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As I pull out of the parking lot, I flick the turn signal on, the tick-tock rhythm matching the erratic thump of my heart. The rearview mirror gives me a glimpse of Brielle—out cold. The alcohol finally got to her.
“Conrad,” I press, keeping my voice level despite the urgency clawing at my insides, “talk to me. What’s going on?”
He’s staring out the window, jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitch. “Later, Levi,” he mutters, his words clipped and heavy with something I can’t quite decipher. “I have to finish up some work tonight, and pick up my car. Are you good to get her settled at our place?”
A nod is all I can muster, the silence returning, thicker than before.
There are questions burning on the tip of my tongue, but they die there, smothered by his unspoken plea for space.
* * *
I drop Conrad off at his office on campus, and the rest of the drive back to the house is a blur of streetlights and stop signs. When I park, the world is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city at rest. I kill the engine and turn to wake her.
“Brielle?” I call softly, reaching over to brush a stray lock from her face. No response. “Bri?” I try again, louder this time, but she’s lost to whatever dreams claim her in the drunken depths.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. She’s dead to the world, and I’m left with a choice I don’t want to make.
Carefully, I slide my arms beneath her, lifting her against my chest. Her head lolls onto my shoulder, a silent trust that stings with responsibility. The cool night air bites at my skin as I carry her inside, her warmth a stark contrast.
The couch or my bed?
The debate rages with every step up the stairs to the front door. The couch is safer, less complicated. But in my bed, she’ll be far more comfortable.
Besides, it would be the gentlemanly thing to do.
I kick open the door to the house, the decision made. My bed it is.
I lay her down gently, the moonlight casting a halo around her serene face. Tucking a pillow under her head, I stand back, watching her breathe.
I can only imagine the killer headache she’s going to wake up with. I move to the kitchen and pull a glass out of the cupboard.
The water from the tap runs cold, numbing my fingers as I fill the glass. I pop out two ibuprofen from the blister pack before moving back to my room. She’s still out, sprawled across my bed like she belongs there, in only her underwear. The sight sends a hot pulse through my veins.
I set the water and pills on the nightstand, my shadow looming over her.
“Levi…” Her voice is a whisper, raspy with sleep and something more—a plea laced with need, as she grabs ahold of my arm.
“Stay,” she murmurs, eyes half-closed, not seeing the storm she stirs inside me.
“Brielle, no.”
“Please,” she begs, unwilling to let me go.
Something about the way she says it makes me listen. “Only until you fall asleep.”
Her grip tightens, pulling me down. We’re inches apart, her breath warm against my skin. I slide into bed beside her, her body heat seeping into the cold places within me.
“Thank you,” she breathes out, her head finding the crook of my shoulder.
“Quiet now. Sleep.” My voice is husky, a low rumble she nestles closer to. And as her breathing evens out, I’m left awake, wrestling with desires that claw at my restraint.
21
BRIELLE
Sunlight filters through the curtains, striking my eyelids with an intensity that feels downright criminal. I pry them open, a groan escaping my lips as the world tilts and sways in a post-drunk dance. The room is unfamiliar, plush and masculine, and it takes a second—a long, heart-pounding second—for recognition to kick in.
Levi’s room. Levi’s bed.
