Page 64 of The Assist
Mia’s hair is a mess of waves across the sheets, and she’s on her side facing me, breathing softly. The light filtering through the blinds catches the curve of her cheek, her lips are slightly parted, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and trace the shape of them.
She looks peaceful. Like the world outside this bed doesn’t exist. Like last night didn’t happen, and that’s what scares me.
Because it did.
Every glance. Every kiss. Every word she whispered when she thought I wasn’t listening. They happened. And now I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with all of it.
I shift onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way her bare thigh is brushing mine. We didn’thave sex, but there was a lot of exploration shall we say. But it was enough. Enough to ruin me. I should leave before she wakes up. Give her the space she always ends up asking for in the daylight.
But I don’t.
Instead, I get up quietly, pull on my joggers from last night, and pad into the kitchen. It’s small, a bit cluttered, and lived-in. There’s a chipped mug on the counter and a note stuck to the fridge with a Raptor’s magnet, something about rent reminders and laundry. It makes me weirdly fond of her, seeing these bits of her life I’ve never been privy to before.
I fill the kettle and try to remember how she takes her coffee. I know she drinks it black when she’s tired, with milk and sugar when she’s not. I reach for both, just in case.
By the time I’m setting down two mugs on the table, I hear movement behind me. The soft shuffle of bare feet on laminate flooring.
“Is that coffee?” Her voice is low and sleep-rough, and it does something to me. Wrecks me a little.
I glance over my shoulder. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, and the sight alone makes my throat dry. “It is,” I say, holding out the coffee with milk. “Didn’t know how you’d want it.”
She takes it from me with a grateful nod, brushing her fingers against mine as she does. That tiny touch sparks heat in my chest like she’s lit a fuse I can’t unburn.
“I figured you’d be gone,” she says, lifting the mug to her lips.
I lean against the counter, my arms folded loosely across my chest. “Thought about it.”
“And?”
I look at her. Hair messy, face bare, and her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Didn’t want to.”
She exhales through her nose and turns toward the window like she doesn’t know what to do with that.
Neither do I, to be fair.
We drink in silence for a minute. There’s a soft hum of traffic outside and the occasional drip from the kitchen tap. And then she speaks.
“My car’s still at the rink.”
Right.That.
I grab my phone from the counter and flick it open. “I’ll get my mate to pick it up. His garage isn’t far from here, I can pull in that favour he owes me.”
She arches a brow. “You sure?”
I nod. “I’ll text him now. He’ll sort it.”
She looks like she wants to protest, like she should push back to prove she’s still holding her own, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods slowly. “Thank you.”
I type out the message and hit send, then glance back at her. “You’ve got work today?”
“No, off until tomorrow. And you?”
“Gym at noon. Skating drills at five. Jonno wants my stride cleaner.”
She bites her lip, considering something, then gestures toward the sofa. “You’ve got time to sit for a bit?”
I have time foranythingif it means being around her a little longer.
