just heat and certainty and this quiet, unspoken ache that’s been building for weeks.

His mouth is warm. Patient. Devastating.

I kiss him back without thinking, fingers curling around his back, pulling him just a little closer.

It’s slow. Focused. Nothing like Caleb’s breathless fire. This is something else entirely—like Grayson’s trying to memorize every second of it.

His hand slides to my hip. Not possessive. Just anchoring me there.

And I let him.

I let the kiss deepen, my body warming everywhere he touches. The silence between us is gone, replaced by breath and skin and something that feels dangerously combustible.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.

He says nothing.

And he doesn’t have to.

Because I’m already spiraling.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Because Caleb.

But right now, in this small, golden-lit room, with Grayson’s hands on my waist and his kiss still clinging to my mouth?

I don’t want to stop.

I pull back first.

Barely.

His lips are still right there, breath warm against mine, but the moment’s already tipping sideways—too much, too fast, and I’m starting to drown in it.

“I should…” I murmur, but I don’t finish the sentence.

Grayson’s eyes search mine, steady and unreadable.

He doesn’t stop me.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just lets me go.

I slip past him on bare feet, heartbeat wrecked, panties wet.

The hallway’s cold. The air feels sharp. My skin is hot.

I duck into my room and shut the door behind me—quiet, like silence might protect me from my own spiraling thoughts.

I lean back against the wall and exhale hard.

Because what was that?

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a problem. A slow-burn, hand-on-my-hip, kiss-you-until-you-forget-why-you’re-running kind of problem.

And now I’m standing in the dark, heart pounding, legs shaky, and my panties embarrassingly soaked like my body hasn’t gotten the memo that this is not allowed.

Sleep?

Yeah, no chance in hell that’s happening.

I cross to the nightstand, yank open the drawer, and fumble until I find it—my not-so-secret weapon.

Small. Quiet. Purple.

I fall back on the bed, still half-dressed, still breathing hard, and press. Push the toy under my shorts and panties. My eyes flutter closed, and my mind races with flashes of that kiss—his mouth, his hands, the quiet control in the way he touched me like I was breakable and dangerous.

I bite my lip.

And let myself come fast, too fast, biting down a moan I don’t have the nerve to say out loud.

After, I lie there in the dark, body humming, chest heaving.

But I don’t feel better.

If anything… I feel more .

And I hate how much of that kiss I’m still carrying.

Mornings in the hockey house are a chaotic mix of testosterone, coffee, and arguments over protein powder.

Normally, I can handle it.

Today?

I want to crawl into the HVAC system and die there.

Grayson’s already in the kitchen when I shuffle in, still dressed in pajamas, my eyes glued to the floor like I’m avoiding sniper fire.

He’s at the stove, flipping eggs with absurd calm. Shirtless. Again. Like last night didn’t happen.

Like he didn’t kiss me like he meant it. Like my entire nervous system didn’t detonate in his hands.

“Morning,” Caleb says cheerfully from the table, sipping coffee and scrolling his phone. “You’re up early. Big clinical day?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Grayson glances over.

I flinch.

Caleb notices.

His brow furrows just a little. “You okay?”

“Totally fine,” I lie. “Why?”

Hunter stomps in next, already wearing a scowl and no shirt because apparently clothing is optional around here. He beelines for the fridge and mutters something about someone stealing his leftovers.

No one answers.

He slams the door closed harder than necessary.

Grayson plates the eggs, drops two slices of toast next to them, and slides the plate to the end of the counter. “If you’re hungry.”

I freeze.

He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Doesn’t smile.

Just stands there—cool, steady, unshakable.

It’s so much worse than if he’d winked or smirked or said something smug. Because now I’m the only one acting weird.

I force a tight smile. “Thanks. I’m good.”

I grab my bag and escape to the hallway like the kitchen is full of landmines.

By the time I get to campus, I’ve mentally replayed that kiss five times and cycled through guilt, lust, and warded off at least two different panic attacks.

I slide into my usual seat next to Lexi just before lecture starts.

She takes one look at me and raises an eyebrow. “You look like a heroine in a morally gray romance.”

I groan and drop my forehead to the desk. “I made out with Grayson.”

“WHAT.”

“Shhh!” I hiss, swatting her arm. “Not so loud!”

She leans in, eyes wide. “Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I was in his room, he kissed me, it was—” I lower my voice, “— hot, Lex. Like… slow-motion, soul-melting hot. And then I panicked and bolted like a coward.”

She grins. “So you like him.”

“I don’t know! This morning he acted like nothing happened. ”

Lexi snorts. “He’s probably playing it cool to give you space.”

“Or because he regrets it.”

Lexi snorts harder. “Rilee. Babe. Have you seen yourself?”

“I am a mess. I spent the whole night trying not to relive it. Then I relived it. With batteries.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Damn.”

“Yup.”

“Okay, look.” She softens. “You don’t have to figure it all out today. Or even this week. Just breathe, flirt, survive your shift, and maybe don’t make out with anyone else tonight. ”

I groan. “No promises.”

The house is quiet when I get home. Like, weirdly quiet.

No Caleb humming in the kitchen. No Hunter slamming doors. No TV murmuring in the background.

Just silence.

And one pair of boots by the door.

Grayson.

I drop my bag gently, not ready to face him but too tired to sneak back out and pretend I forgot something at the library.

When I step into the kitchen, he’s at the counter, sketchpad open, pencil in hand, a half-drunk mug of coffee next to him.

He glances up.

Not surprised.

Not tense.

Just… there.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

I hover near the fridge, unsure whether to run, apologize, or set myself on fire to distract from the awkward.

He puts the pencil down. “Are you avoiding me?”

I blink. “What? No. I’ve just been—”

“Busy?” His mouth lifts just slightly. “You’ve walked out of three rooms I’ve entered today.”

I wince. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

He nods like he expected that. Then gestures to the stool across from him.

“Sit.”

I do.

Because I’m tired of running.

He watches me for a second, then says, “You don’t have to freak out. It was a kiss.”

“ It was a lot of kiss. ”

He smiles, just a flicker. “Still a kiss.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I also kissed Caleb.”

He nods. No hesitation. “I figured.”

“You’re not… mad?”

“We’re not exclusive, right?”

I shake my head.

“Then there’s no problem,” he says, easy. “Unless you’re making it one.”

My throat tightens. “I just— I didn’t mean to mess things up. I like you. I like him. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Sounds like you’re figuring it out.”

“You’re being very calm about this.”

He shrugs. “Freaking out won’t make you less confused. I like you, Rilee. That hasn’t changed.”

I stare at him.

He’s not saying it to manipulate me. He’s not cornering me. He’s just giving me space to feel what I feel—and still choosing me anyway.

And somehow, that makes me want to crawl into his lap and cry. Or kiss him again. Or both.

“I feel like I’m juggling fire.”

He chuckles. “You’re not. You’re just… in the middle of something big.”

I nod, heart thudding softer now.

“Thanks,” I murmur. “For not making this harder.”

His gaze warms. “I have other ways of doing that.”

My mouth drops open. “Did you just—”

He grins, grabs his coffee, and walks out without looking back.