We both froze.
Rory stood there, one hand still on the handle. His pale blue eyes took it all in—Danny, our flushed faces, me still lying between his legs.
His lips twitched.
“Rory—” I hoped he caught the warning in my tone.
He didn’t. The twitch turned into a full grin. “Oh my fuckinggod,” he said, before bursting out laughing.
“Okay, yeah,” I said, starting to push up, then stopping short, painfully aware of my shorts. “We’re kind of—”
“Yeah,” he cut in, hands on his hips. “No. I can see that.” He paused, tilted his head, and took us in like he wanted to memorize the moment. “Wow.Thisis what happens when you finally go on a date after a year of celibacy, huh?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”
“I’m just saying,” he went on, spreading his hands. “We were all rooting for you. Like. Emotionally invested.”
My face burned hotter, my eyes begging him to shut the hell up for once.
“And then you come home,” he continued, “withhim. Daniel. Fucking. Harding.” Rory glanced at Danny, then back at me. “So.” A beat. “How does it feel to finally hook up with your crush?”
My mouth fell open, horrified.
Fuck.
My.
Life.
CHAPTER 04: DANNY
After a quick, not-so-discreet change of clothes, Jessie was still arguing with his roommate outside. His muffled grumbling still sounded furious from the other side of the door, while I sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on my knees, doing a terrible job of keeping the grin off my face.
He was unbearably cute when he was flustered. And, wow, did I have ammunition now.
Not to be cruel about it—never that. Mostly I wanted to tease him a little. And maybe let him know just how much everything his friend had said had lit me the hell up. Because, fuck, if he wasn’t the most perfect man I’d ever met.
I loved the contradiction of him. How, at first glance, he could read as rough—guarded, intimidating, even—but if you actually looked, really looked, the softness was right there. His cropped hair felt less like an edge and more like a habit. Neat. Practical.
That same care showed up everywhere else too. In his short, clean nails. In the order of his room—his bed perfectly made, photos framed on his nightstand, and a Queen poster hanging above it, like something chosen with affection rather than irony.
And the tattoos.
They weren’t threatening in the slightest. Birds in flight. The sea. Waves, turtles, fish. Then a knife, kitchen measurements, ingredients. A quiet map of the things he loved, etched into his skin. It was intimate in a way that made something flutter in my stomach.
And now this.
Yeah. We were absolutely going to talk about this.
Another irritated sound, then the door finally opened. Jessie stepped inside, eyes still wide, shock clinging to him like static. “Sorry about that,” he said immediately. “About him. He’s a good guy, but he has zero filter. Like, none.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “People love him, though. Tips are great. But fuck, he can be inappropriate.”
I just smiled and patted the bed beside me.
He paused, took a deep breath, hands braced on his hips. “Can we pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”
Not a chance.I shook my head.
He closed his eyes and groaned, long and miserable.
