Page 73 of Sweet Sinners
I hated him.
Until the moment I didn’t.
Eventually, I grab my phone, typing out a quick email to Dr. Anderson. But my thumb hovers over send, hesitating. It's late, for one thing, and I’m not sure I want to reopen the emotional Pandora’s box that comes with therapy. Not yet, anyway. There’s something dark clawing at the inside of my chest, something I’m terrified to face head-on.
Frustrated, I toss the phone aside and sit up, huffing out a defeated breath. Without thinking it through, I march down the hall toward Connor’s room. I pound on his door, but when he doesn’t answer, I twist the handle and find it unlocked.
He doesn’t notice me immediately, absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his laptop, headphones firmly in place. He’s speaking sharply to someone on the other end of a call.
"I need more than that, man. This matters. You said you owe me, so fucking follow through," he demands, tension lacing every word. "I need names. I need an address. Just point me in the right direction—" He pauses, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, who's knocking?"
Slowly, he turns around, gaze landing on me as I linger awkwardly in the doorway. He’s gripping something tightly, but I’m too focused on his expression to pay it any real attention. With an exasperated sigh, he ends the call abruptly, opens a chat window, and types something rapid-fire before shutting his computer. His voice softens when he finally speaks again.
"What is it, Cali?"
I swallow, suddenly nervous, shifting my weight. "I…I can't sleep. Every noise makes me jump, every shadow feels like someone watching me. I know there’s nobody there, but…" I trail off, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I can't even look him in the eyes, focusing instead on the carpet, rubbing my toes nervously along the back of my calf. "CanI sleep here? I'll take the floor, I won’t disturb you, I promise. You can get back to your call."
I bite my bottom lip, considering adding a "please," but Connor cuts me off before I get the chance.
"Get in bed," he orders firmly.
"I’m not kicking you out of your own bed—"
"Get in," he growls softly, the intensity in his voice sending heat rushing through my veins, "or I'll put you there myself."
My pulse spikes dangerously, warmth pooling low in my belly. Part of me almost wants to test him—to see if he'd actually follow through—but that’s not why I came here. I came here because I can’t stand to be alone. Because with Connor, I feel safe—even though this is anything but safe. We promised distance, promised boundaries, and yet here I am, practically begging him to break every rule we’ve made.
Silently, obediently, I climb into his bed, my heart hammering in my chest as I slide beneath the covers.
"We'll keep our hands to ourselves," I murmur, though whether it’s for his sake or mine, I can’t be sure anymore. "Build a pillow wall or something."
Connor just keeps typing, eyes locked firmly on his screen, jaw tight with tension. "Are you armed?" I ask quietly, needing reassurance even though I already suspect the answer.
He pauses only a second, but it’s enough. "I can’t answer that," he replies carefully, his voice low. The words hang between us, confirming everything without him needing to say more.
I bite my lip, fighting back the urge to warn him—to tell him to behave, to not get himself in more trouble. But honestly, the thought of Connor prepared to defend us is a relief, one that settles warmly inside my chest.
I sigh softly, shifting beneath the blankets. "I never answered your question from movie night."
Connor freezes, fingers hovering over the keys. "What question?"
"You asked if I'd run outside or hide if there was an intruder," I remind him gently.
His voice lowers, cautious. "And you said you didn't like that question."
"No," I correct softly, stifling a yawn as exhaustion pulls at me. "I said I didn't like the first answer that popped into my head." My eyes drift closed, my voice barely above a whisper as I confess, "I'd go straight to you."
"Cali," he warns quietly, his tone strained, almost pleading. "Don't do this…"
"Because you're strong," I continue stubbornly, burrowing deeper into his blankets, inhaling the comforting scent of him lingering on the sheets. "You make me feel safe. Your scars…they mean you know how to survive. You can teach me. You wouldn't let me be stupid like the girls in those movies."
He exhales slowly, his voice a hushed promise in the dark. "I'd never let you be stupid, Angel."
I nod slowly, letting his words—and the nickname that first caught me off guard but now wraps around me like a protective embrace—soothe the restlessness inside me. Gradually, my eyelids grow heavier, lulled by the steady rhythm of Connor's fingertips against the keys.
When I wake, it's to the warmth of something solid curling around me, enveloping me in heat. I jump slightly, startled, until I glance over my shoulder and see Connor’s face inches from mine.
He exhales softly, his breath brushing across the sensitive skin of my neck. "I don't have enough pillows for a wall."
