Page 101 of Blush Crush

And yet, I really want to.

“You’re okay with that?” I gnaw on my bottom lip, waiting for him to see how this is obviously a bad idea.

It’s not like we’re back at the lake house. There’s no reason to spend the night with each other. To share a bed. And this time I doubt there will be a pillow between us.

“Of course I’m okay with it. I want you to. You think I’m going to let you suck me off like a champ and then send you on your way? Not a fucking chance. Get in here.”

When I still don’t get in, he pats the empty spot next to him. “Doll, get your sweet ass in this bed before I throw you on it myself.”

I guess I can’t say no to that.

Pulling back the covers, I slip in beside him and he lifts his arm, tucking me against his side.

It’s only once I’m comfortably settled in that I realize how tired I really am. So much happened today, and there’s something weirdly domestic about all of it—dinner with our parents, coming here, doing everything we did, and now this.

Like this is our life.

This must be what it really feels like to be in a relationship. To not be alone.

“What time do you have to be at the shop tomorrow?” Cole asks, voice heavy like he’s drifting to sleep.

“Not until noon. Lina is opening and I already prepped everything for her so she only has to throw it in the oven.”

“That’s good.” He kisses my hair. “Because you wore me out.”

I laugh quietly into his chest. “Same.”

Sleep comes fast.

So fast I forget all the reasons why it’s a bad idea to let myself stay.

CHAPTER 30

Ariana

IT’S COMPLICATED

“Young lady, you have some explaining to do.”

I startle, clutching my chest even though I recognized the voice. I just wasn’t expecting to see her. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone.

“Layla! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

She’s sitting cross-legged on my couch like she lives here, Duchess inexplicably in her lap despite the fact that she tolerates almost no one and usually makes visitors earn it, even Layla. Traitor.

“I used my spare key,” she says, not moving.

“That’s for emergencies.”

“You’ve been MIA for eighteen hours and you’re wearing a man’s clothes.” Her eyes do a deliberate pass from my—Cole’s—hoodie down to the sweatpants pooling over my feet. “I’d argue this qualifies as an emergency.”

I set my bag down and try to look at ease, which is difficult when I feel like I’ve been caught doing something I’m not supposed to.

“I was at Cole’s,” I say, very thankful we said our goodbyes in his truck when he dropped me off.

“I can tell.” She smiles, eyes expectant like she’s waiting for details.

I move to the kitchen and fill the kettle because I need something to do with my hands and because I’m too jittery for coffee.