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But still…
Nothing happens. I’m wide awake.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the other issue bothering me is Ford. Our situation was built on the premise of being straight-up sex. We knock boots a couple times and then go back to being frenemies who can barely tolerate one another.
I’m no longer sure that’s possible.
As much as I’m loath to admit it, my feelings for him have changed.
Flourished into more.
Or maybe they were always there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect opportunity to break loose. I’ve tried like hell not to let it happen.
But it’s difficult.
So damn difficult.
My gaze settles on the dark stack of books piled next to the bed.
Especially when he does something so sweet.
The guy gets me.
And that’s probably the scariest thing of all.
It’s almost a relief when my phone chimes with an incoming message and knocks those disturbing thoughts from my head. I roll over and grab the slim device from the nightstand before glancing at the time on the screen.
It’s almost a surprise to realize that it’s well after midnight.
You up?
My belly swoops as I stare at those two words.
For a handful of seconds, my fingertip hesitates over the screen. It’s so damn tempting to respond. But if I do, I’ll become even more tangled up in Ford than I already am.
The more time we spend together, the more I feel myself falling for him.
And that’s a problem. One I have no idea how to solve.
If I were smart, I’d set the phone on the nightstand and ignore the text.
Instead, I type out a quick response.
Yes.
I’m coming over.
What?
No way!
That’ll only exacerbate the situation. What I need is distance. Time alone to get my head on straight. I can’t do that when I’m with him.
Just as I’m about to tell him to forget it, there’s a soft knock on the apartment door.
My eyes widen as I leap from the bed and race into the living area. It’s a relief when I find it empty. Juliette must have already gone to bed. Although, it’s possible she’s still up and studying in her room. I don’t want her to know that Ford is coming over this late at night.
I whip open the door and find him wearing nothing more than gray joggers that are slung indecently low across lean hips. My gaze unconsciously licks over the broad expanse of his chest and chiseled abdominals before dipping to the large bulge in the cotton material. It’s obvious that he’s not wearing anything beneath them.
