Page 66 of His Secret Obsession

A breath of laughter escapes me.

“What?” Lucas asks, voice gravelly. His eyes are closed.

My lips twitch, but I don’t hesitate to say it. The sex must have dissolved all of my inhibitions, the way alcohol does. “I thought you would’ve lasted longer.”

Lucas harrumphs. “Like you can talk. You came as soon as I stuck it in.”

I laugh. “That’s different. I’m me. You’re you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Charlie.”

“I mean that you’re a sex god.”

Lucas’s eyes remain closed, but his shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh.

“I’m serious,” I continue. “You’re a player. You must have had sex, like, a thousand times. I figured you’d last an hour or something.”

“I haven’t had sex a thousand times.”

“Okay, well, that was an exaggeration. You’ve probably done it, like, at least fifty—”

“And I’m not a player, either,” he says, and he pulls me closer, so I’m eye-level with his collarbone. Even his collarbone is pretty.

It’s nice, lying in his arms. With him right there, I feel safe and protected. I feel like I can relax.

*

My muscles are relaxed, bones wavy, the way they get after a good night’s rest. Content seeps through my body, slow like honey, and when I open my eyes, I’m met with golden sunlight streaming through the window. That’s a good omen.

Then I turn my head, and my heart jumps out of my chest. Immediately, I’m alert, pulling myself into a sitting position, limbs tensing and arms raised like I’m about to fight.

The events of hours ago hit me like an avalanche.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I slept with Lucas. I had sex with Lucas.

My brain isn’t working properly (I don’t think it’s been working for the last 24 hours because what on earth possessed me to have sex with Lucas!?) because as I stumble out of bed, I fail to untangle my legs from the covers, which is how I end up falling onto the floor, hitting my forehead on the corner of Lucas’s bedside table in the process.

“Fucking hell shit fuck,” I curse, then slap a hand over my mouth. The only thing worse than having this next-morning freak out would be having it with Lucas awake to witness it all. Wincing, I press my fingertips to my forehead. At least I didn’t break the skin — it just feels tender, so it’ll probably leave a bruise. God damn it. The last thing I want is a physical reminder of my stupid decisions.

I get onto my knees and peek over the side of the bed, but Lucas is still asleep despite all the noise I’ve made. He’s on his side, facing the empty spot where I was sleeping, and his face is relaxed. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him asleep, and he looks…innocent. Like he’d be incapable of saying a single cruel thing.

Quietly, I pull the covers off me and throw them in a dump on the bed. My forehead throbs. Maybe it’s karma for making idiotic mistakes.

Because that’s what this was. A mistake.

Before I leave the bedroom, I turn in the doorway to glance at Lucas one more time. His copper hair is flattened over his forehead, and his chest moves slightly with each breath. My heart twinges at the sight.

Regret. It’s definitely regret.

I get the hell out of there.

*

I don’t dare stay in the apartment for longer than I have to. After pulling clothes on, I throw water on my face and brush my teeth, and then I’m walking down the windy city streets, the morning air freezing my ears. I find myself in Flagstaff Gardens, and this early it’s practically empty except for joggers and stylish twenty-somethings walking their tiny, fluffy white dogs with brown crust around their eyes.

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