“Twenty. Feet.” Mark enunciates each syllable like it’s a marathon distance. “Might as well be twenty miles.”
Kayla giggles. “We could play a game,” she suggests, brightening at her own idea. “Something fun.”
“Not Truth or Dare,” Ed and Ronan say in unison, then fist-bump without looking at each other.
“Why not?” Kayla pouts.
“Because last time we played, Alex dared me to eat a spoonful of hot sauce, and I couldn’t taste anything for two days,” Ed complains.
The conversation devolves into an argument about gameoptions. I tune it out, my eyes seeking Vincent again. He’s set his glass down and is now leaning back against the window, one knee pulled up to his chest, his arm draped casually over it. When he catches me staring, he doesn’t look away.
I want to cross the room, grab him by the wrist, and drag him to my bedroom. I want to peel off his clothes and finish what we started on the rooftop before Ronan interrupted us.
But my friends show no signs of leaving. In fact, they look like they’re settling in for the long haul.
Without consciously deciding to move, I find myself standing. The conversation doesn’t immediately stop, but it stutters, trailing off as eyes turn my way.
“Everything okay, dude?” Ronan asks.
I don’t respond to him. Instead, I look directly at Vincent, letting everything I’m feeling show plainly on my face.
Vincent’s response is immediate. He sets his glass down and rises from his chair in one fluid motion, his eyes never leaving mine. The tension between us is so thick it feels like a force pushing everyone else to the edges of the room.
“Uh, should we… go?” Ed asks, looking uncertainly between us.
“No,” I say, finally breaking eye contact with Vincent to address the room. “You’re all welcome to stay. There are four guest bedrooms. Clean towels in each bathroom. Help yourselves to whatever you want from the kitchen. We’re calling it a night.”
I glance back at Vincent, noticing the flush spreading across his cheekbones.
Our friends exchange glances, some knowing, others confused. I should probably feel embarrassed by how obvious I’m being, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Night, everyone,” I say, already moving toward Vincent,my hand finding the small of his back as I guide him toward the hallway.
Vincent chuckles softly as we leave the living room behind, the sound vibrating against my palm where it rests on his back. “Subtle,” he murmurs.
“I’m done being subtle,” I reply, my voice dropping lower as we approach my bedroom.
I reach past Vincent to open the door, guiding him backward into the one room in this entire penthouse that feels truly mine. As the door closes behind us with a soft click, sealing us away from the rest of the world, I feel something settle inside me—a piece sliding into place that I didn’t realize was missing until Vincent returned to my life.
***
As the bedroom door clicks shut behind us, I guide Vincent backward toward my bed, my hands greedy for him. When we reach the bed, I press him against the mattress, my body covering his like I’m afraid he might disappear again if I let go.
“Alex,” he breathes against my lips, my name a prayer and a plea all at once.
I silence him with a kiss that’s more teeth than finesse, our mouths crashing together with the desperation of drowning men finding air. The enormous mirror on the opposite wall catches my eye—reflecting our tangled bodies. The sight of us together sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
“Been thinking about this,” I murmur against his throat, trailing bites and kisses down the column of his neck. “Thinking about you. Ever since I saw you at that fucking club.”
Vincent’s fingers tangle in my hair, pulling just hardenough to send sparks dancing across my scalp. “Show me,” he challenges, his voice rough with want.
I don’t need to be told twice. My hands find the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in my haste. One pops off, bouncing across the hardwood floor. I don’t care. I’ll buy him a hundred new shirts. A thousand. Whatever it takes to keep him here, with me, like this.
The first three buttons give way, revealing a flash of crimson beneath. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as I stare down at what I’ve uncovered.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper, my fingers trembling as I undo the rest of the buttons with agonizing slowness.
The shirt falls open, revealing a red lace bralette that cuts across Vincent’s chest like a slash of blood. The delicate fabric clings to his pecs, making my mouth water. It’s even better than the black ensemble he wore at the club. It’s fucking beautiful.
