Page 46 of The Beautiful Collision
Heat flashes through my chest, quick and angry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just…” She shrugs, the gesture too careful to be casual. “How he was looking at you last night didn’t look casual.”
The memories slam into me before I can stop them. I remember catching Maine looking at me through the night. The hunger there had been real, desperate, tinged with something that went deeper than simple want, like I was something valuable and precious.
I shove the image away. “He pervs on every girl on campus.”
“If you say so.”
God, I hate when she does that. The two-word dismissal that says everything without saying anything. The non-judgment that judges harder than any lecture could. Because she’s the only other person on Earth who knows about the shit with my family, and how their rejection has fueled every rebellion.
I grab my mug again, needing something to do with my hands. “Trust me, Soph. I know exactly what this is. Maine’s a player, I’m not looking for anything serious and hecertainlyisn’t, so we both just blew off steam after a few too many drinks. It’s perfect.”
“Perfect,” she echoes, and there it is again—that note of skepticism that makes me want to throw something.
“Yes, perfect. He won’t get clingy, I won’t get attached, and we can coexist without all the sexual tension making thingsweird.” I lean back against the cushions, projecting a confidence I’m not entirely feeling. “Honestly, we probably should have done it weeks ago.”
Sophie’s quiet for a long moment, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes. I can practically see the gears turning in her head, weighing whether to push or let it go. Part of me hopes she’ll push, but part of me is terrified she will, because the truth is, I don’t know what last night was.
I know what it was supposed to be—a reclamation of power after my family’s rejection, a fuck-you to the universe that tried to make me feel small, and some comfort for him after I realized the whole world takes from this guy and never gives, so much so he’s made it his whole persona.
And it worked, mostly.
Taking control, making Maine beg, feeling his body surrender to mine—it was exactly the validation I’d needed, and exactly the care and tenderness he’d needed, and exactly the explosive orgasm we’dbothneeded after a tough semester and weeks of flirting.
But there were other moments. Quiet ones I can’t quite categorize.
How, after, in those drowsy minutes before I’d retreated to my room, he’d pulled me against his chest. Not possessive, not demanding. Just… holding. Like he needed the contact as much as the sex. And I’d lapped it up like a cat with milk, because nobody haseverheld me like that before.
“So what’s the plan now?” Sophie asks, breaking through my spiraling thoughts.
“We’re roommates who occasionally hook up when the mood strikes. No drama, no expectations.” I pull out my phone, the weight of it familiar in my hand. “Actually, I should probably set some ground rules. Make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Ground rules,” Sophie murmurs.
The screen of my phone is bright in the soft morning light of her apartment. I stare at the blank message field, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What Iwantto say and what I probablyshouldsay are two different languages entirely.
What I want to message him:
Last night was incredible. The way you made me feel connected, the way you let me take care of you—it felt like something more than just sex. Did you feel it too?
What I should message him:
Good time last night. Repeat tonight?
Neither feels right. The first is too honest, too vulnerable, and Maya Hayes does notdovulnerable. The second risks continuing something that is dangerous, like agreeing to go back into a house fire you’ve just escaped from.
Feelings I don’t know how to handle.
Moments that blur the line between physical need and emotional want.
Fuck.
This is exactly why I don’t do complicated.
“You’re overthinking,” Sophie observes, and I realize I’ve been staring at my phone for a full minute without typing anything.
“I’m not overthinking. I’m trying to figure out how to communicate with a being who only understands single-syllable words…”
