It’s getting late. Tomorrow is race day, and we both need sleep.
With my arms across my chest, I give the kitchen a once-over. Most everything is put away. I can’t prolong drying the same pan any longer.
Circling the counter, I say, “I’ll get these last few dishes put away, then I’ll get going.”
Her face falls, disappointment clear.
“Unless…” I say before I can think through the implications.
Her brows shoot into her hairline, her forehead crinkling in the most adorable way. “Unless?” she repeats, the word drenched in hopefulness.
I shouldn’t. We really can’t.
“Unless you want me to stay,” I force out before I think better of it.
Lips pressed together and shoulders rising toward her ears, she winces slightly. “I don’t want you to stay on my account.”
Ah. Okay.
I spread my arms wide and grip the edge of the counter. She needs me to be more direct. That’s not an issue. She deserves my candor.
“I don’t want to go,” I declare, ensuring she understands there’s nothing one-sided about this situation.
A smile blooms on her face. “So don’t.”
It’s an invitation. The ultimate temptation.
Tension sizzles between us as I weigh my next words carefully. Our predicament feels more intense than driver contract negotiations, honestly, but I’m determined to get this right.
“If I stayed…” I start, bracing her for the impending conditions.
She tilts her head, waiting.
I don’t reply immediately. I can’t. My mind is at war with itself, alarm bells blaring, warning me against what I’m yearning to do.
Tomorrow is race day. Staying the night with someone is a sharp departure from my typical prerace routine. Though I’m not concerned about her presence affecting me in a negative way. I’m more settled when I’m with Evangeline. More in my body and less in my head. Focusing on her gives me an outlet for all the anxiety that fuels me regularly.
“If you stay?” she eventually repeats, encouraging me to continue.
“If I stay, nothing can happen. Not because I don’t want it to,” I rush to clarify. “But because this is complicated. You’re exhausted. Tomorrow is race day. Neither of us is in a position to make a levelheaded decision right now.”
Her expression drops, though it’s not a look of complete defeat.
She places one hand on the marble island, then slowly slides it across the counter until our fingertips touch. “It already feels like something is happening between us, Alaric.”
My heart thuds. She’s not wrong.
Even so, she’s exhausted, and I don’t want to take advantage of her when she’s potentially too tired to think through what could happen if I don’t retreat to my own room.
I pull my hand out from under hers, then brush over her knuckles and circle her wrist, gently urging her to show me her palm. Taking her hand in mine, I say, “I want to stay. But we’re just going to sleep.”
She slides off the barstool, rounds the island, and steps closer, head tilted, focus locked on me.
“Just sleep, huh? I’ve never had a platonic sleepover with a man before. We should have planned ahead and gotten matching pajamas.”
Fuck.
She’s teasing me, but when she puts it like that?—
