Page 15 of Old Money

I put the bottle back down and turn myself toward her.

“You better call me every fucking time, Sawyer. Do you understand me?” I say, my voice firm. She swallows again, nodding slowly. I reach out and cover her hand with mine. “Do you know how I got to campus so quickly tonight?” She shakes her head. “Because I came out there on purpose. Hoping you’d need me. Or at least hoping I could check in. Circling around like a damn vulture. So you better fucking call me. Every. Time.”

She nods, her eyes big and wide, and I give her a half-smile again. And then I lean back on the couch and turn the volume up a few clicks.

An hour or two pass, and the number of empty bottles on the table in front of us has stacked up. Except that one of us is six-two, and the other is about five-three on a good day. So one of us is feeling it a little more than the other. And as we’ve sat, she’s inched closer and closer to me, and I can’t help but soak in the smell of her hair as she does. I try desperately to ignore the twitching in my pants as she curls in closer.

As we’re finishing season three, she turns toward me, and now, it’s not so subtle. And then, her head is resting on my shoulder. I clear my throat as I take a sip of the water I got myself when I got her last beer. I probably should have stopped her, but I figured she deserved a night to get shitfaced and not have to worry about anything. So I let her drink but slowed down myself so that I can be here if she needs me.

But as she nestles into me more, I realize that maybe she wants a little something extra. And it’s much more than just a twitch in my pants now.

“Julian?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“Why were you waiting outside of campus? Why…why were you hoping I’d need you?” she asks, her big green eyes staring up at me. I reach my hand out and stroke her cheek gently with my thumb.

“Probably for the same reason you called me tonight,” I whisper back. I push a stray piece of hair out of her face. She just stares at me, her eyes bouncing back and forth between mine. And then, before I can catch her, she pushes up on me, pressing her lips to mine in a sloppy, albeit delicious, kiss. I let it go on longer than I should, and before I know it, she’s pushing up farther onto my lap, straddling me. I pull away from her as she’s sliding her hands down my arms and toward my waistband.

“Sawyer, what are you doing?” I say as I look up at her. She tries to move her hands farther south, but I catch them in mine.

“You said yourself that you had to be close to me tonight,” she breathes. “So just let it happen.”

“Sawyer…” I say, and she keeps wriggling, slowly moving her hips back and forth on mine. I pin both of her wrists in one hand and use my other to steady her hips.

“Julian…”

I chuckle while I hold tight to her hands and hips as she struggles to break free of my grasp. “This is what we call a trauma bond, sweetheart. You’re drunk, and I’m not fucking you tonight.”

She stops moving, her eyes big and wide. I lean forward, pulling her face to mine and leaving one last light kiss on her lips.

“Lie down,” I whisper against her lips. She looks at me, confused. I hook a hand under one of her knees and flip her onto the couch. I grab one of the pillows and put it in my lap, then I pat it. She just stares at me.

My god, I can’t believe I have this much restraint.

Slowly, she crawls closer, putting her head down on the pillow in defeat. I turn the volume on the TV down a little, and then I stroke her hair slowly while the next season starts. Within moments, she’s out, snoring gently on my lap.

I could get used to this.

Fuck. No.

She is astudent.She’s just been through some traumatic, once-in-a-lifetime shit—well, hopefully.

And I come with my own baggage.

I should really leave her be.

But having her here, safe in my home and in my care?

It just feels really fucking good.

SAWYER

Ifeel the sun streaming in on my face, and I open my eyes slowly. I realize I’m not on the couch, and I sit up. My hangover headache sets in, and I rub my temples, thinking back to last night. I vaguely remember him waking me up at some point, telling me to go up to bed. Then I remember him carrying me up his stairs and bringing me to the guest room I stayed in last week.

I could get used to sleeping in this massive bed.

No, I couldn’t.

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