Chapter 8

EIGHT

We end up in a bar called Hotspot. At least that’s what the tired neon sign says. Sutton opens the door for me, and I go inside. There are people around, but not a ton of them, so I guess the name isn’t that accurate.

It’s a nice place, though. It’s not too fancy, so it makes me feel more at ease.

There’s a single bartender behind the counter. An older man, who’s drying the glasses with a pristine white towel.

Sutton heads toward him, and I follow.

The bartender looks up from the glass when we’re in front of the counter and grunts.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he says gruffly, but there’s a lightness in his tone when he says it.

“Marlon,” Sutton says, nodding before he glances at me. “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh… Beer would be good?”

“Can we have two of those Czech ones with the unpronounceable name?” Sutton tells Marlon, and he produces two bottles from somewhere under the counter, opens them, and slides them toward us.

Once we’ve said our thank yous and have found a table, Sutton lifts the bottle toward me. “Cheers.”

We clink the necks and take a drink.

“It’s good,” I say when I put the bottle down.

“Marlon has different ones from all over the world. I’ve found out I’m partial to Czechia.”

“You come here often?”

“You sound surprised,” he says with a grin.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t have guessed this was your kind of place.”

“Aww. Look at you with your preconceived opinions about me.” He says it lightly, though. Most of what he says comes off lightly or as a joke. He takes another drink. “Steph works here, so Quinn dragged me with him when he was still chasing him.”

“Chasing?”

“Steph wasn’t exactly Quinn’s biggest fan.”

“Really?” I ask. “But they seem so happy.”

“They are. Just took them a bit to get there.”

I cock my head to the side and study him. “How long have you known Quinn?”

He takes another drink and just looks at me for a little while. So long that I think he’s not going to answer, but then he does.

“Close to twenty years.”

“That is a long time,” I say.

He just shrugs and leans back in his seat.

I try to relax into my own seat and not think too much about possibly sleeping with him. Provided I have the guts to ask him. It’s not even so much about the asking, but everything that supposedly comes after it. It’s probably not the right mindset to have when you’re sitting across the table from an impossibly sexy man, and the only thought you have in your head is, I kind of wish it could be done and over with already.

Sutton takes me in with amused expression on his face. “Do you have ants in your pants?”

I blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

He lifts his chin toward me, eyes shining with mirth. “You’re fidgeting like crazy.”

“Just…” My voice dies down. “Don’t mind me,” I mumble.

For a little while we drink in silence.

“So what’s with the anti-relationship stance?” I blurt. Anything to get my mind away from sex, and this is the first thing that jumped to mind.

He sends me an amused look over the rim of his bottle.

“The what?”

I wave my hand in the air. “That whole feelings-are-bad, relationships-are-doom thing you’ve got going on. What’s that about?”

“Does there have to be a reason?”

“No. Guess I’m just wondering if there is.”

“Not really,” he says.

I shrug. “Okay.”

A smirk plays on his lips. “Not going to try and convince me of the joys of being happily coupled up?”

“Why would I?”

“Why ask?”

“Curiosity.”

“Fair,” he says. “Why are you single?”

“Why not? Lots of people are.”

“True. Do you want to be?”

That’s a difficult question, seeing that up until very recently I haven’t even considered not being single as a legitimate option.

“I’m not against relationships,” I say.

“Me neither. As long as I don’t have to be in one. If that’s your kink, more power to you, just leave me out of it.”

“Unless you join a cult, I don’t think anyone will make you.”

“I’d be a terrible cultist. I don’t do well with rules.”

“No!” I say with a mock gasp. “You? Say it isn’t so. You’re such a law-abiding citizen.”

“It was a minuscule break-in. You should really get over it already. It’s not good to dwell on the past for too long.”

“Minuscule break-in. Now there’s a pair of words you don’t hear together too often.”

“It’s a more modest version of a gigantic break-in,” he says, and I can’t really argue with him there.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You absolutely can.”

“Law-abiding citizen, my ass.” I lean forward and rest my arms on the table in front of me. “Have you ever been arrested?”

“My lawyer says I’m not allowed to say anything when he’s not present.”

I grin.

“Of course you shouldn’t. For what?”

He mimics zipping his lips.

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Depends which time we’re talking about.”

“You’ve been arrested more than once?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“You can’t just leave me hanging like this,” I protest.

He waggles his brows and takes another drink, arm thrown over the back of the booth, a picture of ease and elegance, and still somehow seamlessly fitting into this dingy bar.

“Okay, just give me one example,” I say. “The mildest, stupidest one you’ve got.”

He eyes me calmly for a few moments. “What do I get in return?”

“Anything you want,” I say without thinking.

“I’m going to guess you’re terrible at poker,” he says with a laugh.

“Maybe not anything.” I squeeze my lips together for a second and consider the situation before I ask, “What do you want?”

He lifts his bottle to his mouth and drains it before he sets it down with a thud. His eyes remain on me. It feels like I’m being flayed open with a look.

“A secret for a secret,” he finally says.

“I don’t have…” I start to say before my voice drops off.

Okay then.

“What constitutes a secret to you?” I ask.

His grin widens. “I believe the official definition is something like ‘not known by others?’”

I eye him for a bit and consider the offer before I nod my agreement. “A secret for a secret.”

A part of me expects him to jump right into it, but he just toys with his empty beer bottle before he gets up. “I’m gonna need another drink for this.”

He gets back to the bar, and I peer at him over my shoulder as Sutton talks to Marlon, the bartender. He laughs at something Marlon says, and the guy glances at Sutton with something that I’d say looks a lot like affection.

Sutton’s back in a few more minutes, and he slides another bottle in front of me, too. I nod my thanks.

“So?” I say. “Give me a secret.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Start with one of the arrest stories,” I suggest.

“Sure.” He grins. “I got arrested for swimming.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“That can’t be it. And if it is, it’s disappointing.”

He smirks. “You traded for the mildest, stupidest one I had in my arsenal. This is it.” He takes another drink and follows that with a lazy smirk. “There might’ve been a bit of trespassing, indecent exposure, and resisting arrest involved.”

“Of course there was. So, in layman’s terms…” I squint at him. “You went skinny-dipping in somebody else’s pool or pond or lake or whatever and then tried to run away?”

“You sound like my lawyer. But when you explain it, it’s strangely arousing.” He lifts his chin toward me. “Your turn. Time to pay up. Tell me a secret.”

“I’ve never been arrested.”

He holds his thumb up and then points it downward while making a fart noise.

I laugh and scratch my forehead.

“Fine.” I hesitate for a second.

Tell him about the scars. Tell him that underneath your clothes you look like a badly put together patchwork quilt. It’s the perfect opening.

“I like to sketch birds.”

Okay. Well. You do you, Wren.

He doesn’t say anything, even though I sort of expect him to scoff that it’s either not a good enough secret or just embarrassing. He just looks at me curiously.

“I go to a park with my sketchpad. I watch birds. I draw.”

He leans back, still simply watching me, which means I start blabbering.

“I… I recognize all the different species of birds you can find in New York. I can also recognize them only by their song.”

He continues looking.

“You’re blushing again,” he eventually says.

“I just realized that if we were in high school, you’d be the cool bad boy, and I’d be the nerd who goes birdwatching.”

He just shrugs. “I always hated high school. And stereotypes. Fuck that.”

I laugh and clink my bottle against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

“So really?” he asks. “All the birds? You can recognize every single one? Just by what they sound like?”

“I’m pretty sure I can, yeah. The ones native to New York for sure. Probably most of the ones common on the East Coast.”

“Impressive. How did you get into birds?” Sutton asks, and he looks genuinely interested in the answer. I think that’s the main reason I’m answering with something other than ‘Oh I just think they’re cool.’

Instead, I say, “I was in a hospital for a while when I was fifteen. There was a blue jay’s nest in the tree right outside my window. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a hospital for a prolonged period of time, but it’s super boring. I spent a lot of time watching those blue jays. And then once… Well, I figured I’d try and draw them, so I’d have a way to remember them later. By now it’s just a way to relax.”

He nods. “Sounds nice.”

I nod too, because it is nice. And relaxing. And I’m not so sure anymore why I’ve always considered it a bit dumb. Something to almost be embarrassed about.

I know a lot of birds.

I can draw a lot of birds.

I recognize birdsong.

He opens his mouth, and I don’t have to be a psychic to know what he’s going to ask next—why I was in the hospital in the first place—but instead of taking that opportunity he’s about to hand me on a silver platter, I sabotage yet another good opening.

“Your turn,” I blurt.

He sends me a knowing look, but he doesn’t push. He takes a moment to think before he says, “When I make a PB&J, I mix the peanut butter with jelly first.”

I stare at him for a prolonged moment before I make a face and snort out a laugh.

“I’m sorry, you what?”

“I mix the peanut butter and jelly together.”

I stare some more.

“Oh my God, why?” I ask with genuine horror.

“Umm… because it helps get the peanut butter and jelly ratio just right?” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But that’s the beauty of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Every bite is a surprise.”

“I prefer things evenly distributed.”

I lean back and shake my head. “That is just wrong.”

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

I do my best to really give a proper, strong scoff before I add a more subdued, “No.”

He looks really smug after that.

“That argument doesn’t really hold. There are just some things you know you won’t like. I’ve never robbed a bank, and I still know I wouldn’t like it,” I say.

“You think you wouldn’t like it. Unless you’ve tried it, you can’t know.”

“I can draw a conclusion based on what I know about myself, and it’ll be accurate.”

He keeps smiling at me.

“Most likely,” he agrees.

I’m really not sure what to say now. That was an unexpectedly easy win.

“But,” he says then, and I groan out loud. Cheered too soon, clearly. “But there will always be that little bit of uncertainty. So unless you try, you’ll never know for sure.”

It almost feels like I’m being coaxed into something.

“I guess I know what I’ll be doing with my Saturday. Hop on, Clyde. We’re hitting up Fort Knox tomorrow.”

“You should probably consider something smaller than the country’s gold reserves right off the bat.”

“Like, say, an abomination of a PB&J?”

“Have to start somewhere. I’ll make you one one of these days, and then you’ll eat your words.”

“Something to look forward to,” I say.

He grins at my tone and takes another sip of his beer.

I finish my own drink and set the bottle down. I’m starting to feel sort of nice and floaty, and then an excellent idea hits. Liquid courage. I’m thinking another drink will get me to a place where I have enough guts to put sex on the table.

“The next round is on me.” I head to the bar. I’m back quickly enough, seeing that there aren’t that many customers here, even though it’s a Friday night.

I slide another beer in front of Sutton and take a big gulp of my own drink.

The night goes from there.

They’re not so much secrets that we exchange, more like an assortment of random facts about each other.

He went to an expensive private school. I went to a regular high school.

He’s never had a pet, and neither have I.

He listens to indie rock. I lean toward alternative.

He can eat his weight in shrimp. I don’t like seafood.

His first car was a BMW. I’ve never owned a car.

Even with all the many, many differences between us, words come so easily. I don’t remember the last time talking to somebody felt like something that came effortlessly.

We talk for so long that by the time Marlon kicks us out, I have a lot of drinks in me. So many, I lost count on the way to my current state. But it’s okay because I feel all relaxed and serene and with a head full of great ideas.

“I should take up drinking,” I announce once we’re outside.

“Sounds like a terrible plan,” Sutton says, which is reasonable, but not at all supportive.

“No, but hear me out. Drinking makes me so fun.”

“I’d say you’re about the same amount of fun when you’re sober.”

“Sure, sure.” I give an impatient wave. “But here’s the important part. Right now, I don’t give a fuck. And that’s fun.”

His lips twitch as he looks at me.

“See how you feel in the morning and then decide if alcoholism is still the road you want to take.”

“It is,” I say with complete conviction. Drinking is fun. No wonder people do it so much.

“Okay.”

I stop walking and send him a wide smile. “Aww. You are supportive after all. See, you’re actually really nice. And you say you’re not, but you’re actually really nice.”

I don’t know why he doesn’t seem to believe me on this. I know stuff.

“I think we should get you home,” he says. “Where do you live?”

That stops me for a moment. I know the answer. I totally know it. Because I, Wren Aaron Mills, know stuff.

“A house.” I nod with satisfaction. See? Those brain cells are pulling their weight for sure.

Sutton looks somewhere between amused and exasperated. He should have another drink. It’d relax him right up.

“And where is that house located?”

I roll my eyes. It’s a bit embarrassing for him that he’s wasted enough that he doesn’t know where he is, but hey, I’m a good friend, so I’m not going to tease him about this too much.

“New York City?” I say, making sure I enunciate every syllable properly.

“Dear God,” he mutters, but there’s still that nice spark of laughter in his voice. I’m not sure what I said, but if he finds it funny, I’ll take it.

“Can you maybe narrow it down a bit?”

“It’s on a street,” I say. He’s still waiting expectantly, so I guess I’ll have to narrow it down even more for Mr. Specific here. “There’s a tree right in front.”

He’s still watching me with a thick air of amusement surrounding him.

“Any street signs nearby?”

“A whole bunch,” I say happily. He lobs those questions at me, and I know the answers to all of them!

“Okay.” He rubs his fingers over his forehead. “How about this: Do you know your address?”

Now this one’s a bit tricky. I know I have one, but right this second that information doesn’t seem to want to come to me.

Ah well.

“I definitely have one,” I say with a confident nod. “I’m pretty sure if I walk around a bit I’ll recognize where I live. You can’t miss that tree.”

He rubs his hand over his mouth and stares at me for a long moment.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Okay. Come on, then.”

“Yes! A quest for the tree shall begin,” I announce grandly.

I guess his feet are tired though, because once we hit the next street—no tree on this one—he flags down a cab.

“Good call. We’ll cover much more ground this way.” I knock on the plexiglass partition. “Sir? Can you please take us to the nearest tree?”

Sutton pats my shoulder and gently pulls me back against the seat. “He already has the directions.”

“Oh, good.” I lean my head back and aim my gaze at the cab’s ceiling.

“You feeling okay?” Sutton asks.

I turn my head and smile at him widely. “Great. My fingertips are buzzing.” I press them against the side of his neck. “Can you feel it?”

It takes him a little bit to answer, and I feel him swallow. Feels funny, so I keep my fingers in place.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a bit rough. “Sure. Buzzing.”

“You smell nice,” I say, and where Sutton sounded rough, my own voice sounds distant and dreamy to my ears. I lean closer to his neck and sniff. “Like…” I take another whiff. “Like lavender. And mint.”

He’s very still while I smell him, which is nice of him. Accommodating. The tip of my nose is against his neck now as I inhale. The cab moves through the midnight streets of New York. I yawn and lean my head against Sutton’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” I say.

He inhales deeply and slowly lets the breath out.

“For what?”

“I had fun tonight. I don’t usually have fun.”

He’s silent for a little bit before he says, “You’re welcome.”

I hum in reply and burrow closer. He’s warm, and he smells nice, and it’s generally just nice being close to somebody like this, and I never ever get to do that anymore.

I look out the window and just feel good for the time being, and when the cab stops and Sutton wraps his hand around mine and gently pulls, I follow without questions. He pays the cabbie, and then we’re standing on the street. I’m not sure where I am exactly, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t my street. Unless somebody’s changed everything about it since I left for work earlier, which would be a lot of effort for no reason at all.

Or maybe this is my street?

But no. Nothing here looks even remotely familiar.

“Where are we?” I ask, turning to Sutton.

He looks at the building on his left with a frown and then at me before he points to the building he was just eyeing.

“I live here.”

“Oh!” This makes sense. I guess we’re having a house party. Another first for me. “Ooh! We can keep the fun going. Can we get some more drinks? Because we should definitely drink some more.”

“Let’s get you upstairs first.”

His hand is still in mine as he leads me to the elevators. I watch the floor numbers change above the doors and snort out a laugh.

“What?” he asks.

“Those numbers are moving really fast.”

He stares at me for a moment before he shakes his head. “Christ, you’re a lightweight,” he says.

“I’ve never been drunk,” I say when he pulls me into the elevator, my palm still against his. “You have big hands.”

He looks down at where his hand is wrapped around mine and blinks like it’s the first time he’s realizing he’s holding my hand. His startled expression makes me laugh again.

The elevator doors open, and we get out. He maneuvers me to the door on our left, unlocks it, and gently pushes me inside.

“Do you have a bar in here?”

“A what?” he asks distractedly while he pushes me to sit down on the bench by the door and starts unlacing my sneakers.

“A bar,” I repeat. “You said you’re rich, so do you have all those extra rooms? Like a home theater and a gym and a spa?”

“No?” he says slowly.

“Huh. Well, that’s disappointing. So no bar either, then?”

“I don’t think more booze is what you need right now.”

I frown at him while he takes off my shoes. “But what about the drinks you promised?”

He pushes my sneakers underneath the bench and gets up.

“I have some excellent water.”

He ignores the face I make at him, and a moment later I find myself in the bedroom, at the foot of his bed. He goes out of the room and comes back a few seconds later with a tall glass of water he holds out for me.

“This is not the kind of party I had in mind,” I inform him as I take the glass. I sit down on the edge of the bed and dutifully drink the water though, because he’s standing in front of me, arms crossed, eyeing me like a stern parent.

I hand the empty glass back and while he goes to put it away, I lie down on my back and close my eyes. I’m not sure what kind of rich-people mattress I’m dealing with here, but it’s insanely soft. So soft that my whole body seems to sink into it. I turn my head to the side and rub my cheek against the sheets. Also soft. And they smell good. This whole bed smells good.

A snort of laughter from somewhere above me makes me open one eye and peer up.

“What?” I ask.

“It looks like you’re having a moment with the bed. Want me to leave the two of you alone for a bit?”

I yawn and close my eyes again. “You laugh, but I would show this bed a good time. I’d let it do things to me.”

“That was fast. You two just met.”

“Turns out with the right incentive, I’m easy,” I mumble, halfway to drifting off already.

“Almost feels like I should be insulted,” Sutton says.

“Don’t be.” I yawn again, then wiggle upward until my feet are on the bed too, and not dangling over the end. “I totally would’ve been easy with you too, but I’m too much of a coward.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and I’m almost asleep when something pokes the underside of my foot. I snatch my legs away with a shout of protest, pry my eyes open, and squint at him, brows furrowed.

“Ticklish?” he asks, eyes shining with laughter.

“Minimimi—” I frown and try again. “Miminima—” I don’t think that’s it either. Minimally. I can totally say it in my head, but the letters get all mixed up when my mouth tries to make them.

“Not much,” I finally say before I drop back down on the bed. The sleepy haze that had wrapped itself around me has lifted.

“I have to get going,” I mutter toward the ceiling. I squeeze my eyes shut once more before I push myself up into a sitting position. I rub my palm over my face and try to think, even though my thoughts are still scattered all over the place, so it’s not going too well.

“You should just stay here and sleep it off,” Sutton says. He sounds weird. Not like he’s reluctant to have a sleepover with me, exactly, but sort of cautious.

I’d argue, but this is a really nice bed, and it’s cold and dark outside, so in the end, it’s not that difficult of a choice.

“Okay.” I immediately roll myself to one side of the bed and tug at the comforter until I’m under it, and then I sigh happily.

I hear Sutton moving around, and then he’s poking me again.

“Sleeping,” I mutter.

“Not before you drink this.”

It’s another glass of water, and he also drops two white pills onto my palm.

“Ibuprofen,” he says. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

I dutifully swallow the pills and drink some of the water, set the glass down on the nightstand, and collapse back onto the bed.

“Do you maybe want to take some of the clothes off?” Sutton continues with his quest to keep me awake.

I pull the covers higher, press my face into the pillow, and inhale some more of that good scent.

“Wren?” Sutton says. “Do you want something more comfortable to sleep in?”

“No,” I mumble into the pillow. “I don’t get naked in front of people.”

“I was thinking more as in do you want to borrow a T-shirt.”

“No naked arms.”

He’s silent for a little bit.

“Okay,” he eventually says. There are footsteps. The click of the light switch. Then silence again.

“Do you have to let anybody know you’re not coming home tonight?”

Gears move a bit slowly, but eventually I realize he’s right, and I absolutely should let somebody know, otherwise Jordan will send a search party after me. I wrestle my phone out and send him a quick text before I drop the phone back down somewhere without looking where it lands.

“Call me if you need anything.” Sutton’s voice is farther away now.

I force myself to lift my head from the pillow and frown at the doorway, where his body is a dark outline drawn out by the light that’s somewhere behind him. “You’re not coming to sleep?”

Another beat of silence.

“I am. Just on the couch,” he finally says.

Well, that doesn’t sound fair. I try to sit up, but somehow I manage to get myself tangled in the covers, and the more I move, the more wrapped up I get.

“Here.” Sutton’s voice is filled with held-back laughter as he comes and unwraps me.

“Thanks,” I say, a bit winded from my fight. “Why are you on the couch?”

“One of my rare displays of gentlemanliness.”

“Well that’s stupid. Just sleep here like a normal person.”

My heart picks up speed while I wait for his decision. Because here’s the thing. It’ll be a lot more difficult to seduce somebody who’s asleep in the other room.

It takes him a whole lot of time to finally say something, and even then, the only thing that comes out of his mouth is something that sounds like a mumbled curse. But then there’s some moving around. A door closing with a quiet snick. The distant sound of water flowing. A door opening again. Then soft footsteps. The mattress dips, and Sutton gets into the bed.

I’m wide awake now. The room is so quiet you’d never think there were two people in here. At the same time, my brain is going a mile a minute.

I’m in bed with Sutton.

It’s what I was aiming for.

Sort of.

We’re both wearing clothes, and nothing about this moment seems to suggest we’re headed toward being sans the clothes, but that’s a pessimist’s view of the situation. I could also very well look at this as an opportunity. A first step toward the end goal.

“Sutton?” I whisper, and my voice sounds eerily loud in the quiet room.

“Yeah?” he says from somewhere on my right.

“Are you asleep?”

There’s some shuffling, and I watch him turn to his side so he’s facing me.

“I never understood the point of that question. If I was asleep I wouldn’t answer.”

“And then I’d have my answer.”

“I already said yeah. That didn’t tip you off that I was up?” His voice is filled with humor once again.

I grin into the darkness. “I wanted to be really sure.”

He mulls that over for a second before he says, “Okay. A hypothetical. What if after saying ‘yeah,’ I didn’t answer the second question? Then what?”

“Then I would’ve had to shake you just to make sure you weren’t dead.”

He snorts. “How likely would it be that I’d died silently in the few seconds between me reacting to my name and you asking the question?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not about how likely it is. It’s about if it’s possible.”

“So the conclusion is that even if I had been asleep, I won’t be after you ask me if I am asleep?”

I take a moment to think about it. “Pretty much,” I say. “But, I mean, you’ll thank me on the off chance I’ll save your life.”

“I thought I was already dead in that scenario.”

“You could also be in the middle of dying.”

He chuckles in the darkness, sounding soft and sleepy. It’s so intimate, lying here in the darkness with him.

“We’ve established that I’m up and alive,” he says, laughter still ringing through his words. “What did you want to say?”

This is it, Wren. Don’t mess it up.

“I want to have sex,” I blurt.

He goes so still that if I couldn’t see a Sutton-shaped body next to me in the darkness, I’d start to think I was alone.

“With me?” he eventually asks in a very not-Sutton-like choked voice.

“Yes.”

He stays still and doesn’t say anything else, which, again, is very much unlike Sutton. It takes me a moment to figure out that I should probably be the one who makes the first move because I’m the one who tossed the idea in the air.

So I wiggle closer until I’m right next to him, and then I turn on my side, too.

“Wr—” he starts to say, but if I wait too long, I’ll lose the little courage I have and chicken out again, so instead of doing that, I kiss him.

Or I try to. It’s dark, and right as I lean in, he turns himself onto his back, so I miss by a bit, toppling on top of him, and my lips hit his neck instead.

But that’s fine. I can work my way up to his lips.

He’s very still for a moment, and I’m not sure what to make of it, but I let my lips wander over the soft skin of his neck. I hit stubble after a bit, and it tickles my lips. In a moment of inspiration, I suck the skin just underneath his earlobe between my lips. He, in return, sucks in a very satisfying breath.

I’m a bit dizzy with a mix of a lot of things: beer, victorious elation that I’m doing this, and Sutton’s body underneath mine, so it takes me a second to really appreciate how hard he is, but once it hits, the apprehension that’s still lingering all over me is shoved firmly away. It’s replaced by a sharp bolt of lust that starts somewhere in the back of my brain, travels down my spine, and spreads everywhere in the blink of an eye. And by everywhere, I mostly mean my dick.

The best part? I’m not really thinking. I’m just going with my instincts, which means that the assortment of doubts and fears and nerves that always hover somewhere nearby are not here right now.

I lick over the side of Sutton’s neck, and his breaths turn into pants. His cock twitches against my hip, and electricity swoops through my belly.

“Wren,” he gasps when I bite down on his earlobe.

“Uh-huh?” I mutter, lips pressed into his neck.

“We have to stop. You’re not thinking clearly.”

I laugh against his skin, still in the middle of tasting every inch I can reach.

“I know,” I say, lips moving upward until they meet the corner of his mouth. “Isn’t it great?”

I catch his lower lip between my teeth.

He groans, his fingertips sink into my arms, and his hips punch up.

Need is like an ache inside me.

I lower my head to kiss him.

He moves so fast I don’t really register what’s happening before I slam face first into the pillow, and Sutton is suddenly gone.

The bedside light comes on, and I blink to get my vision back.

Sutton’s standing by the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, hands tucked underneath his armpits.

I’m not sure what happened here, but I’m not a fan.

We stare at each other, and I quirk my brows in question. His jaw clenches, and he drags his hand through his hair.

“We can’t do this,” he finally says.

I frown before I throw the mess of covers out of the way and knee-walk to the side of the bed.

“Uh-huh,” I say. “I hear what you’re saying, and here’s my counteroffer. We can.”

He curses out loud and starts to pace. I follow him with my eyes while he does it.

“I don’t get the problem,” I say after it becomes clear that he’s too busy cursing to stop and explain himself. “You said you wanted to fuck me. Well, here I am. Ready to be fucked.”

He stops his pacing and rubs his palms over his face before he raises his eyes toward the ceiling, still muttering something. He takes a deep breath before he turns to face me.

“You’re drunk,” he says.

“Not drunk,” I argue. “Just fun.”

“Drunk,” he repeats.

It’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest. “Is this you being a gentleman again?”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “Unbelievably, yes. Clearly, you bring out the absolute worst in me.”

“Well, stop then. You don’t have to be. Here. This is me, giving you official permission to stop being a gentleman. In fact, I encourage you not to be one.”

“Christ!” he snaps, and if he keeps pressing his fingertips against his eyes like that, he’s going to gouge them out soon. He seems to reach the same conclusion because he stops and whirls around to face me. “We’re not going to do anything tonight but sleep. Okay?”

“But I want you,” I protest. “And I want to fuck. Right now.”

“I so better get karma points for all eternity for this,” he mutters before he turns his attention back to me. “No. If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do this only when you’re stone cold sober and fully aware of what you want from me.”

He glares at me like he’s expecting me to argue. I glare back.

I do open my mouth to protest, but he stops me with a fierce look.

“I am not going to be anybody’s regret, least of all yours. Capiche?” he says.

Yeah.

Okay.

The arguments die somewhere on the back of my tongue once I realize… He’s taking care of me.

It’s sweet.

Misguided.

But sweet.

“Okay,” I say.

His shoulders drop from their tense position.

“Okay,” he echoes.

I go back to my side of the bed, and he gets in on his.

He turns off the light, and with some shuffling around, we both settle in.

“Night,” he says after a little bit.

“Goodnight.”

There’s silence again, and my eyelids turn heavy after a while.

“You’ll change your mind come morning,” Sutton mutters some time later.

My eyes fly open again, but instead of saying anything, I just stare at the dark ceiling.

We’ll see about that.