Page 25 of Heart Breaker

I can feel it before I fully understand it—the way the space between us has narrowed, the way his attention has settled entirely on me. When he steps a fraction closer, gaze lowering to my mouth again, slower this time, like he’s not even trying to hide it, something in my stomach flips.

Oh, this is bad.

For a second, I don’t move. I don’t look away. I don’t do any of the things I should be doing. My lips part, breath catching, and I hate how aware I am of him. How easy it would be to just⁠—

No.

No, no, no.

This is exactly how this goes wrong.

He shifts, and that’s enough to snap me out of it. “Okay,” I say quickly, the word coming out a little too loudly as I take a sudden step back from him. “We should probably call it.” I clear my throat. “I’ll clean this stuff up.”

The moment fractures. Behind me, I feel him watching me.

“It’s not even eleven,” he says, his voice edged with something that makes my pulse jump, “we could have one more glass.”

I close my eyes for half a second, steadying myself before I turn back to him. “We have to be at a courthouse in, like, twelve hours. I need to at least pretend I’m well-rested when I get married for the first time.”

His expression changes—it’s small, but I notice it. He studies me for a second. “Lottie, there isn’t a version of tomorrow where you don’t look beautiful.”

My breath catches, but I turn back to the counter. “You can’t distract me with flattery.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” he says. “Just stating a fact.”

I focus on rinsing the dishes, stacking plates that don’t need stacking, giving my hands something to do besides reach for him.

We fall into a quiet rhythm after that, cleaning up the kitchen without much conversation, the ease from earlier in the evening replaced by something more careful. By the time everything is back in place, it’s like the moment never happened.

“I’m going to head to bed,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel. I turn to look at him, allowing my gaze to linger a little longer than I should.

“Good night, Lottie,” he says, his expression calm and controlled.

“Goodnight, Wes.”

This time, I don’t hesitate. I turn and walk away, forcing myself not to look back. Because I know that if I do, I might not make it out of the room.

I’m usually a good sleeper. Like, a head hits the pillow and I’m out kind of sleeper. No tossing, no turning, no overthinking every decision I’ve made in the last twelve hours.

So, the fact that I’m wide awake right now is very annoying.

I lie in my new bed in my new home and stare up at the ceiling. For the record, the bed is heavenly. It’s like sinking into a cloud. The pillows are exactly right. The blankets are exactly right. Everything about it is exactly right. So why does sleep feel so impossible?

I know exactly why: Wes Winters.

My evening with Wes is replaying on a loop in my head and I can’t shut it off. What makes it even more frustrating is knowing that he’s probably fast asleep in his room across the hall right now, completely unaffected.

I blow out a slow breath and drag a hand over my face. After I left him in the kitchen, I took a shower, the water as cold as I could stand, like somehow that would reset whatever short circuit happened in my brain.

It didn’t.

I crawled into this ridiculously perfect bed and actually considered reaching into the drawer for my vibrator because I couldn’t shake the image of Wes in a leather jacket and faded jeans walking into our home tonight.

I groan softly, grabbing a cushion and pressing it into my face. I will not get myself off with Wes Winters sleeping ten feet away. So instead, I lie here, awake, restless, and incredibly frustrated. Ten minutes later, I give up. Deciding a hot cup of tea will help, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, adjust the hem of my tank and shorts, and pad quietly down the hall past Wes’s bedroom.

In the kitchen, I flick on the light and then freeze. Wes is sitting at the table in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts and ankle socks, his hair a tousled mess. There’s a plate in front of him with what looks like half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It’s the most casual I’ve ever seen him, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.

He looks up, brow furrowed as he meets my eyes. “Couldn’t sleep either?”