Page 94 of Doesn't Count

“I’m well past denying my attraction to you, Khaos.” I admit, sighing.

His thick, dark brows furrow, the tips of his black bangs tickling my forehead.

“Is that all this is to you? Acts on physical attraction?” His tone isn’t bitter or argumentative.

“You tell me.”

He combs a hand through his hair, looking away. I don’t know how to respond to his question. When I look back on our time spent together it’s a rollercoaster of devastation and calamity. Nothing good has come from what we’ve created together, apart from how we make each other’s bodies feel. This isn’t a fairytale romance, it’s reality.

“Ash-” he starts, but I don’t want to know.

I shush him with a finger to his lips. “Don’t. It’s fine. Let’s not think about it too hard right now.”

My heart wouldn’t be able to handle his rejection even if the wall I built was made of steel and brick. Instead, I’m choosing to just live in the moment and this post-orgasm afterglow. Thankfully, he drops it, and saves the awkwardness lingering in the air between us by turning on a rom-com.

For the rest of the day, we don’t move, sprawled on the couch together. We get through three different Hallmark holiday movies, eat cookies, and drink spiked hot chocolate. It’s probably the most normal thing we’ve ever done, and a littlenagging voice in the back of my head wonders what it would be like if we did have a future together. It’s a dangerous thought, one that I try to push past because in just a month we will be living completely separate lives. Khaos is a rock star touring the country and I’m just a journalist, bound to one city.

I’m jolted from my sleep when the ground beneath me shakes, my body feeling unstable. When I open my eyes, I realize that the earthquake I experienced was just Khaos adjusting beneath me on the couch. I had fallen asleep on top of him last night and it seems we haven’t moved.

Giggling, I rub my eyes, adapting to the blinding morning light filtering through the half-open curtains. Khaos groans, stretching his limbs, his muscles flexing beneath his skin. As I crawl over him, his hands catch my hips, pinning me down against his pelvis.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the bathroom.” I laugh.

“Sexy.” He grunts, releasing me.

“You asked!” I call back to him before I close the bathroom door.

Moments later, we find ourselves side by side, laughing at each other through the bathroom mirror, our toothbrushes stuffed inside our mouths. It’s ridiculous honestly. When you imagine the dark, broody, mysterious lead singer of Night’s Deadly Deeds, you don’t picture him shirtless with basketball shorts on in your bathroom brushing his teeth next to you. Yet, here he is, hair a mess with toothpaste dribbling down his chin before he’s spitting into the sink. It’s so... normal.

There’s that word again... normal. Something I’vestrived to be for most of my life and have somehow never achieved it. Now I realize it’s because normality is ever changing. Forever just out of my grasp like a kaleidoscope changing colors. If I’m pink, then normal is red. If I’m red, then normal becomes purple. Standing beside Khaos, I can understand that maybe this moment might be normal, but everything outside of it isn’t and that’s okay because if being in the presence of this man means I’m falling farther away from what’s considered normal, then I want nothing to do with the concept.

After our shower, I make us coffee and we settle back into the couch. Taking a sip, I peer over to his present sitting under the tree. My stomach swirls with anxiety, wondering how he’s going to perceive this gift. Deep down, I think I know how he feels about me and I about him, but there’s still this thin wall that refuses to drop between us. My guard is up, it has to be because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. He has the power to bring me to my knees and worship his existence and that is terrifying. Especially when there are millions of people doing the same, so what makes me so special? He may hear my prayers but, in the end, may choose never to answer them.

“Okay, I don’t think I can wait any longer.” He finally says, nudging his head to the culprit of my spiraling thoughts.

Slowly, I push to my feet, picking up the present.

Handing over a poorly wrapped gift, I grumble, “It’s probably stupid, but here you go. Merry Christmas.”

Khaos takes it from my hands, peering up at me.

“Ash, you could literally wrap your shit and give it to me, and I would still cherish it.”

“Gross.” I scrunch my nose in disgust. “Well, fortunately for you, it’s not my shit.”

He chuckles, sliding his thumb under a flap that’s been taped down. Pulling out a manilla envelope, he quirks a curiousbrow. Inside is a certificate and a map to a star that I’ve named after him. My heart freezes inside my chest, my breath caught in my lungs as he looks through it with an unreadable expression.

Finally, his gaze finds mine. “Why?”

My mouth pops open, blindsided by his question.

Why?

Why did I name a star after him?

I’ve known Khaos for maybe five months now, so why on Earth would I do something that feels so sentimental?

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