Page 39 of One Room Vacancy
His eyes flick down to my mouth.
Then he leans in, just barely, and murmurs, so close I feel it against my skin: “No sex, remember?”
Before I can even curse him for it, he shoves the egg roll in his mouth and chews with a smug, satisfied crunch.
I just stare at him.
For a solid, full-body beat, I don’t move, I don’t blink, I don’t breathe.
He swallows and grins, mouth still half-full, eyes dancing with laughter. “Worth it,” he mumbles around the bite.
I climb off him wordlessly, grab the nearest throw pillow, and launch it at his stupid, smug face.
It hits him square in the chest, but he’s already laughing—head tipped back, full and obnoxious, like I didn’t just comedangerously close to breaking my ruleagainbecause of one stolen egg roll.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. I just turn on my heel and head straight for my room, slamming the door behind me hard enough to rattle the frame.
I lean against it for a second, eyes closed, breath shaky.
And all I can see, feel, is the weight of him beneath me, the rasp of his voice against my mouth, the smirk he wore when he said it.
No sex, remember?
Goddammit.
I push off the door and head toward the bed, yanking my T-shirt over my head as I go.
I don’t even bother turning the light on.
TEN
GABE
Morning light seeps through the blinds in soft, golden stripes, warming the tile under my feet and catching on the dust motes in the air like something out of a goddamn commercial.
For once, I actually slept.
Not well, exactly. Not deeply. But better than I have all week.
Because last night, after all the chaos and rule-breaking and nearly touching her again, she laughed.
Really laughed.
Let me see her smile without biting it back or hiding behind a smartass comment.
I’d forgotten what that looked like on her. It used to be all I wanted.
I’m halfway through making coffee, still riding that small, stupid high, when I hear the bathroom door creak open.
I don’t think anything of it at first, just assume Sage is up, maybe heading back to her room or rummaging for clean clothes. It’s quiet, the kind of morning where everything still feels slightly out of focus. The kind where you can almost trick yourself into thinking things are simple.
And then she walks straight past the kitchen entryway.
Naked.
Like, completely naked.
Not a towel, not a T-shirt, just dripping wet and moving like I’m not standing ten feet away with a coffee mug halfway to my mouth.
