Page 16 of After All This Time

Maybe Amelia had a point.

Maybe I am bored of screwing around.

What happened between Roxy and me tonight left me feeling hollow in places that used to burn with want.

It wasn't even about her. It was all me, and somewhere in the middle of it, I found myself wondering if I could just leave without even finishing. There was no excitement, no fire—just the overwhelming realization that I was treating sex like it was another chore on some twisted sexual to-do list, and Roxy didn't deserve that.

I know that makes me an asshole. I'd never actually leave halfway through, but the thought was there, and it wasn't going anywhere. I think she felt it too. The way her touch hesitated and the mood shifted—it was awkward, and we both knew it was coming from me.

When I got to her place, she practically dragged me inside. She had her hands on me in seconds, and I was stripped down beforeI even had a chance to think. Her touch, though familiar, lacked the spark it once did.

I'm starting to feel like I've forgotten what a spark even feels like.

I'm beginning to think I've been around my friends too much. What Zane and Tessa and Harry and Jen share—that deep connection and "nobody else in the world exists but you" kind of love—isn't something I necessarily want, but I think I'm tired of the emptiness that comes with meaningless sex.

All their loved-up bullshit has somehow seeped into my brain and rewired it—probably fucking broken it.

And then there's Amelia, getting in my head with her questions right before I left the apartment.

Roxy knew there was something off with me. It wasn't as though either of us could ignore it despite my attempts to push through. Even as I tried to salvage what used to come so naturally, the disconnect screamed at me in every touch, every breath, and every stretch of silence between us.

Neither of us spoke after, allowing what had happened to settle between us like a wall. A few minutes passed, but it could've been hours for all I knew. I felt like I needed to fix it somehow, to make sure Roxy knew it wasn't her and that she had nothing to do with why I felt like I was a million miles away. I turned to her and asked her if she was okay, but the look she gave me felt like a blow to the face. She didn't even bother to answer. She just sat up, pulled on her robe, and told me to close the door on my way out.

Pretty sure my dick is defective at this point.Or maybe it's my head that's broken considering I found myself more excited by watching Mills dance than by having sex.

I couldn't take my eyes off the graceful creature who moved so elegantly, especially after I saw her in her hungover state this morning.

The way her body bent… Jesus.

There's always been an edge to Amelia, a take-no-shit hardness, so watching her move so softly earlier tonight was like seeing a hidden side to her that I didn't even really know existed.

"Mills?" I call out, rapping my knuckles against her bedroom door.

Silence.

I wait for a beat, but there's nothing. Pushing the door open, I step inside, finding her still fast asleep and dead to the world.

The sunlight pours into the room, streaming through the half-drawn black curtains, yet she remains completely undisturbed by the brightness. She's lying on her side with one leg hitched up, causing her shorts to ride high on her thighs and stretch over her ass in a way that makes my throat tighten. For a second—maybe more than a second—I find myself just staring, unashamedly taking in the sight of her.

I shake my head, snapping myself out of it, and step closer to her, trying and completely failing to keep my eyes from wandering back to places they have no business being.

When I reach the edge of the bed, my hand hovers above her arm, ready to nudge her awake, but my foot accidentally bumps into a box on the floor, and a low, unmistakable buzzing sound follows. It takes a second—just one—to register what I just hit. And when it does, the realization hits me like a kick to the balls.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There's no way in hell I'm touching her stash of sex toys. She'd kill me. Like, literally end me in the most brutal way imaginable.

Fuck it, I'm going to have to, or I'll end up waking her up and embarrassing the shit out of both of us.

As I stand there, frozen like an idiot, she starts to stir, and a soft little sound escapes her lips as she stretches. My eyes drift down to where her chest rises and falls, her white tank doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that her nipples are pressing against the fabric.

Now I just feel like the world's biggest creep.

Usually, a situation like this would be a turn-on, but all I want to do is get the hell out of this room or for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

"What are you… What is that?" she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep as her eyes blink open and slowly focus on me.

Screw it.

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