He walked up the stairs, leaving me on the floor alone. I was pissed off, and wanted to break something. Preferably a 40-something-year-old with a mustache. Because Theo was right. Sharing Savannah with him was one thing.

Sharing her with Luther was on a whole other level.

13. Savannah

I ran up the stairs as fast as my feet would carry me.
I didn’t need to see where Luther had gone to know where he would be.

The library.

As soon as our eyes had connected across the sprawl of naked bodies, a flush spread across my cheeks. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to watch–because I did. Very much so, in fact. I had long dreamed about Luther’s hands gliding over my body, slipping between my legs, finding the sweet spot that would make me cry his name.

Of course, I was well aware this was wishful thinking at best. Luther was older than the rest of us, and I couldn’t help but feel he was more set in his ways than we were. Felix had been too, but we had worked through it. But the way Luther’s face reddened when we locked gazes, and how fast he hurried up the stairs eliminated any lingering doubt from my mind. Luther was not comfortable with whatever Felix, Theo, and I had going on. Disappointment weighed on my chest, knowing my dreams would remain just that–dreams.

I still didn’t want what he had seen to impact our friendship. I cherished our quiet moments in the library, attempting to find any way out of this curse. I loved our talks in the kitchen over the weak tea he enjoyed so much. I didn’t want to lose any of our special connection.

“Luther, wait!” I called, out of breath from the lack of regular physical exercise since I’d arrived at the house. “Luther, please.”

I put my hands on my knees, catching my breath, and convincing myself I would do a better job of staying in shape from now on. Ahead of me, the door to the library clicked closed. I knew that man too damn well. All the men, really.

Everyone had developed their safe spaces, sacred to them. We all respected each other’s spaces, too. I still wasn’t sure what Felix’s was, but I was determined to peel back the layer of his secret room one day–especially as he now claimed to want to be with me.

Luther’s sacred space was the library. The weight of the world evaporated off his shoulders when he was surrounded by his books. He loved pointing out his favorites, leaving classics by my bedside table. He’d recite his favorite facts to me while we worked, his rough timbre cascading over me like a warm blanket. Because this was his safe space, I felt like I was ruining something holy by barging in, fueled by my emotions.