Page 82 of Ruin Me Gently

I lifted a brow, ignoring the way my stomach was staging a full-on revolt. “Well? You coming or what?”

Something flickered in his dark eyes, but he didn’t argue. He followed.

The door clicked shut behind us and I flicked on the lights.

He was like a statue—back stiff, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them, or himself.

“Do you… want coffee or something?”

His head shook once. “No, thank you.”

Silence again. We just stood there, barely a few feet apart.

Well, this was awkward.

I crossed my arms, nodding toward the couch. “Well, will you at least move? Or are you planning on standing there like a maskedornament all night?”

A pause. Then, after what felt like a full minute, he shifted. One whole step forward.

Wow.Progress.

“I need caffeine,” I muttered, spinning on my heel and making a beeline for the kitchen. What was I doing? He wasin my house.

I fumbled with the mugs, trying and failing to ignore the way my hands trembled as I turned the coffee machine on.

Bracing myself against the counter, I inhaled sharply, held it, then let it out slow—like that would somehow fix the fact that I’d just invited my stalker inside.

I wasn’t scared. Not exactly. If I was scared, I wouldn’t have let him in. No, this was something else entirely—something tangled and restless that I couldn’t shake loose. Well, too late now. Because I’d done it. I’d taken this ridiculous, twisted game off the sidewalk, off my screen, and straight into my home. I may not have made the first ever move, but I’d continued it. I’d handed him my number, sent him a damn picture of my ass, let him buy my lunches and walk me home, and now?

Now he was standing in my living room—silent, face covered, and impossibly still, like he wasn’t quite sure what the hell he was doing either.

The coffee machine beeped, startling me out of my spiral.

Okay, Lilith. What now?

I forced some kind of steadiness into my body, grabbed my mug, and carried it back to the living room.

He hadn’t moved much, but his coat was now neatly draped over his arm. My gaze traced the hood pulled up over his head, the soft fabric of the hoodie casting shadows across his face. The lower half was still wrapped with fabric. It wasn’t thick, not wool or anything suffocating, but still—it had to be uncomfortable. Stuffy.

“So, this is Katniss?”

I almost dropped my coffee. “How did you—” I started, then sighed. “Never mind. You probably stalked my socials.”

His lack of an answer was answer enough.

With a sigh, I closed the distance, reaching for his coat. “Okay, you can stop acting like you’ve got one foot out the door—”

The second my fingers brushed the fabric, he flinched. Barely, but enough.

I paused, hand hovering in mid-air. “Oh, stop,” I huffed.

His gaze locked onto mine, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes, but he didn’t resist when I gently took the coat from his arm and hung it over the back of the armchair.

“Now, sit down,” I said, turning back and lifting a brow. I tilted my head toward the couch, my meaning clear.Move.

Finally, he lowered himself onto the cushions, and I followed, leaving plenty of space between us—just in case.

Any sane person would have been freaking out right now. And yet, sitting there in the dim glow of my living room, it just feltawkward. We sat there for several agonising minutes, the tension crackling between us like a live wire, neither of us speaking, both purposefully avoiding eye contact, like that was the one rule we could both agree on.

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