Page 47

Of course I am. I’m always here. First in. Last out.

Every day.

“Obviously, Zayn. Did you call to check on me, or do you actually have something to say?” I reply, letting a trace of sarcasm slip through as I spin slightly in the chair, eyes on the rain trailing down the glass.

He chuckles. “Man, it’s Thalia’s birthday. We’re all at Theo’s place. Surprise party. Sierra told us two weeks ago.” A beat. “She sent the invites to our personal calendars.”

For a second, I just stare ahead.

This is the first time I’m hearing of it.

Of course it is. The group chats have been muted for weeks. I only open them when I feel like it, which, apparently, hasn’t happened in at least two weeks. My bad.

Also, Thalia’s birthday. October tenth. I didn’t even know.

But the moment her name reaches me, my body reacts. That same strange pull that’s been lingering since that night—God, how long has it been? A month? More?

I grip the pen in my hand as the memory starts to surface, uninvited. After making sure I wasn’t hurting her—because who the hell expects someone like her to be a virgin?—and after that initial shock and hesitation gave way to passion, I ended up having the most intense night of my life.

I’m thirty-three. I’ve been with women since my teens, every curiosity explored, every desire satisfied in one way or another. And yet I’ve never been with someone like her, someone so unguarded, so completely free in the way she gave herself that night. And knowing it was her first time… I can’t even let myself linger on what that means for her, or what she might be like once she’s gained experience.

Fuck. The thought alone tightens my grip on the pen, until my knuckles go pale.

I can’t picture her with another man without a burning and unpleasant feeling rising in my chest, a feeling I don’t want to name, a feeling I have no intention of acknowledging.

She gave me what most women treat like a sacred thing. She gave it to me. Me.

At first, I thought she was joking. Then I assumed she was playing a game. Never, not even for a second, did I believe she would actually go through with it, not like that, not because of a challenge.

But that’s exactly what happened.

I pushed her, provoked her, kept pressing until she snapped, because I knew she wouldn’t walk away without proving she could meet me on equal ground.

And fuck, she did.

Now she’s lodged in my head in a way that doesn’t make sense. The sounds she made, the way her body reacted, the heat of her against mine, that faint vanilla-and-floral scent that clung to her skin… a detail so small, so insignificant, and yet it stayed with me.

“I missed the messages and the invite, Zayn,” I say at last, dragging myself out of the memory and forcing my tone to settle. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

It’s all I give him before ending the call.

I haven’t seen Thalia since that night. When I woke up, she was already gone. After three orgasms of mine and probably seven or eight of hers, we both passed out.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t ask a woman to leave. I couldn’t leave either—it was my apartment. So I stayed, and I slept next to her. I remember feeling her curled against me at some point during the night, close enough that it should have felt wrong, but it didn’t. And by morning, there was nothing left of her in my room.

Just like we agreed, one night. She gave me exactly what I asked for, and then she went back to her life. No messages, no calls.

But the problem is that one night wasn’t enough. She’s still here, somewhere under my skin, lingering in my thoughts, constant in a way I can’t seem to shut off.

And it’s starting to get to me.

Because I set the terms. One night, and then I move on, like I always do after any other woman.

And one thing is certain—a repeat is impossible.

NINETEEN

Ethan