[BOOK2]
*****
I want her.
I want her more than I've ever wanted anything.
But I can't have her. Because the moment I admit that out loud, the moment I risk everything we've built, I could lose her.
And losing Isla? That's not an option.
*******
Is...
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By the time we get back to my flat, Isla's fingers are still laced through mine.
I should be focused on a lot of things right now—like how Jake is a cockroach who won't die, or how much I wanted to finish what I started—but the second Isla steps inside, kicks off her shoes, and flops onto my couch like she belongs here, my mind clears.
Because she does belong here.
She tugs at the sleeves of my hoodie, pulling them over her hands as she tucks her legs under her. "You good?" she asks, voice soft.
I smirk, leaning against the counter. "I'm great, baby."
She rolls her eyes, like she doesn't believe me. But before she can push, her stomach growls loud enough to echo in the quiet.
I freeze.
She freezes.
Then I grin. Wide.
"Luna," I drawl, crossing my arms. "Was that your stomach?"
"No," she blurts immediately.
Another growl. Louder.
I arch a brow. "Liar."
Her face turns pink. "Shut up."
I push off the counter, making my way toward the kitchen. "You hungry, baby?"
"No," she says again. Then, barely a second later: "Maybe."
I chuckle, shaking my head as I pull open the fridge. "Alright, let's see what I can make you before you starve to death in my living room."
"I am not starving," she huffs, sinking further into my couch.
I glance over my shoulder. "Mmm. Sure sounds like it."
She glares, but it's ruined by the way she buries her face in her sleeve.
Fucking adorable.
I chuckle, stepping into the kitchen. "No, you don't." I open the fridge, scanning the shelves. "Pasta sound good?"
She peeks out, skeptical. "You know how to make pasta?"
I shoot her a look. "I'm an athlete, not a Neanderthal."
She snickers, curling onto the couch as I pull out ingredients. "Could've fooled me."
I shake my head, already reaching for a pot. "Keep talking, baby, and you'll be having cereal for dinner."
She gasps, mock offended. "I would starve before eating Frosted Flakes for dinner."
I pull the box of Frosted Flakes off the counter, setting it next to her with a smirk. "Bon appétit."
She launches a pillow at me. I dodge it easily, laughing as I turn back to the stove.
As I start cooking, she watches me like I'm the most fascinating thing in the world.
