Page 61 of Arrogant Puck

She flies backward so fast she nearly bounces off the headboard, a squeal escaping her throat as she tries to extract her hand from my shorts. But somehow it gets tangled in the fabric, and she’s stuck there, tugging frantically while her face turns three different shades of red.

I can’t help it—I start laughing. The whole situation is so absurd, so perfectly chaotic, that it breaks the tension completely.

“Good morning,” I chuckle, making no move to help her as she finally manages to free her hand.

She glances around my bedroom with wide, confused eyes, like she’s seeing it for the first time. “What the... Slater?”

I just stare at her, waiting to see what she’ll do next now that she’s fully sober. The panic in her expression is clear. She had too much to drink last night.

“How did I get here?”

I lean up on my elbow. “So, last night you were at a gay bar with your roommate,” I explain calmly. “She pulled a move on you, you rejected her, so she kicked you out. Then I picked you up and now you’re… staying with me.”

“What?”

I nod.

“I’m staying with you? Long term?”

“Forever,” I state, letting the word hang between us like a promise and a threat.

“I committed to forever?” she asks, her voice rising slightly. Then she glares at me with sudden suspicion. “Is that why my hands were down your pants?”

“I was going to askyouabout that,” I say, fighting back another smile. “What kind of dreams were you having?”

She turns bright red again, so I drop the subject before she combusts entirely. “What do you want for breakfast?”

She runs her hand through her tousled hair, looking utterly lost. “This feels like an awkward walk of shame.”

“It’s not a walk of shame,” I state firmly. “What’s a shame is your roommate getting you drunk and trying to take advantage of you.”

Her face falls. “That… wasn’t a dream?”

I shake my head, watching as the full weight of her situation settles on her shoulders.

“Great, so I’m actually homeless? You’re not lying?”

“You’re not homeless. You’re staying with me.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her mind working, trying to process everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours. “Slater, I can’t just move in with you because my living situation fell through. We barely know each other.”

“We know each other well enough,” I say, sitting up and turning to face her fully. “Well enough for you to trust me to pick you up last night. Well enough for you to sleep in my bed.”

“That’s different. I was drunk.”

“And now you’re sober and still need a place to stay,” I point out. “So, you’ll stay here. There’s more than enough room for you.”

She doesn’t talk right away. She looks around my room with new eyes.

“This is temporary,” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself.

I don’t argue with her. Let her think it’s temporary if that makes her feel safer. She’ll figure out the truth eventually—that I’m never letting her go, that this is exactly where she belongs.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” I say instead, climbing out of bed. “But right now, you need breakfast and coffee. And probably a shower.”

I head toward the door, then pause and look back at her. She’s sitting in my bed, surrounded by rumpled black silk, her hair a mess and her eyes still wide with confusion. She looks perfect.

“For what it’s worth,” I add, “you’re a very active sleeper. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

---