Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
His hands were braced on either side of my head, his chest pressing against mine, his hips—God, his hips—settled perfectly against me. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and unreadable, and for a brief, wild second, I wondered if he was going to kiss me.
Then, a big, sloppy tongue dragged up the side of my face. I yelped, shoving at the giant mutt responsible as Roque burst into laughter above me.
“Well,” he said, smirking down at me, his breath still coming a little fast. “That’s one way to break a fall.”
I groaned, shoving snow at his face. “Get off me, you ass.”
But even as he rolled off, I couldn’t ignore the way my body still tingled where he had been pressed against me or the way he’d looked at me just before the dogs had ruined the moment.
The movie played, but I barely paid attention. The electricity was back on—for now. The lights flickered every so often, making the shadows in the room shift like they were alive. Any second, we expected the power to go out again, but we were pretending it wouldn’t.
Roque sat beside me on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. He looked relaxed, but he wasn’t. He kept twitching, and his fingers tapped against his knee, then his thigh. His jaw clenched and loosened, and then he exhaled heavily through his nose.
And he turned his head slightly every few minutes like he was about to say something—only to shut his mouth again.
I ignored it at first, keeping my focus on the screen, pretending I wasn’t noticing every little movement. But after the fifth time, I finally sighed and turned to him, arching a brow.
"Just say it, Roque."
He stilled, his fingers flexing. His jaw worked like he was fighting something. Then, without looking at me, he exhaled hard and ran a hand through his hair.
"Our nights together," he started, his voice low, rough, "they meant something to me. Just so you know."
The words landed heavily between us, the weight of them settling in my chest.
I swallowed, my pulse kicking up. "Then why—" I hesitated, shifting to face him more fully. "Why did you always leave? Why did you sneak out before I woke up?"
Roque’s fingers stilled against his thigh. His eyes flicked to mine, something unreadable behind them before he looked away again.
"Because her lights were off," he murmured.
I frowned. "What?"
His throat bobbed, tension coiling in his shoulders. "Your neighbor," he clarified. "The one whose house you saw me going into."
I felt my stomach tighten.
He must’ve seen something in my expression because he shook his head. "It’s not what you think."
"Then tell me what it is," I said, my voice quieter than before.
He hesitated. I knew that look. The one that said he wanted to tell me but wasn’t sure he could.
"I can’t answer that right now," he admitted, his voice low. "But I will. Soon."
My chest squeezed. I wanted to push, to demand he tell me right then and there, to get rid of the gnawing feeling in my gut. But the way he was looking at me, the way his jaw was tight, and his fingers curled into his palm like he was holding something back—it stopped me.
"Could you just… trust me?" he asked quietly.
I inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of those words settle between us.
Did I trust him? I wanted to. Despite everything, the hurt and seeing him at her house, I wanted to believe him.
So I nodded. Not fully convinced. Not completely reassured. But just enough to let him know I was trying.
A slow exhale left him like he’d been bracing for a different reaction. Maybe he hadn’t expected me to give him that small piece of faith.
We didn’t say anything for a while after that.
The lights flickered again, and Roque shifted closer, his arm resting along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely grazing my shoulder. I let myself lean into his warmth and let myself believe—just for a little while—that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely stupid for still wanting to.
The hurt wasn’t gone.
But for the first time in a long time, it felt a little bit easier.
Chapter 8
Roque
It was that night that everything changed.
Sayla had fallen asleep before me for once, which never happened. She was usually the one tossing and turning, muttering to herself, or scrolling through her phone until her eyes finally gave out. But tonight, she’d passed out early—head half on my chest, one leg thrown over mine, like she needed the contact. She didn’t trust me entirely but didn’t want to sleep alone either.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the look she gave me before she drifted off. Not angry, exactly, not even suspicious. Just unsettled and wary. That soft frown she tried to hide when she’d asked about Ailee—her old neighbor, the woman she used to grab coffee with and now barely mentioned. The woman who was helping me behind her back.