Page 119 of You're The One
THIRTY-SEVEN
It took allof five minutes for Mia to pass out last night.
And I don’t think she’s moved a muscle since. To be fair, I’m not sure I have either.
I slept like the dead, but waking up next to her feels like coming back to life. I could get used to this. Having her in my bed every morning.
She looks peaceful. Almost angelic. Not a word I’d use to describe her when she’s awake. Awake, she’s all fire.
And I’m starting to realize that’s by design. Most people avoid walking into burning buildings. When they do, they don’t stick around for long.
She’s scared of letting me get too close. I don’t totally understand it, but I know enough about mental health to know it doesn’t always care about reason.
I’ve spent an absurd amount of time in therapy dissecting my own childhood trauma, and I wonder, not for the first time, whether Mia losing her mom before she had a chance to know her has anything to do with this. Does she blame herself? Is that why her walls are so high?
Then again, even people with perfect childhoods carry invisible scars.
I like hers.
Wouldn’t mind if she carved one into me.
I glance down at my hands, my arms, my chest, covered in “art,” but they’re scars, too, in their own way. My coping mechanism. A controlled kind of pain. A distraction from the kind that cuts deeper—the kind no one else sees.
She stirs, and I let out a breath, relieved that I’m not the one who has to interrupt her dreams. After rolling onto her back, she blinks up at me and rubs the sleep from her eyes. A pillow mark indents one cheek. I want to lick it.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I think I finally get that wholeso cute I want to eat herthing.
“Are you watching me sleep? Like a creep?”
I meet her gaze and huff a laugh. “You know it.”
“Lovely.” She sits up and checks the time on the nightstand. “Shit. It’s almost eight. Isn’t Bodhi supposed to pick you up for your date? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Because if I had, you would’ve left.
I shrug and shake the iced coffee in my hand before offering it to her. “They didn’t have that weird French toast concoction, so I grabbed something equally sickeningly sweet. Let me know how it is.”
She takes a sip and practically moans, the straw still poised between her lips. My dick twitches.
“And I don’t know,” I add. “Bodhi failed to mention I had anything on today, remember?”
She nods, wrapped up in her caffeine fix. “Thank you for this.”
She stands, then pauses, clocking her nakedness. I don’t bother hiding that I’m looking. She slides her pants on, followed by her top, then reclaims the drink from the floor.
“What’re you doing today? Can I see you later?” I can’t help but ask.
She glances over her shoulder, pushing tangled strands out of her face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if I just see you tomorrow?” It should be a statement, but she asks it like a question.
I don’t agree, but I nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
She nods too, again and again, like she’s trying to convince herself. “Yeah. I think so.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
One night, fine. But I’m not letting her keep her distance for long.
