Page 44 of Glitter Rose
“You don’t have to.” My fingers loosen, but don’t let go, tracing the ridge of veins along his forearm down to his hand, tugging at it. “Sleep here. If you want.”
“That a good idea?”
“Probably not.” I laugh. “But when has that ever stopped us?”
He hesitates, weight balanced on the balls of his feet.
“Just sleeping,” I say. “Unless…”
“Unless?” His eyebrow arches.
I shrug one shoulder, trying for casual and landing somewhere near desperate. “I mean, technically, we’ve only usedyour fingers. Seems like a waste of potential for not knowing what happens next.”
His laugh is unexpected, a short bark that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Jesus, Paris.”
“What? Was that too forward?” Heat crawls up my neck. “The romance novels?—”
“Fuck the romance novels.” He crawls back into bed with me, mattress dipping under his weight. “They don’t tell you how fucking terrifying it is when you actually care.”
“You care?”
“Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He lifts the blanket. “Cuddle?”
ELEVEN
KNOX
I arrange the last cushion, stepping back to survey my handiwork.
Plush velvet and silk pillows stolen from neighboring apartments transform the dusty cinema room into something almost decadent. The room smells of stale popcorn and abandoned dreams, but with the candles I’ve placed strategically around the space, it almost feels like a real date setting.
Something normal in a world that’s forgotten what normal even means.
The projector doesn’t work anymore, but movie dates are shit anyway.
Now I just have to convince a certain woman to follow me into a dark room. After last night, I’m not sure if she’ll even look me in the eye, let alone trust me enough for this.
Last night.
It plays on repeat. Her soft skin under my fingers, the little gasps she couldn’t control, the way she melted against me. And then the argument.
I run my hand over my jaw, feeling the stubble I carefully trimmed with the razor.
Why am I doing this?
The same reason I can’t keep away from her, or act like I didn’t know Liv and Walsh. At first, I thought we might be in danger when Paris told me she spotted people, but then it was them, probably looking for me. And the selfish asshole I am, I didn’t say anything because I want Paris for myself.
With her, the apocalypse feels less like the end and more like a beginning.
Even if it’s just for one more night.
The climb back to the penthouse leaves me barely winded, my body finally recovering from the fall. Paris slices strawberries at the kitchen counter when I enter, her hair falling in a curtain around her face, hiding her expression, but the tension in her shoulders tells me everything I need to know.
She’s still thinking about last night. About my hands on her body. About the offer I made. And about me…
I meant what I said.
I’m not leaving without her.
