Page 106 of Sweetheart: Part One

She unravelled my reality with every step she took into my life, and I didn’t know how to pivot. I was doing everything in my power to keep my distance, and I was falling for her, anyway.

She drew my eyes in every room she was in, and I hung onto every word when she and Drake chatted movies and music, and not a page was turned on whatever book I was supposed to be reading.

One word.

That’s how far I was from finding out if she could fall for me like that.

And if I spoke it, I could tell her I thought she was wrong about Aura Seven’s most underrated song. And I could show her the special cut scenes of Hunting Falcons that Prey had sent me back when we used to talk. I would tell her how badly I wanted her. I would beg for that kiss she’d held back. I was watching her fall for Drake, and we were allfeelingDrake fall for her.

It was real, I just knew it to my bones. I caught every blush he got out of her, or the way her eyes went soft for him when she thought no one was looking. With a rickety path of failure behind me, of heartbreak, or women who never wanted whoIwas, it was torture.

That one word hung suspended in every moment she was in my room, an infinite chasm of impossibility. But unlike me, Drake was safe, Ebony didn’t need leverage on him.

I was not, and would never be.

So, when she came, she waited on her knees, shivering until I woke. And every morning I told her I didn’t want her to return the next time.

Until finally, she listened. When I entered my quarters tonight, she wasn’t there. And of course, now that she wasn’t, I couldn’t sleep.

It was just past midnight when I exited my room, wondering if Rook might be up late in the firepit, or interested in watching reruns of aura boxing.

Instead, I found something I was wildly unprepared for.

The lights in the lounge were dimmed, spilling warmth across the couches, dining table, and tall dark curtains framing the massive window facing the garden.

Despite the hour, there was movement.

I stopped when I caught sight of her.

Vex was behind the breakfast bar, full of more energy than anyone had a right to be at this time. On the counter was an open bottle of whiskey, and an empty plate with two halves of an avocado. The small kitchenette up here was host to basic snacks like the one she was making for herself right now, even if most of our meals were made by Rob.

She was singing random lines of a Miley Cyrus song, a large set of headphones cupping her ears while she made a dance out of spreading butter on toast.

Silver-brown waves flew about wildly with the violent—and definitely drunken—dance in crop-top and sweatpants. The slice of her stomach showing between grabbed my attention, which was ridiculous, since it wasn’t as if our lives as celebrities left us surrounded by modesty, and I could usually control where my gaze landed. Her lyric cut off as she flicked the buttered knife a little too energetically, and it splattered the microwave door. She wiped it off quickly, not missing a beat of her song then returning to the out of sync choreography.

Her voice was utterly captivating, even missing half the lines, and I was frozen, absolutely fixated on her.

I didn’t even feel guilty, watching the private bubble of reality she believed she was in—though in all fairness, she was inmylounge.

Finally, with a particularly aggressive twirl to a punchy line, she spotted me. The lyrics died, her mouth popping open, eyes wide as pink bloomed on her cheeks.

Then she vanished—as in, just dropped down in an instant, knife and toast still in fist—the bar placing her solidly out of my line of sight.

I couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. I should turn back around and leave, but instead I strode across the room, slipping into one of the bar stools.

This, at least, wasn’t as dangerous as what she offered when she visited. Here, we were just two people sharing a home. From this vantage I could see where she was sitting, back pressed against the kitchenette. Her hand covered her mouth, her headset was hooked around her neck, and her beautiful chocolate eyes were wide and fixed on me.

“I recommend turning on the floor heating if you intend to stay down there. The bones of this place don’t warm up.”

There was another long pause, and then she reappeared slowly, face flushed with embarrassment, and toast still clutched in her hands.

“You have a lovely voice,” I said absently.

“If we can just…” She swallowed. “Pretend you didn’t see any of that.”

I snorted.

Impossible. It would be a surprise if I ever managed to get it out of my brain. I wanted, for the rest of my life, to run the risk of catching her singing in my living room.

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