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I knewThea staying here was a terrible idea the moment I suggested it. But the thought of her going back to the west coast and dealing with her grief all alone made my heart ache.
I just couldn't let her do it.
It might've been different if she'd said that Aiden would be there for her. Yeah, I probably would have punched a wall or something after she told me, but at least I wouldn't have had to worry about her dealing with her shit on her own.
Truthfully, a large part of me didn't think she'd agree to it anyway.
Yet, here I am, in the middle of the night with a whiskey in hand, all because I can't sleep knowing she's only just down the hall, asleep in my fucking bed. It hasn't even been twelve hours since I brought her here, yet she's already infused the whole place with that bastard jasmine scent of hers that has haunted my dreams since she arrived.
This whole situation is nothing less than torture. And I must be a fucking masochist for being the one to instigate it.
I twist the tumbler of whiskey around in my hand, the ice sloshing from one side to the other and then back again. The liquor has done little to drown out the memory of our earlier conversation.
In fact, it's actually made it worse.
The hope I'd watched spark in her eyes when she suggested getting to know each other again plays on repeat in my thoughts, followed by the look of utter devastation she'd worn when I'd immediately shot her down. She tried her best to hide it, but I saw straight through her.
I've always seen straight through her.
And fuck, the last thing I wanted to do in that moment was hurt her. I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't trying to be an asshole. But getting to know her again, refamiliarizing myself with her edges, the corners of her mind and the freckles on her face would be too dangerous.
I'm too vulnerable having her here as it is.
I can't allow myself to be swept away by the pain in her eyes and her perfect smile, not when I still don't know the reason why she broke my fucking heart six years ago.
I'd be an idiot to think that anything good could come from letting her back in.
It doesn't stop the temptation, though.
When she'd joined me in the kitchen earlier, wearing my shirt unbuttoned down the middle to reveal a tank top that barely covered the swells of her breasts, my control had nearly snapped.
Even now, remembering the tiny glimpse of cleavage I'd seen causes my dick to grow thick and hard against my thigh. So much so that I have no choice but to allow myself a brief moment of weakness. Palming myself through my sweatpants with a quiet groan, my head falls to rest on the back of the couch.
“Cole?”
My eyes snap open.
Thea looks down at me, her expression one of shock and confusion. She's wearing nothing but loose pajama shorts that ride high on her milky thighs and the same top she had on earlier. Her gaze is locked firmly to my hand still moving over my crotch.
“Oh my god,” she gasps. “I'm sorry. Shit. I heard you and I—I thought you were in pain. I didn't realize— Oh god—“
Releasing myself, I chuckle when her eyes widen even further. Now that I've moved my hand, she has a totally unobstructed view of what I'd been covering. I'm still hard. “Relax, princess. It's a dick. It ain't gonna hurt you.”
Her mouth opens, closes, opens again. I wait with amusement until she gathers herself enough to speak. “I needed a glass of water,” she stutters, her words fast and unsure. “I was thirsty and couldn't sleep.”
Nodding my chin at her, I turn away, listening to the quiet padding of her footsteps across the kitchen floor. I track the sound of her movements, fighting the urge to turn around and watch as she fixes herself a drink.
“Goodnight, Cole,” she wishes me tentatively once she's done, the door to the hallway creaking as she opens it.
“Thea?” I don't know why I call out to her—self-sabotage, maybe. I just know that, for whatever reason, I'm not ready for her to go back to bed just yet.
“Yeah?”
I twist so I can see her over the back of the couch. “You can sit down, if you want.”
She hesitates, tapping the nail of her index finger on the glass she's holding.
“Why?”
