Page 47 of Too Safe

I swallow my startled gasp and peer up to confirm that Kylian’s still asleep.

I move slowly, removing my arm from around his tapered waist and shifting away so I’m no longer draped over his torso like a koala.

Once I’ve put some space between our bodies, I rearrange myself into a more innocent position. Thankfully, he doesn’t stir.

With my head propped in my hand, I admire his sleeping form. It barely registered last night when he got into bed beside me that he was shirtless. But it’s damn well registering now.

His body is ridiculous: hard muscles and lean, sinewy lines. Even in sleep, his abs are defined, taut muscle sculpted all the way down until they taper into the hem of his sweatpants.

Good grief.

The other guys are all beefed up and muscly from football, but I clearly underestimated Kylian. I don’t know what he does to stay in shape, but it’s really working for him. And for me, too. What a delicious surprise.

I could look at his body all damn day. But it’s his face that’s the most disarming.

Without his glasses, he looks softer. Younger. Almost boyish. Kylian is usually so angular and sharp—quick-witted and high-energy. He’s all numbers and facts. Details and stats.

In this moment, he’s different. Peaceful. He looks like a different person—like the man who gently eased me out of my panic spiral and took care of me last night.

I gulp past the gratitude that surges at the memory. I push down the embarrassment, too. If I was going to break down like that in front of any of them, it was probably safest to do so in front of Kylian. Sure, he’ll probably tell Decker. But he’s the kind of guy who sticks to the facts. So hopefully he’ll spare me the embarrassment of divulging the intimate, pathetic details of my almost-panic attack.

The panic that almost consumed me isn’t novel, especially during a storm. But having someone hold my hand as I toed the edge of the cliff is new.

Kylian saved me from spiraling. On occasion, I’ve hyperventilated and even passed out during a storm. I almost always succumb to nightmares afterward, too, like I’m stuck in a hazy anxiety hangover. But none of that happened with him by my side.

There was undeniable concern in the way he looked at me. Concern, and maybe even care. But no pity, and definitely no judgment.

And now I’m all but resigned to being stuck at the Crusade Mansion. My inability to get on a damn ferry last night is proof of my own self-imposed limits. The impending storm was a factor, but still. I couldn’t have made my feet move if I tried.

Mostly because it wasn’t worth the effort—or potential consequences—of leaving and being dragged back to this place. What would I even say if I found someone willing to listen to my story? Some rich, hot guys are making me live with them against my will? They’ve given me my own room and want me to eat dinner with them on Friday nights and they require that I attend all their games? So far, they haven’t actually threatened me or harmed me in any way.

Maybe that’s why Decker didn’t bother laying out more rules. No one was even keeping close tabs on me last night. He knows I won’t leave. He knows I can’t. The fear of an unknown consequence is worse than anything he could threaten me with.

From here, though, I’ll need to figure out what to tell people—especially the few people I care about, like Hunter and my uncle.

Sighing again, I glance back at Kylian.

“Holy shit!”

His eyes are wide open now, and he’s watching me.

“How long have you been awake?” I demand, lifting my hand to my chest to steady myself. My heart rate is through the roof.

“Two hours and twenty-eight minutes,” he offers, pushing up onto his elbows as he reaches for his glasses. His abs flex with each movement, like he’s taunting me in a way. The boy iscut.

“Jo,” he says quietly, amused. My eyes flit to his face, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Busted.

“Do you want to get up?” he asks. “Or do you want to stay up here and ogle me a while longer?”

Sobusted.

I burrow under the sheets and pull the weighted blanket over my head. Which is a huge mistake, because now I’m surrounded by the citrusy, eucalyptus smell of him. I allow myself one big inhale—holding back a groan when the fresh scent fills my lungs—then sheepishly peek up at him.

“Thank you for last night,” I offer, holding the blanket firmly against the bottom half of my face.

“I promised I’d help.”

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