Page 55 of Faithful

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Not any guy…

Just you…

Just you… Just you…

Just you… Just you… Just you…

Justyoujustyoujustyoujustyoujustyoujustyou…

I wake up disoriented, pawing at the space on the bed to my left.

There’s a naked male body lying there.

Snug and inked and silk warm.

Kai.

Relief rushes through me at the touch.

For some reason, I thought I’d dreamed up the entire trip, and none of what happened earlier in the shower was real.

Once reassured that the man by my side isn’t a delusion, I sit up and check my phone. Doughnut Slayer wishes me luck, an eggplant emoji (for once relevant!) included. Aunt Amelia requests photos. Gin wants to make sure I’m okay. No messages or emails from Gavin.

Good, I think to myself, putting the phone away into a drawer.Maybe Glasses was bluffing.

Next to me, Kai stirs and absently rubs my arm.

The only source of light in the room is the collection of thin stripes falling through the cracks in the half-shut vertical window blinds. The digital clock on the nightstand indicates that the time is close to midnight. Not particularly late, especially if you’re in Vegas, the city that never sleeps, but I suppose a busy week that culminated in an unforgettable blow job in the fancy shower of one of the most expensive hotels on the Strip will do that to you. Will knock you out cold.

“Come back,” Kai whispers softly, his voice a little rough and slurred from the nap.

I give in and arrange myself on the bed close to him, our shoulders and legs touching.

We lie like this for a little while, not speaking at all. The only means of communication is Kai’s fingers grazing my chest, outlining the eagle drawn there.

Something swells in the air, something substantial, something we need to discuss.

This doesn’t change anything. I still hate you.

And I still hate you for breaking my nose.

I don’t want it to end.

Neither do I.

What is it you think it is?

I’m not sure anymore.

That was before.

Before what?

Before I started to care about what happens to you, dickwad.

It’s like a brutal, ice-cold wave–all these questions filling my brain suddenly–and I’m scared the cycle is doomed to repeat itself if I don’t ask them now, if I let them linger for another four years.

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