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CHAPTER30
HAZEL
Rory kicksoff his shoes and heads straight for my new bed, flopping down with a low, satisfied groan that makes me think dirty thoughts.
“That’s so much better,” he groans again.
The way he’s so comfortable in my home makes me feel like laughing.
“Rory, when people come over, they usually sit on the couch.”
“People don’t usually have their bedroom in their living room.”
My mouth falls open, but I’m still smiling. My face hurts, I’m smiling so hard.
“I’m just teasing, Hartley.” He winks. “I know you’re a good little saver. You’ll have your studio in no time.”
A pulse of happiness hits me in the chest, and I’m glad I told him about that.
“Thank you again for the bed,” I tell him, slipping onto the mattress beside him, folding my legs beneath me.
A soft smile ghosts over his mouth. “You’re welcome. Do you sleep okay without all the springs stabbing you in the back?”
I’m shaking with laughter. “Fuck off.” I cut a look at him. “But yes.”
He’s still smiling, watching me. The dim, warm lighting of my apartment is doing incredible things for his eyes and skin.
“I like buying things for you. You should let me do it more often.” He props himself on his elbow, frowning at me. “How come you don’t wear my jersey to games anymore?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “People already think we’re together.”
“I bought it for you to wear.”
Something thrums low in my belly at his territorial tone. After Connor, I hated the idea of wearing a guy’s jersey.
But it’s Rory. Everyone wears his jersey at games, but I have this deep-seated, prickling feeling in the back of my brain that it means something to him when I wear it. The memory of his stricken expression during yoga, when I asked the class to think about what makes them feel worthy, flashes in my head.
I care about him, and I think he knows that.
Worst of all, I think he cares about me, too. I should tell him to go home.
Just once, the devil on my shoulder whispers. It’s my rule, after all. One time and then we’ll never hook up again.
He rests a hand on my thigh, and his fingers drift to the inside seam of my leggings, toying with it. “And I want you to wear it.” He holds my gaze. “Please.”
It’s thatpleasethat does it for me. And maybe the way his hand feels on my leg, so big and warm. “Okay.” I’m hyperaware of where he’s touching me and his gaze roaming my face. My heart rate jumps because I can’t seem to get it under control around him. “You can be so sweet when you want to be,” I say for some reason.
“So can you.”
I have to remind myself to breathe as our eyes hold, and my heart jumps into my throat. I study the elegant lines of his face, his strong nose, his brows, the curve of his lips. He’s so handsome with that stubble, and my hands twitch with the urge to drag my fingers over it.
“Besides, it’ll piss McKinnon off.” He shakes his head. “Fucking McKinnon,” he bites out. “He was watching you tonight.”
“He just wants to play with your toys. He’s always been competitive with you.”
He folds his arms over his chest. “He still has a thing for you, and I don’t like it. He knows we’re together. He shouldn’t be staring at you like that.”
My stomach does a slow roll at the way he says it, like it’s real. Isn’t that the whole point of what we’re doing, getting under Connor’s skin?
