“You’re supposed to let me ask the questions,” I say, smiling despite myself. “What’s the date? Wait, your name is Noah Ezekiel?”
“Mother was having a bad day when she named me. It’s November fifteenth. Now can I go back to sleep?” His eyes are already drooping again.
“Yeah.” I settle back down on my side of the bed, pulling the covers up. “I’ll check again in two hours.”
“Mmm.” He’s already fading, but his hand finds mine under the blanket, his fingers loosely intertwining with mine, spooking me into next year with the gesture’s intimacy. “Thanks, Bea.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest, a flutter that has nothing to do with medical concern or the ever-present guilt. His hand is warm and calloused from more than just officework as I’ve discovered recently, and I don’t pull away. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to wake him, but that’s a lie.
The truth is, I like how his hand feels in mine and mine in his. I like taking care of him. I like seeing him vulnerable and human, without the armor of tailored suits and cutting remarks. To be frank, I like seeing him in nothing at all.
I like it too much.
At 3:47 a.m., my alarm buzzes again. This time, Noah’s already stirring when I reach for him.
“I know, I know,” he mumbles with his eyes still closed. “Concussion check.”
The routine is easier this time—flashlight, pupil response, basic questions. His answers are clearer, more focused. The ibuprofen seems to have helped with the pain too, because he’s not wincing as much when he moves.
“You’re getting better,” I whisper as I settle back down.
“Told you, I just needed sleep.” His voice is soft in the darkness. “You don’t have to keep checking. I’m fine. I’ve done this before.”
“Two more times,” I insist. “Then I’ll let you sleep as much as you want.”
He makes a noncommittal sound, but his hand finds mine under the covers once again. This time I’m sure it’s intentional—the way his thumb slowly traces across my knuckles.
“Bea?” His voice is barely audible. “I’m sorry. For tonight. For all of it.”
I turn my head to look at him in the dim light filtering through my window. His dark eyes are open and trained on me.
“You don’t need to apologize,” I whisper back. “I’m the one who followed you. I’m the one who distracted you.”
“You could have gotten hurt.” His hand tightens around mine.
“But I didn’t,” I say, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I’m okay.Yougot hurt.”
He’s quiet for a long moment while his thumb moves against my knuckles in that hypnotic pattern that knocks all common sense out of my head. Lying here in the dark with our hands intertwined and voices barely above a whisper makes my chest tight with hope I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Why did you follow me?” he asks finally. I was waiting for him to ask again; he only got the start of the truth at the warehouse before we were interrupted.
I could lie, hoping he doesn’t remember everything I blurted out back there. I could give him some professional excuse about being concerned for his well-being as his assistant. But the darkness around us, the vulnerability in his voice, and his tough skin caressing my hand makes me want to tell the truth, to launch our relationship straight into the stratosphere. Because there’s no way I can ever look at his face the same after today without imagining his bare chest covered in sweat and that predatory stance he took in the ring.
“I was jealous,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can think too much of them.
His thumb stops moving. “Jealous?”
My face burns in the darkness. “Yes. Of Rebecca. Of your satisfied face.”
“Satisfied face?”
Iheara smile in his voice, but instead of making me shy, it makes me brave.
“Yes. You looked so happy when you got to work the other morning, and again after you left work to go someplace and didn’t come back for hours.” My voice picks up strength. “And then this woman Rebecca called, talking about what you’d forgotten. I thought you’d spent the night with her. I guess I wanted to catch you red-handed. Or rather, pants-dropped.”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “And what about the sex club thing?”
I cover my face and groan. “You remember that?”
