Page 55 of Chips & Checks
Silence, save for the savage beat of blood in our ears. I don’t pull out until the tremor in her thighs eases.
She rolls to her side, breath ragged. “I’m beat.”
“Me too.”
My arm hooks around her waist; she presses back, still trembling, a satisfied hellcat purring in the dark.
She falls asleep just like that—wrapped in me, trusting me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it should feel natural. Maybe this is what people do when they’re not waiting for the ground to give way. But my heart’s in my throat, because I know myself. I know how easily I can fuck up a good thing. How quick I am to push too hard or pull too far away.
She’s not mine. She can’t be. And yet, as her breath evens out and her leg hooks over mine, I tighten my hold like a man who’s already halfway to losing everything.
Chapter Thirteen
Violet
I open one eye and study the room. For the first few seconds, I’m not sure where I am or how I got here. The roomlookslike mine, but it isn’t mine—the layout is the same, but the contents are unfamiliar. I sit up and rub my eyes, waiting for things to make sense.
And then I remember: Bowen. Last night. In the gym. My own personal game of Clue suddenly clicks into place.
A pang hits my chest, heavy and sharp, as I glance toward Bowen’s empty side of the bed. He let me sleep here. In his bed. Another broken rule. How many is that now? It’s getting harder to keep count. Each broken rule feels dangerously like a promise, one he never intended to make. Or worse, one I never intended to believe.
I take a moment to check myself over in the bathroom, comb my fingers through my hair, and consider my borrowed shirt. I should probably get dressed and head out. After doing one last sweep of the room, I leave the shirt that Bowen let me borrow on the edge of the bed. My fingertips linger on the soft fabric. Last night felt like more than just casual comfort. It felt like belonging, and that scares me more than anything Chad could ever say or do. Bowen’s rules exist for a reason. They’re supposed to protect me from this—from wanting things I can’t have, from imagining a future that will never be mine.
A distant thump and a curse from another room draws my attention. I dart out into the hall. “Bowen?” I call. “Everything okay?”
“Sorry,” he shouts back. “I’m good.” I round the corner into the kitchen to find him smiling sheepishly as he runs his hand under the tap. “Bacon grease’ll get you every time. Anyway, good morning, kitten.”
I pretend to gag. “Kitten? Whykitten?”
“The sound you make when I wrap around you. Reminds me of a kitten I once had growing up.” Bowen winks.
I don’t know what to do with this pet name. I mean,literally, it’s a pet name. That’s adorable, and yet it’s another broken rule we’re both choosing to ignore. I turn to the massive array of food spread out on the counter. “Whatcha making?” I ask instead.
“Everything.” Bowen laughs and shakes his head. “I may have gone overboard.”
Given that I’ve seen hotel breakfasts with less selection, I’d say that yes, he’s done the most. “Hungry?”
“No. I just didn’t know what you liked. So, we have eggs, pancakes, waffles, protein shakes, fruit, avocado toast, overnight oats…”
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. Bowen Murphy—legendary playboy, keeper of endless rules—made breakfast because he didn’t know what I’d like. He cared enough to worry about something as small and trivial as breakfast. But that’s the thing: Bowen doesn’t do small and trivial. Which means this isn’t small at all. My pulse quickens dangerously. If breakfast isn’t small, what does that say about us?
And suddenly, I get it. I see him—not the swagger, not the smirk, but the boy who watched his dad love so big it bled him dry. Who learned that love means sacrificing pieces of yourself until there’s nothing left. Of course, Bowen made rules. Not to keep women out—but to keep himself in. He’s not afraid of commitment. He’s afraid of losing himself in it. Just like hisdad. And the sick, terrifying thing? I don’t want to protect him from that. I want to be the one who undoes him.
“And bacon.” I shove all the emotion down and nod to his hand. “How’s the finger?”
He turns off the tap and examines his hand. “It’s fine. I’m just a little paranoid. I had anincidentin high school.”
I step closer, take his injured hand in mine. “Let me see.”
He offers it without hesitation.
I bring his finger to my mouth and suck it in gently—slow, wet, and tender. His breath catches. His body stills. My lips linger just a second too long before I release him, eyes locked on his. “All better.”
He swallows hard. His eyes darken.
I smile sweetly.Drown in your rules, Bowen Murphy. I’m not saving you from them. I’m going to sink you deeper.
I help myself to a piece of bacon. “So what happened back in high school?”
