Page 70 of Don't Tell Me How It Ends
Tonight, Ro’s voice is gravel on silk. It leaves a mark. I’ve known his voice, but not like this. I’ve known this man, but not like this. Everything about this moment is new and yet, when I pull back to really look at him, everything is exactly as it’s always been.
My lips part as a breath bordering on obscene escapes them.
Ro’s dimple pops, and my chest and heart find their rhythm. In sync with his as always. Because for all the ways we’re new tonight, it’s still Ro Jackson staring back at me.
“You sleep here?” I ask, stepping deeper into the lobby.
Bathed in comfortable silence and the moon’s glow, this place feels even more magical than it does in the day. But my eyes are most impressed by the man locking the door in gray sweats and crisp white socks. He wears sleep well. Eyes and smile a bit lazier than usual, but no less radiant.
“Yeah,” he says, stalking me, but keeping his distance. I wish he wouldn’t. “There’s an apartment upstairs. I’ve been crashing up there.”
He nods upward, and my eyes follow till we’re both watching the ceiling, like we can see the future playing out on its tiles. Ro breaks his gaze first, his eyes boring into me now with a smirk playing at his full lips.
He’s going to make me say it.
I shake my head but fold like a paper crane. “Show me.”
Neither of us even attempts to conceal the smiles those words bring. His silently claims victory, but as long as he takes me upstairs, I’m winning.
—
Usually, by the time I’m in view of a bed with a man at my side, we both already know what it is. I’d expected for Ro and me to be a tangle of breath and bodies by now, but he slinks away to pour a glass of water, and I’m left rooted to the ground at the threshold between the living space and his bedroom. Hands tucked at my sides, like I’m waiting to punch my ticket for entry.
The lamp I’d seen from outside still glows on the nightstand, bathing his rumpled sheets in a soft light that makes the bedroom feel more intimate. It’s different than I’d imagined—softer. Everything’s different with Ro.
I’m not entirely sure I know how to do this. And apparently, I’m not hiding it well.
“We’re not having sex tonight, Kai.”
I jump, spinning away from the bedroom, at the sound of his voice and the knockout blow his words deliver to my fragile ego. Ro’s leaned against the kitchenette counter behind me, watchingmewatch his bed. Arms folded across his broad chest, the rigid planes of his torso barely concealed by his worn T-shirt.
“What?!” I screech. “No, I just—”
His eyebrow raises in an amused challenge. He knows why I’m here. We both do. And hard as I try, I can’t find the words through my disappointment to pretend otherwise.
“Well, why not?” My question is an admission.
The muscled bands of his forearms flex as he pushes off the laminate countertop. He pads across the floor almost weightless, despite his strength and stature.
He doesn’t stop coming for me until our toes are touching on the plush rug. “Because,” he starts, and the whisper of his breath on my cheek tightens muscles in my core that I didn’t even know I had. “I’ve waited this long to touch you. When I finally do, I need to know it’s what you want too. So I don’t have to wonder. So I don’t have to go slow.”
A gasp is the only way I can bring air into my shocked lungs.
“It’s what I want,” I beg. He’s claiming he won’t touch me, but already I feel him. Everywhere. “I’m telling you now, it’s what I want.”
He fingers the curl at my temple, tugging at it so his hand just grazes the length of my cheek. “You smell like tequila,” he whispers, still eyeing the curl as it springs back into position.
Desperate and breathless, I ask, “Do you have mouthwash or something?”
Laughter explodes from his chest, breaking my trance. “No, Kaia. You don’t need mouthwash. You smell fucking great,” hesays, stepping back from me. “But I don’t wanna be a decision you make at night and regret in the morning.”
He takes another step farther out of reach, and the chasm he creates between us is his decision made.
My face falls. My shoulders fall. My libido, though, remains firmly in place.
—
The T-shirt Ro gave me to sleep in smells like him. The pillow where my head currently rests smells like him. The bed, the room, this entire place smells like Ro.
