Page 47 of Look What You Made Me Do

His eyes narrow, and I can tell he knows I’m holding information back. But whatever, I have my reasons for that. Fuck him. Hopefully, I’ve told him enough to at least get his help. But I’m not telling him more than I need to.

When he doesn’t respond, I push out a breath, suddenly so tired. “Whatever. I’m going to bed,” I say, walking over to my bed. I throw a pillow onto the floor and rip the comforter off my bed, throwing that down, too. “If you’re staying, you can sleep on the floor.”

With a cocky smirk, he grabs the pillow and the comforter and carries them both back to the bed. “Nah, I don’t think so,” hesays, his large body falling onto my mattress. He makes a show of sorting the comforter out and tucking himself in.

I just stare down at him with a scowl. I have two options right now. I can either coax him out of the bed or sleep on the floor myself. Well, I guess I have three options. I could also climb into bedwithhim. It’s a queen-sized mattress, so we could each have our own sides. I’d bought it right after I moved in, so Gabriel could sleep over if he wanted to. He never ended up doing that, though.

With a huff, I grab my pajamas from my dresser—sweats and a tank top—then disappear into the bathroom to change and brush my teeth. I usually wash my face, too, and put on my pimple patches, but with Lucas here, there’sno wayI’m walking out there like that.

Never show a man what youreallylook like, my mom would always say to me.Girls like us aren’t naturally pretty.

She wasn’t trying to mean. In fact, I’m convinced she genuinely thought advice like that was helpful. But to ten-year-old me, it meant I’d always have to hide behind makeup to be seen. I could never really be myself.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Lucas is standing at the stove—still in his underwear, mind you—frying something up in a pan. The entire studio is filled with smoke, and it smells like sausage. He must have gotten it from my freezer.

It’s ten o’clock at night, and he’s hungrynow?

He glances over his shoulder as I walk up, reaching across him to turn the vent hood on. “Trying to smoke us out?” I say, feeling snippy.

Shoveling the sausage onto a plate that already has a piece of toast on it, he turns the stove off and hands it to me. I look down at it, confused. “Why are giving this to me?”

“You need to eat something. I would have made eggs, too, but you’re out.”

I blink down at the plate, wondering why he’s trying to feed me, and then I remember—I told him I’d fainted earlier because I hadn’t eaten, which is true, but it’s not why I passed out.

My eyes flick up to meet his. “Are you….actually doing something nice for me?”

He scoffs and turns to look through my drawers. When he finds my silverware, he pulls out a fork and hands it to me. “Eat, Wyn.”

I glance down at the plate again. The sausage looks good, to be fair, but he made the entire package. “I can’t eat all this. Are we sharing?”

“Eat what you can,” he says.

With a huff, I walk over to the bed and tuck into the sausage. As I’m eating, Lucas heads to the bathroom. He’s in there for a couple of minutes when I hear the shower turn on.

This is weird. I’m sitting on my bed, eating sausage that Lucas made for me while he strips down in my bathroom and takes a shower. He’s probably lathering up that insane body withmysoap as we speak.

“You’re pathetic, Wyn,” I whisper to myself as I get up and put the plate of sausage by the sink. I ate three links and the toast. That’s all I can get down.

Fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Lucas emerges from a cloud of eucalyptus-scented steam. His hair is wet, his skin is glistening, and he looks so damn fuckable, I audibly whimper at the sight of him. I cover it with a cough. God help me.

I’ve learned something in the past couple of weeks. No matter how unappealing someone’s personality, if they’re hot, you’ll want to fuck them. Biology is going to win in the end. I was pretty shocked and appalled by that revelation. I really thought I was more evolved than that, but…here we are.

He saunters over to the sink to inspect my plate, then pops a couple of the leftover sausages into his mouth. Leaning against the counter, he watches me while slowly sucking the juice off his fingers.

The weight of his hungry gaze makes my stomach flip. We’re alone, and he’s already half-naked, staring at me like he’s a starving man eyeing his next meal. His legs are crossed casually in front of him, and my eyes drop to the erection that’s bulging in his underwear.

“Still hungry?” he says with a laugh. “My eyes are up here.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment and I glance away quickly.

With another chuckle, he pushes off the counter and walks over to me. I’m sitting on the bed, and he’s standing, so his bulge is right at eye level. I try to keep my head turned away, but he grabs my face and forces me to look at him.

“You want a dirty bedtime story, baby? How about Hop on Pop?”

With a sound of disgust, I pull my face out of his hand. But my mouth is watering, and my nipples are so tight and painful, they could cut through steel. He’s so close I can feel the heat from his body, and smell the soap on his skin.

“Fuck you,” I say.

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