Page 64 of The Final Faceoff
A deep groan rips from my throat, my hips thrusting forward as my orgasm slams into me. My body locks, a sharp, strangled noise catching in my chest as pleasure rips through me, sharp and blinding. My release splashes against the tile, the water washing it away in seconds, but it doesn’t wash away the hunger clawing inside me.
Because now that I’ve let myself think about it—really think about it—there’s no fucking way I can stop.
I brace a hand against the wall, my chest heaving, the heat still licking at my skin. It should be enough—but it never is. Not when every nerve is still primed for her, my body already tense with the thought of having her underneath me, wrapped around me, taking me.
I drag a hand through my hair, the water pounding against my shoulders, but it doesn’t cool the fire burning under my skin. If anything, it stokes it. Because now that I’ve let myself go there—now that I’ve pictured it in every filthy, desperate detail—I need more.
I need her.
And I don’t think I can fucking wait, but how am I going to make this happen?
ChapterTwenty-One
Hailey
When You Have to Make a Desperation Save
This day has been . . . strange. Not in theOh, I got stuck in an elevator with a celebrity and now we’re best friendskind of way, but in theI had an out-of-body experience because my best friend touched me and now I’m in a full-blown existential crisiskind of way.
I should be relieved that Killion and Camille, his fiancée, stopped by earlier. Having dinner with them meant we didn’t have to havethatconversation—the one where I attempt to explain why I ran out of Leif’s room like it was on fire, why my body betrayed me in a way that no friendship should ever have to endure. Maybe he didn’t notice, or maybe he’s choosing not to bring it up so he doesn’t embarrass me.
Either way, I refuse to be the one to test that theory.
After dinner, I did what any rational person would do: I fled. Exhaustion, headache, stomachache—I rattled off every excuse I could think of, hoping no one would question the fact that I was practically sprinting to my room. I refused to look at Leif because I knew, I knew, if I caught even a glimpse of his expression, I’d overanalyze it into oblivion. And yet, here I am, hours later, wide awake.
I tried everything. A long bath, hoping the warmth would lull me into unconsciousness. Digging out the softest pajamas I own, only to realize they aren’t nearly as comfortable as I remember. I almost asked Leif for one of his sweatshirts, but that would involve acknowledging his existence, and right now, my survival depends on avoiding him for the next two trimesters. Maybe longer. Humping my best friend is probably frowned upon.
When I realized those sleeping clothes would be as good as it gets, I tried every trick in the book. Classical music, white noise, rolling my pillow to the cold side. Curling up like a shrimp. Sprawling out like a starfish. Tossing, turning, swearing at the ceiling. Nothing worked. My body refused to rest, my mind refused to stop, and I knew exactly who to blame.
Leif Crawford and his stupid, perfect hands. His stupid, perfect face. His stupid, perfect everything. How is it fair that someone can exist like that? How is it fair that I can feel him even when he’s not in the room, like some invisible force field I can’t seem to escape?
And the worst part? This is feeling is new and it shouldn’t exist. I mean, how? We’ve always been close. That’s never been in question. But after that thing that happened in his room something has shifted. The air between us is different, charged with something I don’t know how to name, something that sits at the edge of my thoughts like a dare. It’s a tension that wasn’t there before, or maybe it was, and I was just too busy pretending it didn’t exist. Either way, it’s a problem. A big one.
I have to figure out where to go next, where to live, what my life is supposed to look like before I do something that changes everything. Moving in with my grandparents would be the easy answer, but I’m on a family detox—a break, courtesy of my therapist, who assured me that distance is necessary while I work through my feelings and issues. Not a permanent goodbye, just a pause. A chance to reset before I get pulled back into the emotional tangle that is my family.
But first, I need to figure out how to deal with the fact that I can’t sleep because my best friend touched me and now I can’t stop thinking about it.
I sigh, shoving the covers away and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. If my body refuses to sleep—a distraction. That’s all I need. A glass of water. A walk around the penthouse. Something to pull me out of my own head and away from thoughts of how good Leif’s hands felt on me.
The floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I make my way into the hall, the penthouse wrapped in the quiet lull of the city at night. The glow of the skyline filters through the windows, casting golden streaks across the dark hardwood floors. The whole place feels different at this hour, softer, almost dreamlike, and for a second, I think I might actually enjoy the solitude.
Until I see him.
Leif is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a protein shake in one hand, staring out at the city like it holds answers to questions he hasn’t even figured out how to ask yet. His jaw is tight, his posture relaxed but thoughtful. There’s something about the way he’s standing there, lost in his own world, that makes my stomach turn over.
And just like that, it’s back. The attraction, the pull, the quiet hum of something that I should ignore but can’t.
I should turn around. Walk away. Pretend I never saw him, that I didn’t notice the way my pulse tripped over itself just from looking at him. This is Leif. My best friend. My safe place. Whatever is happening inside me is temporary, a hormonal misfire that will pass if I just ignore it.
Instead, I walk straight into the kitchen.
Leif doesn’t turn, but I know he knows I’m there.
“You’re up.” His grip tightens around his glass for half a second before his shoulders loosen, his voice coming out casual, amused.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” He finally looks over at me, and I almost wish he hadn’t.
