Page 87 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

But okay.

And for now… that’s enough.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT

ALLY

Lazy nights like this are my favourite.

No turmoil. No expectations. Just me and Rhys tangled on the couch like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

His arm is slung over my shoulder, fingers trailing lazy, looping circles on my bare skin where the collar of my oversized T-shirt has slipped down. Every pass of his touch sends a ripple of warmth through me, the kind that sinks deep and settles in my bones. The movie on the TV blares explosions and dramatic one-liners, but I couldn’t tell you the plot if you paid me.

All I can focus on is the way he smells—soap and skin and something boyish and addictive, and the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.

It feels right. Like we’ve finally found something steady in the middle of all the things that aren’t.

“This movie sucks,” I mumble, shifting so my knee brushes higher along his thigh.

His chest rumbles with a laugh beneath me. God, I love that sound.

“You picked it,” he teases.

“Well, I have terrible taste. The internet lied to me.”

His fingers pause for half a beat before he responds, voice low and teasing. “You picked me too.”

I tilt my head back to look at him. “Are you comparing yourself to a bad movie?”

He smirks, eyes shining in the dim light. “I’m saying you have great taste when it comes to guys. Questionable taste in films, though.”

I roll my eyes but don’t move away. If anything, I snuggle closer. His hand shifts, knuckles brushing down my arm until his palm rests against my waist, warm and firm.

“I’ll have you know that”—I wave vaguely towards the screen— “is a cult classic, apparently."

“It has a 12% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.”

I gasp, pressing my hand dramatically to my chest. “How do you even know that?”

“Because I looked it up when you suggested it.”

I shove his chest, which is solid and annoyingly satisfying under my palm. But before I can pull away, he catches my wrist and tugs me right back against him, grinning.

“I like that you have terrible taste in movies,” he says, voice gentler now, and presses a kiss to my forehead.

I sigh, letting myself melt into him. Letting myself forget, just for a little while, that life is complicated and sometimes terrifying. Right now, it’s just us, bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights and quiet comfort.

Then, he says something that tightens the space between my ribs.

“You ever think about getting married?”

I blink, lifting my head just enough to look at him fully. His face is relaxed, but his thumb tenses slightly against my hip, like he’s bracing for my answer.

“Like… in general? Or are you proposing right now? Because if this is how you do it, I’m concerned.” I never really saw myself getting married. Hell, a few weeks ago, I couldn’t even see myself being in a relationship.

He chuckles, brushing his lips over my temple. “Relax, Monroe. No rings involved. Just a question.”

But it doesn’t feel likejusta question. Not with the way his fingers are tracing tiny, almost nervous patterns beneath the hem of my shirt now.

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