“And all the way to your door.” He nods, his grip tightening on me as if that admission would make me pull away. “And before you say anything, I’ve already made up my mind so there’s no talking me out of it. So, I suggest you shut up and enjoy the ride.”
I gasp but let myself settle more comfortably into his grip, feeling the softness of his hoodie beneath my hands. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“I guess that’s a little harsh,” he hums. “Okay, fine. You can talk but only if it’s to tell me how amazing I am.”
“Oh, please, Callahan. You’re mediocre at best.”
Lucas’s voice drops, his mouth now close to my ear. “That’s not what you were saying the other night.”
My eyes widen and that familiar heat that only seems to make an appearance when he’s around, starts to creep up the back of my neck. Lucas must be quick to notice the hitch in my breath because he pulls his face away, clearing his throat.
“Sorry.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have brought up the party.”
“Why?” I furrow my eyebrows, my gaze on the side of his face, fighting the urge to kiss along his jawline.
Lucas pushes the door that leads to my floor open with his hip, shoes now padding across carpet instead of concrete. I quickly blink, eyes trying to adjust to how much brighter the lights are in the hallway.
“You’ve been avoiding me since then. Figured you didn’t…fuck—I don’t know.”
I don’t say anything for the rest of the long walk down the end of the hallway. I don’t comment on how he knows what apartment number mine is when he gently sets me down in front of my door.
But I don’t rush to grab my bag or turn to go into my apartment. I let myself sit with the way Lucas’s words settle in my chest.
I can’t lie to myself and say I haven’t technically been avoiding Lucas for three days. I thought that by now this desire to want things from Lucas would dissipate but no, it’s only deepened with distance. I’ve tried to make sense of it. Tried responding to text messages from random guys that I don’t even remember giving my number to.
But my thoughts always come back to Lucas.
I’m usually good at distancing feelings when it comes to hookups. Not to say I’ve never had feelings for someone I was hooking up with or that I’ve never loved anyone before. I’m damaged goods, not a monster.
But I can’t let Lucas into this mess that I am. I couldn’t do that to someone. Especially not him, but not saying anything seems to be hurting him more.
“Lucas?” My voice trembles. “Thanks for…for helping me out.”
He nods, setting my bag gently back onto my shoulder. He lets his hand rest on my arm for a fleeting moment before quickly pulling away. “Night, Denise.”
My hand shoots out to grab onto his wrist before he gets the chance to turn back to where we came. I can’t let him go back to his apartment yet. Not when there’s so much I want to say but not enough nerve to say it out loud.
Lucas looks down at my hand, eyes curious and his smile lopsided. “Yeah?”
I shift on my feet, trying to find the right words to say. How to tell him I want him around yet I’m…what? Not looking for anything serious? Scared of what this could lead to? Confused about how we’ve only slept together once and I’m having some sort of internal crisis?
I settle on: “I don’t want you to think that just because the other night happened that we can’t…talk…still. I just—” I huff, frustration with myself bubbling up my throat. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. Just that I’ve realized that I want Lucas around.
He takes a step closer, moving his hand so that instead of me holding onto his wrist, his grip is on mine. My eyes flick to his, earning my wrist a gentle squeeze.
“You don’t owe me anything, Stryker.” His voice is soft. Patience. Kinder than I deserve. “But I’ll take whatever you want to give.”
Ten
Lucas
“I’m starting to think that you want to get me drunk,” I laugh over the music, pushing away the second shot Moose tries to shove my way.
The warm liquor spills onto my hand. I lean forward on the couch and set the shot glass onto the tattered coffee table but I still lick the vodka off my skin. Moose shoves my shoulder, shooting back the very shot I just set down.
Another teammate, Lenny, comes up behind the couch and slaps his hand against Moose’s forehead, leaving a fluorescent orange handprint.
The two-story house is being mainly lit up by blacklights. But scattered around are glow sticks, glow-in-the-dark balloons, and colorful disco ball lights.