Page 13 of After All This Time

You paying?

TOBIAS

Don't I always?

ROXY

I've got to work early on Saturday, so you can't stay. But I'm happy to skip drinks and cut to the reason you're really texting me.

TOBIAS

Maybe I don't want that. Maybe I'd like to have a drink and a conversation.

ROXY

Bullshit. Come over at 8.

TOBIAS

See you tomorrow.

I set my phone down on the nightstand, dragging both hands through my hair as I lean back against the headboard. Roxy's nice. She's not someone I hate spending time with—she's a friend with benefits, and we both know what we're getting out of it. There are no messy emotions, no awkward expectations, just mutual fun.

I look down at the obvious problem in my sweatpants, and there's no way this is going away on its own—not tonight. A rough sigh escapes me as I palm myself, trying to ease the ache, but I'm wound too tight. My head falls back, and my eyes close as my hand slips beneath the waistband, finally letting myself go.

Chapter 6

Amelia

Reaching out and grabbing the water bottle beside my bed, I empty it with a few quick gulps, but my mouth still tastes like sandpaper.

I didn't even drink that much.

You mixed wine with tequila. What did you think was going to happen?

Yeah, that'll do it.

I slide out of bed, and my oversized T-shirt skims my thighs as I make my way into my bathroom. The cool tiles against my bare feet help ground me, but nothing could've prepared me for the train wreck staring back at me when I flip on the light. One look in the mirror and I'm laughing like a lunatic because holy shit, I am one hot mess. My hair is all over the place, and while drunk me apparently remembered to try and remove my makeup, she half-assed it like everything else. Traces of mascara cling to my eyes, making it look like I lost a fight with a Sharpie.

I slip on a pair of fluffy socks and tie my hair back into a loose ponytail. With a groan, I drag myself out of my bedroom, still half-asleep, and shuffle toward the kitchen like a zombie.

The only thing keeping me upright is the thought of coffee, because there's no way I can function like a normal human being until the caffeine kicks in.

But as I round the corner into the kitchen, I stop and take in Tobias, who's standing right where I need to be. I completely forget why I came in here because he's shirtless again—because of fucking course he is—and my hungover brain can't handle this level of unfairness this early in the morning.

He's leaning over the countertop, his forearms resting on the marble, while his head dips just enough to make his shoulders flex. His black shorts hang low on his hips, and the large phoenix tattoo across his back ripples as he straightens up. When he turns to look at me, his lips pull into that familiar half smirk as he takes in every messy detail—the wild hair, the oversized T-shirt, the socks. I must look like I've been chewed up, spit out, and left for dead, and judging by his expression, he finds it hilarious.

"Morning, Firefly." His eyes drop to my bare legs for a fraction of a second before he rubs his jaw and stands to his full height.

Desperate for coffee and far too aware of him, I tiptoe around the kitchen to get myself a mug, but he gets there before I do. He reaches up, his arm stretching above my head, and grabs my favorite—the one with the different phases of the moon on it.

His scent hits me as he steps closer, enveloping me in something unfairly intoxicating—fresh soap and pure, clean masculinity.

"They really do make these too high for someone as short as you," he teases, handing me the mug. "Is that why you're constantly on tiptoes?"

I roll my eyes before elbowing him lightly in the ribs, and he jerks away laughing. "I'm pretty sure it's just a habit now. I don't even realize I'm doing it."

He steps back and perches on a stool at the kitchen island. "How are you feeling anyway?"

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