He cuffs my wrist, stopping me in place. “I’m stone-cold sober. Pack. Your. Shit.Omorfiá.You just found a place to stay that doesn’t come with a dripping sink or drunk idiots knocking on the door at all hours. Rent-free. Well, kind of. You take care of groceries, cooking, and help me with the game.”
He can’t be serious. It’s a joke, for sure. Who in their right mind asks a stranger to move in with them? He’s joking, right?Wrong.He’s dead serious, staring at me with conviction, an edge in his eyes as he works his jaw in a tight circle, fingers cuffing my wrist. The touch titillates every nerve in my body.
“That... tha-that’s,” I stutter, stumbling over the words, experiencing a bad case of brain fade. What the hell is he on? “I can’t move in with you.”
“Yeah, you can. And you will. Pack your stuff before I do it for you.”
“Theo, I—”
He snatches my bag, forces his hand inside to retrieve the motel room key, and shoves past me, shoulders tense, the vein on his neck pulsing rapidly.
I’m rooted to the ground, still making sense of what the hell is happening when he barges inside room thirteen, but as soon as he starts throwing my clothes into a suitcase that lays open by the wall, I’m on the move.
“What do you think you’re doing?” For one long, confusing moment, I think I might knee his balls and shove him out of here. My head... shit, my mind is roaring. I’ve never been this jittery inside. “Stop!” I snap, clawing at his arm.
“Don’t even try to argue, Thalia,” he wiggles out of my grasp, shoving more of my clothes in the bag. “I’ve got a spare bedroom that no one ever uses. You said you trust me, so give me one reason why you shouldn’t move in with me instead of staying here.”
My mouth opens and closes, but I’m at a loss for arguments. At least reasonable arguments.
“We got a deal?” he urges, holding my makeup bag in hand.
My reason splits in two. One side tells me to stay put, the other screams to stuff my pride in my back pocket and take him up on the generous, albeit odd and careless offer.
This isn’t the time to hold your head up. Say thank you. Be grateful.
“Groceries, cooking, helping with the game,” I recite on an exhale. “But also, I clean and pay rent. At least a little, your condo is huge. It must cost—”
“It costs nothing. I own that place. No rent. We clean together, but you can take Ares for a walk every now and then if you want.”
“Okay, okay,” I mutter, staring at him, but more like right through him while trying to calm down my racing mind. “Okay,” I huff again, and by that third okay, my mind clears. Self-preservation instincts take the reins.
I can’t imagine ever regretting the decision as I watch the determination on Theo’s face. We’ve not known each other long, but we’re on the same wavelength, connecting like two raindrops falling into the same puddle.
“Thank you.” I step closer, fling my hands around his neck, then press my lips to his cheek and cuddle into his chest, effortlessly calm when our bodies connect. “It’s... justthank you.”
He wraps his arms around me for a second, then pushes me away and grabs two zipped suitcases. He wheels them to the Mustang, where Cody waits by the open trunk. I throw the rest of my clothes into the last bag and grab the pillow and blanket from the bed, leaving the mattress protector behind.
I step out of the room, feeling ten times lighter and ten times heavier all at once.
TEN
Theo
“SHE LIVES WITH YOU?” Logan booms, arranging himself against a few decorative cushions on the monstrous U-shaped sofa in Nico’s living room.
We’re watching the practice session of the Italian Formula 1 Grand Prix. Not that either one of us knows or cares much about motorsports. We’re motorheads, but in a more hands-on sense—driving and fixing, not watching others drive. We’re only watching it because we met McLaren’s team principal at the Country Club last week and got curious.
So far, it’s pretty fucking boring. The triplets are buzzing, though, and the flat screen keeps them fairly occupied, so we don’t bother switching it off. If we do, they’ll start throwing their teenage wisdom around, and no one needs that shit.
My head smacks against the back of the couch, fingers tightening around the neck of the beer bottle.
Asking, or ratherorderingThalia to move in with me was a spur-of-the-moment idea. Not my brightest moment, I admit, but there’s shit all I can do about it now.
We all mess up sometimes.
The mistake became blatantly obvious just an hour after I stashed Thalia’s suitcases in the guest bedroom. She exited the bathroom after a hot shower, wrapped in a towel, skin glistening from lotion or whatever smelled so fucking edible, like summer berries and whipped cream. The scent filled the condo, hanging thickly in the air, driving me crazy for hours.
The following day, I realized my mistake again when Thalia’s alarm went off at five, tearing me out of a dreamless sleep. No, I didn’t mind the too-early-for-any-sane-person wake-up call. It’s what followed that had me pulling hair out of my scalp.