Because I realized I’ll never be pretty enough, and I hated myself for thinking that way. Even if it’s true. I sit up in bed and lean against the headboard. “I didn’t want to be around so many people.”

This is a ridiculous explanation when I could have stayed home tonight, but he nods as if it makes perfect sense. “I kind of feel the same. Do you mind if I hide in here with you?”

“Won’t your date be disappointed?”

He arches a brow. “My date?”

I’m making a fool of myself. “The blond girl who was rubbing herself all over you?”

He lifts his chin. “Ah. I think her name’s Sasha, but I’m not interested. I’d rather hang out with you . . . if you don’t care?” The question is laced with enough doubt that the shield around my clumsy heart falls.

I swallow and will my pulse to slow. I don’t want to be so desperate for his attention, but here I am. “Sure. I’m just reading.”

Grinning, he crosses the room and studies the books on my shelf before grabbing my copy of The Stand.

“King,” I say, nodding. “Good choice.”

Easton toes off his tennis shoes and stretches out in bed beside me—him on top of the covers, me beneath, just like on draft night when he was having an anxiety attack. He opens his book and I open mine.

“Happy New Year, Short Stack,” he says softly.

The old nickname makes me smile. “Happy New Year.”

I wake up to the feel of a calloused hand on my stomach, fingertips sweeping underneath my shorts. My body is awake—every nerve ending at full attention—but my mind is foggy and I have to blink into the darkness a few times before I remember where I am and who I’m with.

Easton.

Easton is touching me.

His fingers sweep across the waistband of my panties, and I gasp, arching instinctively. I must’ve fallen asleep while reading. The lights are off and he’s spooning me, his front flush to my back, and when I shift, the hard length of him presses along my ass. “Easton?” My thighs clench, and it’s all I can do not to tuck my hips and lead that hand to where I want it—where I’ve imagined it a thousand times before. “Are you awake?”

He moans into my neck and grips my hip, holding me against him.

The instinct to arch into his touch is so strong, but I have to know if this is real. “Easton?” My mind is foggy from sleep, but my body is more alert than ever. Every inch of my skin is aware of every movement he makes.

Suddenly he releases my hip and pulls away. My body goes cold everywhere he was touching me. “Shay?”

I drag in a ragged breath. Shit, shit, shit. “Yeah?”