6
Lena.
I waited until the house was silent.
Not because I was afraid someone might hear. No one would. It was Michael and me here, like always.
I knocked once on his door.
He didn’t answer at first. There was a long pause, a shuffle of feet, then the creak of the floorboards. The door opened slowly.
He stood there shirtless, in gray sweatpants, hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His eyes met mine, and I saw the surprise flicker and fade. Something else replaced it. Stillness. Heat. Caution.
“Lena,” he said softly.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said.
He didn’t say anything.
I stepped past him and into the room. It smelled like cedar and something clean, masculine, and so him it made my skin tighten. He shut the door behind me and turned slowly, wa
