Page 53 of His To Erase
But I don’t, because if I do, I’ll unravel. And right now, I need to stay upright.
I drag myself toward the kitchen, flipping on the light—only to remember it still doesn’t work.
The bulb blew yesterday. I meant to fix it, then got distracted by trauma and a stranger with God-tier cheekbones.
Figures.
The fridge groans when I pull it open, the dim yellow bulb inside flickering weakly like even it’s tired of my bullshit.
There’s half a bottle of cheap wine, and a container of takeout I’m not brave enough to open. But there’s also a sleeve of cookies, two eggs, and a pack of shredded cheese. I sigh and shut the door again.
Good thing I’m not hungry.
I bend over taking off my boots, and they hit the floor near the door with a dull thud. I toss my keys onto the counter and peel off my jacket, tossing it onto the back of a chair I never sit in. The apartment’s still freezing, but I’m sweating. Nerves are weird like that—twisting your body into knots while your brain plays games with things that haven’t even happened yet.
I cross the room and flop onto the couch, and it groans beneath me like it’s just as tired as I am.
I still can’t relax. I press my fingertips to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. God, what the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t even know his name. And yet, I can feel his voice in my bloodstream like a drug I didn’t mean to take.
“You’re not going to invite me in?”
Fuck off, is what I should’ve said. Go ruin someone else’s night.
But of course, I didn’t, because part of me wanted to let him in, but that’s the part I don’t trust.
The thought barely settles before I reach for my phone with fingers that feel too shaky to pretend anymore. My chest’s too tight, and I don’t even wait to second-guess it this time.
I scroll until I find her name, which isn’t hard because she’s the only person on my favorites list.
It rings twice before she answers.
“Ani Banani. Please tell me you’re calling to say you finally got laid.”
I groan. “Sarah?—”
“That’s not a no.”
I can hear her sheets rustling, her smile practically audible.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I mutter, my voice cracking around the edges.
Sarah sobers a little. “Okay, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”
“I let him walk me home.”
A pause. Then, sharper. “Him him?”
“The tattooed one,” I admit. “Library ladder. Mouth of sin. Probably has a body count.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ani. Tell me you at least climbed him like a jungle gym before running.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No climbing. Just tension. A lot of staring. And a deeply questionable need for an orgasm the second I shut my door.”
Sarah hums like she’s taste-testing a dessert. “That’s foreplay, sweetheart. Your brain just hasn’t caught up yet.”
I sink lower into the couch. “I pretended to go into someone else’s apartment so he wouldn’t know which door was mine.”
