chapter 21

WARM MORNING LIGHT STREAKS THROUGH the sliding glass doors, turning the living space a soft shade of gold. When I first came down this morning, I looked over at the glass to find our body prints smudged all across it, and the reminder of what we did last night made my bare toes curl against the cool concrete floor.

Now I'm in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to operate Dex's coffeemaker. It should be an easy process: add water, add coffee grounds, push the button. But the expensive device resembles a small spaceship more than it does a traditional coffeemaker, and I'm still struggling with it when Dex comes downstairs, dressed in his signature ripped jeans and a baggy charcoal-gray hoodie. He's wearing a backward hat, his blond hair long and wavy, and when he steps into the light, I catch a glimpse of metal around his neck.

The same metal he wrapped around my wrists last night .

I look down at my hands, and sure enough, light blue bruises snake around my wrists. Dragging one thumb across a tender spot, I smile. I will never forget that moment; the cold glass against my body, the chain around my wrists, Dex's lips on my ear—it'll be forever ingrained in my mind.

Quickly tearing my eyes away, I glare at the coffeemaker, which is sitting still and silent on the marble countertop, just mocking me.

"You look like you're attempting brain surgery," Dex says as he walks up behind me. His voice is gravelly with sleep, and it makes him even sexier somehow.

"Does it need to be this complicated?" I ask, fluttering my fingers at the contraption.

His laugh is low and quiet. Slowly, he leans over me to brace his hands on the countertop, and I'm just small enough to fit into the curve of his body.

"I'll do it," he says, his breath warm on my cheek. He brushes his nose against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine and into my low back. "What do you want in it? Just oat milk?"

I nod. Turning around, I find Dex smiling sleepily at me, and I rise onto my toes to press a soft kiss against his lips. He lifts one hand to touch my cheek, and the rings on his fingers are cool against my skin.

"All right, coffee," I say, pulling away from his mouth even though my body fights me every step of the way.

The house is cool this morning, and I pull Dex's hoodie from last night on over my T-shirt and shorts. It's warm and soft and smells like him, and I ease the hood up over my head while walking to the glass doors. Touching the panel on the wall, I watch in quiet awe as the glass slides open silently to let the fresh morning air in. It's chilly—it is still winter—but with a hoodie on, I'm warm enough to step out onto the back patio. Birds sing in the trees all around me, and there's a distant hum of cars, probably Dex's neighbors heading into the city.

There's something so peaceful about the early morning, when the world is still waking up and the city is quieter than usual. This is my favorite time of day, my most contemplative. If I were home, I'd be sitting at the kitchen table with Margot, sipping a cup of coffee and doing my daily journaling session. And more likely than not, I'd be writing about him .

A soft sound makes me turn, and I find Dex stepping out of the house, a cup of coffee in each hand. The mugs steam in the crisp air, and I smile gratefully as he offers me one. Heat seeps through the mug and into my fingers as Dex comes to stand beside me.

"Beautiful, huh?" Dex asks. He slips his free hand into his pocket, lifting the mug to his lips with the other.

I watch him covertly, trying not to stare so blatantly. Every move he makes, from the bob of his throat to the brush of his eyelashes against his cheek, makes me weak for him.

I think I might know now what all those love songs are about.

"This view is why I bought the place."

Stealing my gaze away from him, I lift the mug to my lips. The first sip of coffee is heaven . The oat milk is frothy, and the coffee is way smoother than the stuff I buy. Granted, his probably costs an arm and a leg.

"Would you ever leave the city?" I ask .

He glances over at me, playing with his lip ring in the morning light. Instead of answering right away, he takes another sip of coffee, seeming to ponder the question.

"Yeah," he says at long last. "I like it here, the energy. But I don't think I'll like it forever." His gaze slides to me once more. Taking his hand from his pocket, Dex eases an arm around my shoulders, and I settle in against his chest with a familiarity that scares me. "Why? You wanna run away to the mountains with me?" he mumbles into my hair.

Without thinking, I tell him the truth. "Yes."

Instead of responding, he pulls me closer, his arm tightening around me. And somehow, I think he likes that answer.

We finish our coffee, and I take both mugs into the house to pour a second cup. The sun is creeping higher in the sky, chasing the chill from the air.

I've just filled our mugs and am frothing the oat milk when I hear a small ping. Dex's phone is on the marble countertop next to me, screen up. I have no intention of prying, would never even consider going through his phone, but the face on the screen is familiar.

Serena White.

The text message bubble is clear and crisp. I couldn't stop myself from reading it even if I wanted to.

Hey, baby. Can't wait to see you tonight.

There's a sudden rushing in my ears, and my stomach is in knots.

Is he getting back with her ?

Has he been with her this whole time?

Looking up, I find Dex standing beside the pool, his back to me, the sunlight limning his dark figure in gold. My eyes mist over.

He's so beautiful. Too beautiful for me. Of course he'd pick her.

I briefly imagine Serena standing next to him, with her long blond hair and tan legs, and suddenly, I don't feel so pretty anymore, don't understand how I could ever be the object of his desire.

The coffee turns sour in my stomach. I have to get out of here before I make more of a fool of myself than I already have.

Hands trembling slightly, I finish pouring Dex's second coffee, then take it to him on the patio, feeling like there's a lump in my throat.

"Here you go," I say, and when he reaches over to take it, he's smiling. Until he sees my face.

"What's wrong?" His forehead furrows, sandy brows pulling together in concern.

"Nothing," I lie.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

Dex reaches out, and his fingers are warm from the coffee mug when he touches my skin. "Like that."

Tears try to burst into my eyes, but I fight them down.

I want this.

I want this so, so bad.

A tiny spark flickers to life in my chest when I think that maybe I've got it all wrong. Maybe her message doesn't mean what I think it means .

"Little Monster," he whispers, taking my chin and tilting my head back so I'll meet his eyes. "Tell me what's wrong. I can't fix it otherwise."

The words rise like fire in my throat, fighting over one another to get out. But I push them down, try to sort through all the emotions until I can focus on the one question that'll answer everything.

"What is this?" I whisper. My eyes search his. "What am I to you?"

I want him to pull me in for a kiss, to tell me I'm his Little Monster.

But my stomach drops when he releases my chin, and I swear it's like a curtain is drawn in his eyes, hiding everything that's going on backstage.

And before he says a word, I know what's happening.

He's shutting me out. And for some reason, all I can think is that it's my fault.

Not pretty enough. Not fun enough. Not rich enough.

"I..." Dex takes a physical step back from me. The distance is enough to punch me square in the gut. "I didn't realize you needed to put a label on this."

A label? A label ?

Pain flares in my chest, burns through me, and this time when the tears try to rise, I can't fight them back. They swim in my eyes before slipping silently down my cheeks. The morning breeze makes the moisture feel cool on my skin, though inside I'm burning up.

"Nora," he says.

No more nickname? No more wanting to be my first everything ?

I won't tell him—or anyone—but suddenly, standing here beside the pool with DTLA waking up in the distance, Dex's blue eyes pinned on me, I come to the realization that he'll be another one of my firsts.

My first heartbreak.

Before he can say anything else, I whirl around and sprint into the house. While striding through the living room, I yank his hoodie off over my head, then ball it up and fling it onto the back of the couch.

That word, label , keeps ringing through my head. I knew this would happen, knew I could never be more to him than a quick fuck. But he kissed my shoulders in the shower, played with my damp hair as we fell asleep.

He convinced me this could be more. And I was na?ve enough to believe him.

"Nora," he says again, standing in the doorway as I pull on my sneakers and grab my purse from beside the door.

"What, Dex?" I spin to face him, tears still streaking down my cheeks.

I wait for him to say something, to apologize, to use this last opportunity to make things right.

But all he does is frown.

A fresh wave of tears gathers on my lower lashes, and then I flee from his house, barely managing not to slam the door on my way out.