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“Yes,” I manage. “I’d really like that.”
Even in the dark, I can tell Luke is smiling. “I’ll find you something more comfortable to sleep in.”
He slips off to his bedroom, and I follow in a daze. I feel like a sleep walker moving through his house, every surface insubstantial. I’m afraid if I touch anything it’ll dissolve into smoke and I’ll wake up from this. How has my entire life changed in the span of a single night?
When I reach the bedroom, Luke has turned on the horrible lamp on the nightstand. He’s laying some T-shirts out on the bed.
“They’re going to be kind of big on you,” he says, “but I don’t know if I have anything else, and I can’t find bottoms that will work for you.”
He looks so sheepish, like he should have known to keep clothes my size around for this bizarre occasion. I burst into laughter, unable to contain how ridiculous this feels.
Luke’s brow furrows, and I hurry to him, draping my arms around his neck and kissing him to ease his confusion.
“I’m sorry to laugh,” I say. “I’m just really happy.”
“About a T-shirt?”
“About this. About you.”
His face goes all soft and fond, and I can’t help sliding back into the warm circle of his arms. We stand beside his bed with its array of T-shirt options and hold each other, and I get the sense we’re both simply experiencing this connection, experiencing the fact that it’s real and steady and not going anywhere any time soon.
“We should get ready for bed,” he says eventually.
I reluctantly agree. The toothbrush I used last time I was here waits beside his sink. I clean up, then peel myself out of tight club clothes and swap them for his comfortable, baggy T-shirt. It reaches past my waist but not my thighs, which ends up being a whole different type of sexy than the leather and fishnet of the club. Judging by the way Luke’s eyes flicker up and down me, he might like it even better than the tight stuff I dance in.
We sink into his bed. Without a word passing between us, we lie on our sides, Luke shuffling close behind me to envelope my body in his. His arm is around me, his chest against my back, his nose in my hair. And somehow this part is even better than what we did in the dressing room. That sounds crazy even inside the privacy of my own head, but I’ve had that other stuff plenty of times with plenty of people.This, however, this is something new and precious. For the moment, it’s the best thing in the entire world.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Maybe I’m thanking him for this night. Maybe for the T-shirt and toothbrush. Maybe for everything. I don’t quite know, but the words feel right.
Luke responds by holding me tighter, squeezing me against his chest like he never intends to let me go. That’s perfectly fine with me. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to flit away from this and pretend it wouldn’t hurt.
I’m his. For as long as he’ll have me.
Chapter Thirty
Luke
I WAKE WITH Sebastian in my arms.
I breathe carefully, loath to disturb him when he’s so relaxed and peaceful. His own breathing is steady and slow, his limbs devoid of tension. I’ve seen him sleep before, but this feels different. Deeper, almost. Like the first time he’s truly rested in months or years.
I wriggle my arm carefully out from under him so I don’t disturb that rest. I move like a secret agent in a spy movie who’s gingerly replacing the real jewels with a decoy. It takes some patience, but I manage to shuffle away from him while eliciting nothing more than a tiny sigh.
It’s hard to resist kissing his cheek or neck when I finally get myself out of bed, but I need him to stay asleep for now. I therefore pad as quietly as possible out of myroom, closing the door gently behind me.
Only when I make it to my kitchen do I relax. I’m in nothing but loose boxer shorts and haven’t brushed my teeth, but that stuff can wait. I hatched a plan last night. At some point during the drive here, I knew that if Sebastian agreed to stay, I wanted to make it worth his while. I wanted to do something tangible to show him that things are going to be different. He doesn’t need to worry about me running off. He’s going to get the treatment he deserves.
That starts with some eggs and my coffee maker.
I bustle around the kitchen, setting everything out on the counters. The coffee maker gurgles as the water heats up. Butter sizzles in a pan, scenting the kitchen with the rich, bright aroma of fat and salt. I mix up batter in a bowl, then start pouring it into the pan. While it browns, I rush for the plates.
It’s a flurry of activity, some of it potentially loud enough to reach the bedroom, but Sebastian doesn’t emerge the entire time I cook. I scurry through flipping pancakes and brewing coffee and cutting up whatever fresh fruit I have in the fridge, and by the end of it, I’m kind of proud of what I’ve created. It’s not bad for a breakfast in bed I didn’t know was happening until two in the morning.
I stare at it all for a moment. It was nothing but an idea not too long ago, a vague hope, and here it is. It’s tangible.It’s made a wonderful mess of my kitchen, and I can’t wait to share it with Sebastian. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in here somewhere, but right now I don’t care. I’m just excited to stack the plates and cups and bowls and utensils on a tray (which is actually a baking pan) and carry it to the bedroom.
Sebastian is sitting up in bed and blinking when I enter the room. He looks confused as he rubs at his eyes and searches for me. When he finds me, surprise opens his expression even more.
