Page 122 of Alive At Night

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Goingto Julian’s apartment with alcohol—even just one drink’s worth of alcohol—coursing through my veins was likely a bad idea. But I was having a hard time tearing myself away from today. And we reallyshouldlook at Grayson’s case.

With one step through the door, I realized Julian had decorated since the last time I stood here. A few family portraits were on the wall and bits of simplistic art and nice cozy touches. A candle, a blanket, a few throw pillows. Nothing over-the-top and all very monotone as far as a color scheme, but it actually looked like an adult lived here.

Julian’s eyes raked over me as I stood awkwardly in the entryway to his apartment. He took my coat from me without saying a word, hanging it up before stealing one more look and breaking the silence.

“I’ll go find something more comfortable for you.”

“Comfortable?” I called after him.

“Your clothes,” came his muffled reply.

I didn’t bother telling him that dresses were by far the most comfortable article of clothing that I owned.

Julian returned a moment later. I expected him to return with some of Gemma’s clothes—like he did the night we went to the New England game. But the clothes he tossed at me when coming back into the room were distinctlyJulian.

After sneaking into the bathroom to change out of my dress, I returned to the living room wearing sweatpants and one of his old high school football sweatshirts.

Julian did a double take.

“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw as he took me in. “Looks good on you. I always knew it would.”

“I can’t believe you hung on to this sweatshirt,” I said with a light laugh.

“You think I would have ditched it before getting to see you in it?” Julian shook his head. “Nah.”

Laughing with unbidden glee, I did a little twirl for him in the middle of his apartment, showing off my new look.

“I could really get used to you doing that for me,” he said, his voice lowering into something that felt intimate, that brushed against my skin. “You did it that night in the hotel, too. One of my favorite fucking moments.”

“I still have your shirt,” I admitted, ignoring how my racing heart kept trying to force its way into my throat. “From the wedding. When you let me sleep in it.”

“Keep it,” he insisted. “I like to imagine you wear it sometimes.”

Refusing to admit that I’d definitely worn it to bed again since the wedding, I bit down on my grin.

“Do I get to keep these, too?” I asked teasingly, gesturing at my outfit.

“If you want,” Julian answered, even though I wasn’t at all serious. “You look damn good in my clothes.”

I let the moment linger, sweet and perfect, before I cleared my throat.

“We should get to work.”

He nodded, although I thought I saw a flash of disappointment. “Why don’t you pull up our notes while I start dinner. Do you want a drink? Glass of wine?”

“Maybe just one,” I agreed. “I already had that drink at the bar.”

“Look who’s suddenly being reasonable about their alcohol intake,” Julian said with a chuckle.

I tried to tame the flash of embarrassment as memories of the wedding tried to take over. “Well, I still have to make it home.”

Julian shrugged, walking into the open-concept kitchen to grab a wineglass from a bar cart in the corner. “Or you could stay.”

“Stay?”

“Stay.” His eyes rose slowly. The glasses clinked on the granite countertops as he set them down. His voice dropped again. “I want to be around you constantly, Juniper. You can have the bed to yourself, I don’t care. Just…stay.”

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