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I’m splayed out like a starfish on his king-sized mattress, the sheets twisted around my legs, my head pounding out a rhythm of regret. My mouth tastes like stale alcohol and bad decisions. What did I do last night?
The sound of running water stops, followed by the creak of a door hinge. Levi strides out of the bathroom, a vision of masculinity that sends a jolt straight to my core. Droplets of water cling to his chiseled chest, trailing down over well-defined abs before disappearing beneath the waistband of his low-hung sweatpants. His hair is wet, the gray at the temples somehow making him look even more distinguished, more…off-limits.
“Morning,” he rumbles.
“Levi…” His name comes out as a croak, my voice betraying the chaos swirling inside me. Memories are elusive, teasing just beyond my grasp, leaving behind only the bitter taste of desire unfulfilled.
A tilt of his head, a casual flick of his finger toward the nightstand. My gaze follows, landing on the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water waiting like silent guardians against the morning’s cruel light. Gratitude wars with embarrassment—I’m a mess, and he’s…well, Levi.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my voice rough around the edges. The words are simple but they carry the weight of my pounding heart. I reach for the ibuprofen he’s provided, my fingers brushing against the cool surface of the bottle.
I pop two and toss them back, chasing them down with a gulp of water that’s blissfully cold. It soothes the dry desert of my throat, brings a momentary oasis to the hangover savaging my brain. Relief is immediate, a gentle ebb in the tide of throbbing pain.
But the nervousness? That’s stickier, clinging like the sweatpants to Levi’s hips. What happened last night? The not knowing twists inside me, coiling around my ribs until I can barely breathe.
I glance at him and lick my lips. “Levi…” My voice is a tentative whisper, betraying the chaos of thoughts tumbling through my mind. “Did we sleep together?” The question hangs in the air, intimate and exposed.
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over the ridges of his abdomen, muscles relaxed yet somehow still alert. His wet hair, darker than usual, tempts fingers to touch, to explore. But it’s his eyes that pin me down—a stormy gray that promises secrets and sin.
“No, Brielle.” His voice is firm, a lifeline in the uncertainty. “We didn’t fuck.”
Relief floods me, so intense it’s almost a physical force. But confusion nips at its heels, persistent and sharp. “But we shared a bed?”
His nod is slow, deliberate. “Yeah. But nothing happened. We figured it would be best to bring you here rather than to risk having you run your mouth to your dad while you were drunk.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t stay the whole night,” he adds, voice dropping lower, a caress that sends shivers skittering across my skin.
“Where did you go?” It slips out, curiosity a living thing between us.
“Does it matter?” Levi challenges.
A sharp, cold sweetness pierces through the fog in my head. Vanilla, rich and creamy. My mind clutches at the memory, dragging it into the light. “Levi…there was ice cream,” I whisper, my voice a mix of wonder and confusion. The recollection is vivid, almost tangible, as if I can still feel the coolness against my tongue.
He leans against the doorframe, his arms folded, muscles flexing beneath his skin. “Yeah, we stopped for some on the way back. You were pretty out of it, and said you needed it.”
The image bursts to life in my head—sitting inside and eating ice cream. A rare, gentle Levi breaking through the usual smoldering intensity. My chest tightens with a warmth that has nothing to do with the hangover.
“Thank you,” I start, fidgeting with the edge of the duvet, my gaze flitting away. “I never should’ve gone to that party. It was stupid.”
“Hey.” His voice is a low rumble, commanding my attention. I look up to find his eyes dark with something formidable. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“But I do,” I insist, the weight of last night pressing down on me. “That guy…he wouldn’t let go of my arm. And then you were there, and suddenly I wasn’t scared anymore.”
“I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you,” he says, a protective glint in his eyes.
I lock eyes with him, the intensity of his gaze pinning me down, stripping away layers of defense I didn’t even know I had built up. “Seems a little intimate for someone who has a girlfriend.”
“Why do you care about Portia and me?” His question hangs in the air, charged with an unspoken challenge.
“Because,” I start, my voice a mere whisper, betraying the storm of emotions swirling within me. “Because there’s something between us, and maybe it’s just lust, but it’s something.”
Levi’s expression shifts, the lines of his face carving a map of realization. He’s silent, considering, and I fill the space between us with the weight of my confession.
Finally, he says, “I broke things off with Portia. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, Brielle.”
My breath hitches as I inch closer, my heart thudding like it’s ready to break free. Levi’s eyes, a stormy gray, reflect a hunger that mirrors my own. With every shaky exhale, the line we’re about to cross blurs more and more.
