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He rolls his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”
And with that, he steps out, shouldering open his door and walking me down the hallway into his house. I’m absolutely certain that he’s going to throw me on the couch, but instead, after a rickety journey up the stairs, I end up in…
“Where am I?” The room is unrecognizable. Gray bedsheets, a flatscreen TV, a balcony overlooking the sharp Manhattan skyline.
“My bedroom. I’d put you next door, but I left Leo in the guestroom. If you’d prefer, you can sleep in a race car bed made for four-year-olds.” He places me on the mattress carefully, and rumpled, I look around.
I am in Roman Sterling’s bedroom. This almost feels illegal.
I smell his cologne and laundry detergent lingering in every crevice, making it a perfect place to sink into. So, I’m not too afraid to kick the duvet over me, testing his satin pillowcases and lifting my brows, impressed. “Nice.”
“I’m glad it’s up to your standards.” He chuckles and then disappears into a lit room with a white sink.
How many bathrooms does this place have?
More than it does people, at least.
I slump, as comfortable as though I’m lying on a marshmallow cloud. I think I actually murmur, “Ah, marshmallow.”
My heavy lids begin to slip shut, though I try to keep them open. There’s something important I need to say to Roman, but I can’t think what it is. I can only think about the fact that I’m wrapped in his bedsheets.
And I’ve never felt so safe.
There will always be that niggling fear beneath, the one that tells me Elio could find me at any time, but it’s only a dull ache now — and not just from the alcohol.
I was skittish tonight, so much so my friends commented on it. My eyes kept drifting to the shadows, scouring every silhouette for a sign that he’d found me. He hadn’t, of course, but I think that text did more than just a little damage. I ended up drinking too much just so the girls would stop worrying about me, hoping a little alcohol would loosen me up.
It did, apparently. Even now, I know I would never allow Roman to haul me into his bed if I was sober.
Not that I’m complaining.
Roman returns with a glass of water in his hands. The mattress sinks as he perches beside me, offering the drink. I take it, gulping the whole thing down until water dribbles down my chin.
“I bet you’ve never wanted me more,” I gurgle through the mouthful of water.
Another laugh. Does he think I’m funny?
My chest lifts with joy at the very idea.
He softens, smoothing down my mussed hair as gently as though I’m made of porcelain. My eyes lock onto his, taken aback, as he watches me intently.
“What?” I whisper finally.
He purses his lips. Shakes his head. “Nothing. Get some sleep, Madison.”
He takes the empty glass from me and puts it on the nightstand.
I frown. “Where will you sleep?”
But I already show him the answer I want when I peel back the other side of the duvet. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s just the tequila encouraging me to make poor decisions. But the only thing that would make me feel even safer right now is him being here. Staying.
I want to feel his warmth against me. I want him to hold me until I stop feeling dizzy.
His brows knit together. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Can I trust you?” I know the answer, but I need to hear him say it.
His throat bobs, and he brushes his cool knuckles against my clammy cheek. “Of course you can. But you might wake up in the morning and regret lying next to me.”
