“I forgot the condom.”
I’m such an idiot. I’ve never forgotten it before. It’s the one thing I’m really good at remembering when it comes to sex, or at least I thought it was. Then again, I haven’t had repeat sex with a person in years. That already says so much about how serious I am about Stevie.
She blinks at me for a few seconds. Then she purses her lips to the side, humming. Her eyes flick to mine and away, then they flick back and away again.
“Well. I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I got tested when I broke up with my ex. I will, however, need to go pee so I don’t get a UTI.”
Shame floods my body then.
“I haven’t been tested in a while.” I’m honest with her. I’m not going to sit here and say I was magically tested recently when I haven’t been. I think the last time was six months ago. It’s out of pure laziness, and now I’m kicking myself.
She sits up, putting a hand on my shoulder and giving me a smile.
“Hey, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” She places a kiss on my cheek and slips off the bed. But I remain stewing with guilt and frustration. She leans down, cupping my cheek. “Aleksander, I’m serious. Get out of your head and come join me in the shower. As sexy as it is to have your scent all over me, I need to wash this sweat off or I’ll never sleep.”
“Oh, are you sleeping over now?” I tease.
I watch as she shrugs her shoulders and slips into the bathroom, “I plan on sleeping here. Whether that’s in your bed or someone else’s is up to you to decide.”
A bolt of possessiveness runs through me at the thought of her in Parker’s or Jackson’s bed.
I jump out of the bed and run into the bathroom to join her as I hear the shower turn on. I let myself get lost in taking care of her, allowing the fears to drain away. I soap up her soft body inch by inch. She’s careful to keep her hair out of the water, even though I sprinkle her with a few drops here and there—which earns me some stern glares. She runs her hands up and down my body in return. I bend, allowing her to wash my hair, humming as she massages my scalp. I might never let my hair be washed again if it’s not by her. This feels too good.
I let her use my big fluffy towel to dry while I shake off and pad into my room to replace my sheets with a new ones. We tumble into bed together, exhausted, but even my dreams are filled with thoughts of her.
TWENTY-FIVE
* * *
STEVIE
The smell of fresh coffee mixed with a light sweetness pulls me from my dreams. I crack my eyes open, but the room is still completely dark save for the LED lights Aleks has lining his ceiling.
I’m hugging him like a tree, one arm strewn across his chest with a leg thrown over his body, his hand holding onto my calf. My ear is connected to his chest, and I can hear the steady thump, thump, thump as his chest rises with soft breaths. He looks so much younger when he sleeps, vulnerable. I memorize the lines of his face, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lashes. My eyes catch on the scar on his temple, and my hand flutters up to touch it.
Oh. That’s what bothered me. I noticed the scar when we were together after the gallery exhibit, and when I touched it the night with Blade, my brain realized the same thing. I also bet Parker is the friend he crashed with. His scar had seemed too familiar.
I know if I explained this situation to anyone else, they’d think I was nuts. Trusting a guy who had been lying to me, living a double life. One who let me fall for both versions of himself.
But I’m sick of listening to everyone else.
My heart was falling for Aleks as it was lusting over Blade. Now, it has both in one hot, tattooed package. I basically won the boyfriend lottery, and I’m not giving up my prize. I spent too many years unhappy. Playing the perfect girlfriend for Chase and my mother and telling myself it was enough, when in reality, I was starving. I’d become an empty shell that was putting on a show so no one saw the hollowness within. In the short time I’ve been with Aleks, he has filled me with so much light, scaring the darkness away. More than anything, I feel like my true self around him. He lets me feel seen, adored. And I deserve that.
Aleks is sleeping like the dead. He’s so out of it that I’m not even worried about jostling him awake as I disentangle my body from his. I slip out of the bed, and he groans, rolling onto his side.
I search the floor for the T-shirt I grabbed last night. It’s a gray acid wash shirt with The System written in metal-band font. I’d kill for this in a crop-top version. I wonder if he has others that I could try cutting up.
I tug it over my head, padding into the bathroom to assess my current state. Which looks…not awful. Not great. But not awful.
I got all my makeup off in the shower with a cleanser and used Aleks’ surprisingly expensive moisturizer before heading to bed. He felt the need to defend his masculinity by reiterating multiple times that Parker had bought all the skincare products for him. I kept telling him I didn’t care who bought it, just that I’m impressed he has more than a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.
My hair, however, looks like a rat’s nest. I tugged out the bobby pins keeping the Dutch braids secure behind my head and let them loose before I went to bed, but the back of my head is still a mess of knots. I attempt to run my hands through it, fingers snagging. After a few minutes, it looks mildly better—like a rat’s vacation home. I wet my hands with some water, running it through my hair, smoothing it down, then I grab some mouthwash, swishing it around and spitting it out. The minty taste burns my mouth, making everything feel astronomically cleaner. I give myself a wide grin in the mirror.
Well, that’s as good as it’s going to get.
Opening the bedroom door, I find a set of folded clothes along with my purse. I crouch down, setting them apart. It’s a pair of women’s workout shorts, a tank top, and underwear. I throw the underwear and workout shorts on. I don’t bother with the tank top. The T-shirt I’m wearing smells like Aleks—there’s a slight motor oil scent mixed with his pine body wash—so there’s no chance in hell I’m trading it out.
My eyes are instantly assaulted by the bright morning light leaking in through the windows as I walk into the living space. God, Aleks’ blackout curtains must be worth a fortune if they stopped this from coming into his bat cave.
Jackson has his back to me in the kitchen, his black hair tied in a half bun, sweatpants slung low on his hips. I’m surprised to see a large black tiger tattoo spilling down his back. His muscles contract and ripple as he cooks what smells like eggs on the stove. The guy is absolutely ripped. I have a feeling if he turned around, he would be sporting an eight-pack or something.
I don’t want to startle him, so I throw out a tentative, “Morning.”