Page 68 of Begin Again

Hopping off of the counter I clear my throat as I bend down to grab it. “Thanks for your contribution,” I mutter, setting it on the counter as Theo pulls the tray from the oven.

The look he gives me as he sets the cookies down—equal parts amused and heated—makes it painfully clear that whatever just happened between us isn’t over.

“These better be as good as you promised,” I say, trying to steady my voice.

“Try one,” he challenges, offering me a warm, gooey cookie.

I take a bite, and the rich chocolate and buttery dough practically melt on my tongue. I let out an involuntary hum of satisfaction.

Theo smirks. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Okay, fine,” I admit. “You might be a genius.”

As the night wears on and the wine glasses empty, the air between us stays charged—thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

I glance at the clock. It’s late. Too late for Theo to drive or even walk home.

“You’ve had a couple of glasses of wine,” I say, hesitating. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight? The couch is pretty comfortable, and I can grab you some blankets. I would offer my spare room but Celeste is up there sleeping.”

Theo looks at me, his expression unreadable for a beat before he smiles softly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly. “It’s no trouble.”

He nods, his gaze lingering on mine. “Thanks, Selene.”

I busy myself setting up the couch, fluffing the pillows like I suddenly care about them. But I can feel his eyes on me, heavy, considering. When I finally glance up, he’s still watching me.

“You could stay with me,” I say before I can think better of it. The words hang between us, weighted with meaning. I clear my throat, rushing to add, “I mean—only if you want to. Just to sleep.”

An emotion flickers across his face—one that’s dark and tempting. His jaw tenses slightly before he exhales, shaking his head with a small smile.

“Selene,” he says, voice low, dangerously soft. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

No. It’s the worst idea.

I should tell him to forget it, to take the couch and call it a night. But I don’t.

“Just sleep,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Nothing else.”

He studies me for a moment longer before nodding. “Okay.”

The walk to my room feels like it takes forever. My heartbeat is deafening, my entire body hyper-aware of him beside me.

Inside, I hesitate, watching as he pulls off his hoodie, leaving him in just a t-shirt and jeans. He runs a hand through his hair, looking at me like he’s still considering if this is the right choice.

I give him space as I walk to my ensuite to get ready for bed. I change into my favorite pajamas to give myself a confidence boost. Looking into the mirror I give myself a silent pep talk as I brush my teeth.

Steadying myself I walk back into the bedroom and climb into bed. The mattress dips beneath my weight, and then suddenly, he’s right there—warm, solid, and entirely too tempting.

He shifts onto his side and loosely draped his arm around my waist, not pulling me in but not letting me go either. His fingers brush lightly over my hip, a barely-there touch that sends a shiver down my spine.

I exhale slowly, pressing my back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“This is torture,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice husky, rough around the edges.

I let out a breathless laugh. “I know.”

We could. God, we could. The air between us is thick with unspoken desire, the alcohol making it too easy to blur lines.

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