Page 39 of Glass Jawed

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As I lock my door behind me, bag slung over my shoulder, one thought keeps repeating in my head:

Please, let this night end well.

TWELVE

Lucian

This wasn’t the first time she was coming over.

Not even the second.

It was thethirdtime.

And somehow, that feltdangerous.

I hadn’t expected her to initiate anything—least of all texting me about dinner and offering to bring food. A small part of my mind had cheered, smug that my so-called plan might actually be working.

But the other part?

The other part was a panicked mess.

I told her to bring an overnight bag.

Why thefuckdid I say that?

I mean—I’ve fucked in the past year. Of course I have. But nothing’s come close to the feeling I get justkissingher. Those wine-stained lips, the way she sometimes blinks slowly right before we kiss, like she’s bracing for impact.

She’s... not myusual.

Which is why I’m currently standing in my hallway, glaring at a plush white pair of home slippers like they’ve personally betrayed me.

I bought them.

For her.

Goddammit.

She’s Indian. And the first time she came over, I noticed how hesitant she was to keep her shoes on—despite my insistence.(’Outside shoes shouldn’t be inside shoes, Lucian.’)

The second time, she was barefoot, prancing around with that gorgeous chaos energy while I silently freaked out over whether the floor was clean enough.

(It wasn’t. I hadn’t vacuum-cleaned in three days. Her bare feet on my half-dusted hardwood nearly gave me an aneurysm.)

But this angel never let her feet touch my couch.

So yes.

I bought her slippers. Soft, brand-new, fucking adorable slippers with tiny embroidered stars. I’ve never bought something so absurdlydomesticfor someone.

Not even for Tim.

I drag a hand through my hair, muttering a quiet, “Fuck,” to no one. Because if I really let myself sit with what this means...

Then I’ll have to admit it’s not a plan anymore.

It’s justme.

Catching feelings I was never supposed to have.

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