Page 34 of Finding Haven
Sitting up, I unbuckle my seat belt and turn to face him. “Thank you for taking me home,” I say softly, giving him a gentle smile before I reach for the door handle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His deep voice rattles through me, sending delicious chills over my body.
“Opening my door?” I throw as much sass into my voice as I can muster.
“I don’t think so, Sugar,” he growls, throwing open his door and quickly rounding the car to my side. He pulls open my door and holds out a hand, offering to help me out of his Mustang.
I roll my eyes as I slip my hand into his. “I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door, Zack.”
“You’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for,” he says, his warm eyes locked on mine. Heat rises to my cheeks and radiates through me as his words sink in. How can he make me feel truly seen with onesimple sentence? I've wanted so badly to prove that I can take care of myself, even when there are many days where it feels like I'm failing. It's silly how easily he manages to break through the invisible armor I've built.
Tension swells between us as we stand just outside of his car, my hand still in his while his other hand holds the passenger door open.
Clearing my throat, I pull my hand from his and take a step away from him. “Thanks again for the ride.” I force a smile to my lips. I’m not sure I want to be alone right now, and I don’t know whether or not Becca is home. Would it be weird if I asked Zack to stay? I’ve never felt bad about the small place that Bex and I share, but after seeing his beachfront home, it feels more like some kind of hovel instead of the standard two bedroom apartment that it is.
“Of course. Now let’s go grab your stuff,” he says, a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.
I nod and start to head for the apartment building, only making it a few steps before his words register. “Wait,” I mutter. Damn this lingering brain fog. Why is it so easy to follow a conversation one minute and nearly impossible the next? “What do you mean, grab my stuff?”
“Thought that would’ve been obvious. I’m not leaving your side until I know for sure that you’re alright.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling my body into his side as he leads us to my door. There’s a momentary swirl of panic in my stomach before I remember him bringing me home and insisting on walking me to my front door the night before. He had said he wanted to know for sure that I was safely inside before parting ways.
“You’d want to stay the night here?” While the haze hanging over the corners of my mind is slowly beginning to lift, I still feel disorientated. I was under the impression that he was simply giving me a ride home, considering I rode to the event with Chelsea and Becca had dropped me off at the bakery this morning. Despite the extra income I’ve managed to bring in thanks to the growing success of my Frisk account, I still haven’t made quite enough money to get my car fixed. It’s a heck of a lot easier to occasionally afford paying for a ride than it is to save up thousands of dollars.
He chuckles. “I would happily stay here with you, baby, but I’m not in the mood to share you with your friend tonight.”
Baby.
The term of endearment ignites a fire inside of me. Between that, hearing him call me“Sugar,” and having him say I’m his, I don’t know how I’m not a constant puddle around this man. I’d hate the possessive nature behind the sentiment if it were coming from anyone else. But on the beach, when he said I’d be his as soon as he kissed me, it felt right. I won’t pretend like I haven’t been looking forward to seeing where this could go.
And I definitely can’t lie and say I’m not curious about whether or not he’ll continue subscribing to my account. There’s a part of me that feels guilty for having accepted money from him now that I know who he is. But an even larger part of me gets a small thrill from knowing that he thinks I’mworthpaying to see. That his desire for me is so strong, he would happily pay to see me fall apart before him.
“You want me to spend the night at your place?” I groan internally at the question. Why is my brain struggling to fully grasp what he’s saying?
“I would prefer that you do,” he says, his arm tightening around my shoulders as he hugs me to his side. “If it makes you uncomfortable, then we can stay here instead. But I’d rather have you all to myself.”
This morning, I woke up more than ready to take the next step with him. I would have agreed to spend the night with him without any hesitation. Now, there’s a small part of me hesitating. I believe him when he says he’s never taken a life and that the organization he works for does more good than harm. But good intentions or not, the company that he works for is still in the business of killing people. How much danger will I be putting myself in by continuing to get close to him? Then again, he seems like the kind of person I’d want in my corner if I ever did find myself in an unsafe situation.
“Just for the night,” I tell him, deciding to trust my instincts and everything he’s told me so far.
The fog seems to have completely lifted from my mind by the time we make it back to Zack’s. Even though we agreed to one night only, I still packed as though I’m going to be spending at least a week away from home. Who leaves home for the night and only packs one change of clothes? What if I don’t feel like wearing the outfit I packed? What if I wake up and decide I’d rather be in sweatpants and a baggy shirt instead of thigh-hugging jeans and a cute top? I need options.
But I didn’t just bring clothing. I also brought several different lingerie setsjust in case. If not to wear for him, then to film new content for my account. There’s no way I’m going to be spending the night inwhat’s practically a luxury beachfront home and not take advantage of the stunning backdrop it provides.
I follow Zack as he carries my bag, despite my insistence that I can carry it myself, into what appears to be a guest bedroom. The room is done up in varying shades of gray and blue with a queen-size bed positioned against the center of one wall. A large window framed by gauzy, dark blue curtains sits opposite the bed. Dark wooden accents bring a hint of warmth to the room, but the stunning ocean view captures my attention. Even being on the first floor of his home, it’s beautiful. I can only imagine the incredible view that the master bedroom must have.
He clears his throat as he sets the bag down on the edge of the bed. “Are you hungry?”
I thought about grabbing something to eat when we were back at my apartment, but the butterflies fluttering in my stomach at the idea of spending the night with Zack had pulled my attention away. Now, I’m well aware that if I don’t at least try to get something small into my system, I’ll be paying for it later.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull off my Converse and socks, groaning at the immediate relief. “Honestly? Not really,” I mumble. “But my body will decide it hates me if I don’t try to eat something.” I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of this man once when my phone so rudely interrupted our first private session with low blood sugar alerts. I’d rather avoid a repeat of that incident if possible.
“I’ll make us something small. Come on,” he says, holding a hand out to me. I don’t need his help finding my way to the kitchen, but I take his hand anyway. The nerves that had begun buzzing over my skin as soon as we stepped back into his home suddenly settle as my palm slips intohis, our fingers intertwined. My steps are slow as I follow behind him, the wooden floors cool against my feet. My mind may be clearer, but my body has yet to catch up. I still feel run down and tired. The large sectional couch starts calling my name as soon as we round the corner to the open living space. “Why don’t you get comfortable while I throw something together?” he suggests.
Pulling my phone from the pocket of my dress, I drop onto the couch and curl my legs beneath me. There’s a large blanket draped across the back, which I quickly grab and arrange over my lap. It takes me a moment to find a comfortable position, but I end up sitting with my side pressed against the cushions, one arm resting over the back of the couch so I can watch Zack as he gathers a few things from the refrigerator.
“Sweet or salty?” he asks, his back to me as he moves over to the small doorway of his walk-in pantry.
“Salty.Alwayssalty.”
