Chapter 22: Houseguest

AVA

We pulled up to my apartment building and drove into the parking lot.

I pointed out my spot, and he backed his car into it effortlessly, his arm resting on the back of my seat so he could look over his shoulder. It was such an attractive move I had to take a second to recuperate.

“Let me walk you in,” he said and got out and walked around the car to open my door.

He helped me get out, and we walked into the building quietly. When we got to my door, I unlocked it and turned around to face him.

“Would you like to come in?”

Hesitation clouded Cyrus’s face, and I suddenly felt silly.

“Never mind,” I said. “Stupid question.”

Cyrus cleared his throat. “I could use some water,” he said hoarsely.

I looked at him for a long moment. “Only if you really want to. I don’t mean to keep you from home any longer.”

Cyrus pushed the door open behind me and stepped inside, taking me with him in the process.

He followed me into the kitchen. I opened a cabinet door, pulled out two glasses, and filled them with water.

Cyrus downed his in one go. I sipped mine slowly, peering at him over the rim of my glass.

Cyrus looked around like he was searching for something. “Got any coasters? Wouldn’t want to mess up this…~pristine~ kitchen.”

I stepped closer and leaned around him to grab one from the counter behind him. Cyrus didn’t move away, and I felt his breath tickle my hair, which nearly knocked me off my feet.

I turned around so abruptly that I slammed my head into the corner of the still-open cabinet door. I saw Cyrus flinch sympathetically out of the corner of my eye.

There was a loud ringing in my ears, and my head hurt, but mostly I just felt embarrassed. I rubbed my sore scalp, and when I pulled my hand back, there was a little blood on it. Of course there was.

Cyrus grabbed my hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a touch lightheaded. I’m fine.”

Cyrus grabbed my jaw and turned my head to examine the bleeding. It made me stumble backward a little, so Cyrus grabbed my waist and lifted me onto the counter.

He stood in between my legs, and I nearly died right then and there.

“It’s just a scratch,” he said, his hands now on my thighs. “Any nausea?”

I smiled at him. “Just a touch, Doctor Brentstone.”

Cyrus’s face clouded. “Could be a concussion. Is there anyone you can call to stay the night and check on you?”

I scoffed. “I don’t know. I’ll just FaceTime Maisy.”

“That makes no sense. I’ll stay over tonight.”

Blood rushed to my head. “You’re blowing things out of proportion. It’s just a scratch. You said it yourself.”

Cyrus walked out of the kitchen. “You could slip into a coma or die,” he said casually before disappearing from view.

I ran after him. “I’ll set an alarm every few hours!”

“What’s an alarm going to do if you’re in a coma?”

My shoulders slumped in defeat. Cyrus dropped down on the couch.

“At least take the bed,” I pressed. “I changed the sheets this morning.”

He folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. “I’m fine. Can’t make my ~patient~ sleep on the couch.”

I sighed. “Well, I can’t make you stay here either.”

Cyrus bounced back up. “You’re right. That doesn’t make sense. I’ll stay in your room. I have to make sure you don’t die on me anyway.”

He walked into my bedroom. I followed him nervously.

“I can’t have my boss watch me sleep. What would HR say?”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Cyrus winked at me. The familiar rush of mind-fogging heat came over me.

“Let’s get you ready for bed,” he said and headed into my closet.

“You can’t just walk in there every time you’re here!” I yelled, running after him.

“Why not?” He turned around quickly and pinned me to the wall where we’d stood last time. “It’s my favorite room in the house.”

I blushed and ducked out from under his arms. “Get out of here.” I tried to push him back into my bedroom.

“Go put on your pajamas,” Cyrus chuckled. “I’m dying to see what you look like in them.”

He pulled his suit jacket from the hanger on the closet handle. “Or do you use this to sleep in? Wait, or do you prefer sleeping nak—”

I slammed the door in his face and took a deep breath. I pulled the cutest pair of pajamas I owned—a silk two-piece with a button-up shirt and matching shorts—out of a drawer and quickly put it on.

I felt self-conscious exiting my closet in my bare legs, but I pretended not to care. Cyrus was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I could have sworn I heard him suck in a quick breath when he saw me.

He cleared his throat. His knuckles gripping his knees were white. I threw a spare toothbrush in his lap.

Cyrus followed me into the bathroom, and we started brushing our teeth. He stood just a step behind me. We made eye contact in the mirror.

“This feels weirdly intimate,” I said with my toothbrush in the corner of my mouth.

Cyrus stepped closer so that his front was completely flush with my back. “Oh, this is where you draw the line? We’re about to sleep together, you know.”

I bent over and rinsed my mouth, mainly using the opportunity to collect myself. I felt Cyrus’s hand mindlessly grasp onto my waist as I did so, and I quickly shot back up.

Cyrus’s reflection looked at me with heavy-lidded eyes, and he pressed himself even closer to me. I could feel his crotch against my butt, and I nearly lost my footing when I noticed the bulge there.

I felt drunk but also proud, knowing I’d affected him like that.

We returned to the bedroom, and I took the throw pillows off the bed before getting under the covers.

I leaned back against the headboard and pulled the duvet up to my chin. I looked at Cyrus expectantly. He leaned against the bathroom doorway, looking at me, appearing completely at ease.

“I think I have some sweatpants you could wear,” I offered.

“I don’t want to wear your little ex-boyfriend’s pants,” he scoffed.

My brows furrowed. “They’re not my ex’s!” I snapped, quite a bit feistier than anticipated. “I kept none of his stuff.”

Cyrus raised a brow. “Bad breakup?”

I turned my back to him in reply.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I could hear the rustle of clothes being removed. I had to force myself not to peek.

“Do you want them or not?” I asked angrily, my back still turned to him.

“I’m good,” Cyrus replied lowly as I heard him unzip his pants.