Page 62 of Before We Break

A part of me wishes I’d tried harder to get to know her—dug deeper to find out what demons are chasing her so I might be able to provide comfort, but I’ve worn this mask of apathy for so long, it seems I’ve forgotten how to live without it.

Then I kissed her, and every thought I had that might’ve compelled me to ask questions fled with the first brush of our lips. I lost myself in the kiss, and then I lost myself in her. I could’ve stayed that way forever had my conscience not taken the reins.

Regret is a hell of a drug.

FIFTEEN

WALKING-WORK-OF-ART LANDLORD

♫ Talk Too Much - COIN

CLIO

I wake up alone in my bed without a doubt in my mind as to how I got here. A foolish part of me wishes he’d stayed.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, watching the dust particles floating in the morning light as it creeps in through the crack in my curtains.

I kissed Noah Weston.

I kissed him, and he kissed me back.

My belly does a weird little flip, like I’m a teenager with her first crush.

No. Bad. You can’t be crushing on your fake fiancé. And you absolutely shouldn’t have kissed him.

Oh god, now I’m talking to myself. I really am losing it.

I was point three seconds away from fucking him right there on my couch, breaking the only hard and fast rule to this arrangement. Still, it’s not exactly a legally binding document. He won’t take me to court for breaching the no sex clause on a hastily thought-out contract written on strawberry-themed note paper. Try saying that five times fast.

I need a huge cup of coffee and a fat stack of pancakes smothered in maple syrup. That’ll fix me.

I slink out of bed like I’m made of putty—who needs bones, anyway.

The horny devil on my shoulder perks up, screaming, “Me. Me. Pick me.”

After a pit stop in the bathroom, I emerge from the hallway rubbing at my eyes, fully convinced I’m hallucinating. There’s no way I’m seeing things clearly. Noah is not standing in my kitchen in nothing but a cropped tee and a low-slung pair of sweatpants, looking freshly showered with a fucking spatula in his hand, flipping the most delicious-looking pancakes I’ve ever seen in my life.

My eyes travel lower to the floral tattoos on his hip bones, drawing my attention to his… nope. Stop objectifying your landlord, Clio Marsden. Your very hot, very muscular, walking work-of-art landlord.

I make my way into the kitchen and reach for a mug, but before I get there, Noah sets a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, leaving me momentarily bewildered and frozen in place.

“It’s called coffee, princess. Go sit down. Your pancakes are almost ready.”

My pancakes.

Did I send a telepathic signal from my bedroom? Is this what people mean when they say they’re manifesting?

Lexi giggles from somewhere out of view. I follow the sound to the breakfast nook and take in her amused expression.

“Morning,” she says.

Auggie’s sitting across the table, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. He raises his hand and waves. The whole scene is so domestic it makes my chest ache.

Noah palms my shoulders and spins me toward the table. I feel his warmth at my back, and his spearmint toothpaste-scented breath ruffles my hair when he speaks in a low tone, punctuating each word. “Go sit down.”

This isn’t real. Any second now I’m going to wake up on my couch in a puddle of drool with the credits to Pretty Woman rolling across the screen.

Having swallowed down his food, Auggie greets me as I sit on the bench. “Hi, Miss Clio!”