Chapter 12: CHAPTER TWELVE

MIA

SOMETHING SMELLED AMAZING—SPICY, WARM, ENTICING. I WANTED to sink into it like a thick, cozy blanket.

I instinctively curled closer to the source, soaking in the comforting heat and the firm presence beneath my cheek.

I wasn’t ready to wake up just yet, but I’d promised Lena we’d help out at the animal shelter this morning before my gallery shift in the afternoon.

Just one more minute, I told myself, relishing the plush feel beneath me—had my bed always been this soft and spacious?

But something felt...off.

My eyes fluttered open with a yawn, and I blinked up at the unfamiliar space. This wasn’t my bedroom. No art prints covering the walls, no vase of sunflowers perched on the nightstand. And—wait—did the bed just move?

Confused, I glanced down and froze. My gaze landed on a wide, bare chest directly beneath me.

And my stomach dropped through the floor.

I looked up—slowly—until I met a pair of piercing green eyes. Familiar. And not at all amused this morning.

He glanced downward. I followed his gaze...and immediately felt my soul leave my body.

My hand. Was on Ethan Hale’s crotch.

Accidentally. Through his sweatpants. But still.

I. Was. Touching. Ethan. Hale’s. Junk.

And it was hard.

Absolute, unfiltered embarrassment slammed into me. My brain shouted at me to move—now!—but my body betrayed me, too stunned and humiliated to react. And okay, there was maybe a flicker of something else I didn’t want to admit even to myself.

A brief, wildly inappropriate image flashed in my mind—one that suggested Ethan was probably better equipped than any adult film actor.

“Unless you’re planning to do something with it, I suggest you move your hand,” he said, cool and unbothered.

I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned and shot away from him, my heart hammering in my chest while I tried to make sense of everything.

“What the hell happened? Why am I here? Did we—did something happen between us?” I flailed an arm between us, horrified at the possibility.

Oh God. Ethan was Lena’s brother. If we’d slept together, she’d kill me. And I wouldn’t even argue with her.

I’d slept with my best friend’s brother.

Holy. Shit.

“Calm down.” Ethan climbed out of bed with effortless grace, like some damn jungle cat. Sunlight poured through the window, highlighting the sharp lines of his torso—abs, chest, all of it somehow annoyingly perfect.

“You passed out during that sappy dog movie. It was raining. I brought you upstairs. That’s all.”

“So we didn’t…”

“Sleep together? No.”

“Oh, thank God.” Relief flooded through me, cooling the burn in my cheeks. “That would’ve been a disaster.”

“I’ll try not to be too offended by that,” he replied dryly.

“You know what I meant. Lena would’ve lost her mind. She’d kill both of us, force us to clean up the mess, and then kill us again just for fun. Not that I want to sleep with you anyway.” Total lie, a tiny voice in my head whispered. I shoved it aside. “You’re not even my type.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “No? Then who, exactly, is your type?”

Way too early for this conversation. “Um…” I scrambled for a non-threatening answer. “Ian Somerhalder?”

He scoffed. “Slight upgrade from the glittery vampire, I guess,” he muttered. “Hate to break it to you, Sunshine, but you and Ian? Not happening.”

I rolled my eyes and climbed out of bed, groaning inwardly when I caught my reflection in the mirror.

Dress rumpled, hair resembling a bird’s nest, pillow lines pressed into my cheek, and—fantastic—a dried trail of drool along my lip. I looked like I'd lost a fight with a tornado.

“Appreciate the reality check, Captain Obvious,” I muttered, subtly wiping my mouth while Ethan pulled a T-shirt over his unfairly flawless torso.

His bedroom was as minimalist as the rest of the place: king-sized bed, a plain nightstand with a lamp and alarm clock, and a dresser. That was it.

“Don’t get worked up. I’m not your type either, remember? Or… maybe I am.” My gaze dropped pointedly to the rather obvious tent in his sweatpants.

If he wanted to throw sarcasm at me, I could serve it right back.

“Calm down. It’s morning wood. Totally normal biological function,” Ethan said, raking a hand through his hair, which somehow still looked like a magazine cover after a full night’s sleep. “And for the record, my panties are perfectly untwisted.”

“Sure they are,” I sang, grinning. “Also, stop calling me Sunshine.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not my name.”

“I’m well aware. It’s a nickname.”

I let out a sharp sigh. “We’re not on nickname terms.”

“We’ve known each other for eight years.”

“Yes, but not like that! We’re not close. And you’re clearly mocking me—‘bleeding heart’ and all.”

Ethan quirked a brow. “Oh? Then tell me—what exactly is our relationship?”

Careful. Thin ice.

“We’re neighbors. Casual acquaintances.” I searched for more labels, desperate to define the undefined. “Occasional movie-watching companions?”

He stepped closer. I stayed rooted in place, though every instinct screamed at me to flee. “You always share a bed with your casual acquaintances?” he murmured.

“I didn’t ask to sleep in your bed.” I struggled to keep my eyes above the waistline, but his body was right there, impossible to ignore. My chest tightened, nipples straining against my bra, heat creeping down my neck.

What in the actual hell? This was Ethan Hale. The emotionally unavailable menace. The king of ice and indifference.

And yet, my body was screaming to climb him like a jungle gym.

No. Pull yourself together. You are not hooking up with Ethan Hale. Not now. Not ever.

“Anyway, I-I have to go. Shelter. Dogs. Volunteering,” I blurted, losing coherence by the second.

“Thanksforlettingmestayoverseeyoulaterbye!”

I bolted down the stairs and dashed across the lawn, practically tripping over my own feet.

I needed the coldest shower of my life. Stat.

EMOTIONAL DETACHMENT MISSION: COMPLETE FAILURE

“You touched Ethan’s dick?” Lena’s eyes were practically popping out of her head. “What did it feel like?”

“Shhh!” I hissed, scanning our surroundings. Thankfully, everyone else was preoccupied, either chasing a puppy or cleaning up some sort of animal mess. No one was eavesdropping… yet.

Bridget had volunteered at the shelter long enough the staff didn't blink an eye at the princess in their midst, and we were always the only volunteers on the days Bridget came in, per the royal family's request. "It's unbecoming for a princess to say the word dick.

Especially in Bridget's posh, lightly accented voice, which sounded like it was made to discuss fancy galas and Harry Winston diamonds, not male genitalia.

"I've said worse things than dick."

As someone who'd been friends with her for almost four years, I could confirm. It still sounded wrong though.

"So?" she prompted. "What did it feel like?"

"I don't know what you want me to say. It felt like a penis." A big, hard-nope. Not going there.

Not now. Not ever.

Bridget and I were cleaning and sanitizing the cages at Wags and Whiskers, a pet rescue shelter located near campus.

She was a huge animal person and had been volunteering here since sophomore year. I accompanied her when I had time, as did Stella.

Jules was allergic to cats, so she stayed away. But this shelter was Bridget's baby. She came twice a week without fail, much to Booth's consternation.

I stifled a smile at the sight of the burly, redheaded bodyguard eyeing a parrot with suspicion.

Despite its name, Wags and Whiskers took in all sorts of animals, not just cats and dogs, and it had a small but robust bird section.

Booth wasn't scared of birds per se, but he disliked them; he said they reminded him of giant flying rats.

"Hmm." Bridget seemed disappointed by my uninteresting response. "And the movies really didn't make him sad? At all?"

"Nope." I rolled up the newspaper from my cage and dumped it in the garbage can. "Well, I fell asleep before the end of Marley & Me, but I doubt he cried or anything like that. He looked bored the entire time."

"Yet he continued watching both movies." Bridget raised a perfect blonde brow. "Interesting."

"He didn't have a choice. I was already at his house."

"Please. This is Damien Cole we're talking about. He'd throw someone out in a heartbeat if he wanted."

True.

I frowned and considered her words. "He's nicer to me because I'm Josh's sister."

"Right." Bridget let out a soft laugh. "Which phase is up

next again?"

Ugh, the stupid Operation Emotion, or OE as I'd started calling it. It was the bane of my existence.

"Disgust." I had no clue what I'd do, but that phase seemed easier. I had a feeling lots of things disgusted Damien. "I'd pay good money to see that." Bridget tossed a

laughing glance in Booth's direction. "Are you all right, Booth?"

"Yes, Your Highness." He grimaced when the parrot squawked, "Ooh, yes! Spank me, master!" "I am not your master," he told the bird. "Go away."

The parrot drew itself up and ruffled its feathers in indignation.

Bridget and I burst into laughter. Apparently, the parrot's old owner had been quite active sexually...and kinky. Its outburst today was tame compared to its previous tirades.

"I'll miss you." Bridget sighed. "I hope my next bodyguard has a sense of humor."

I stopped scrubbing the cage. "Wait, what? Booth, you're leaving us?"

Booth scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "My wife is giving birth soon, so I'll be on paternity leave."

"Congrats." I smiled, even though I was pretty sad. He was Bridget's employee, but we'd accepted him as an honorary member of our group.

He'd bailed us out of many dodgy situations in the past, and he gave pretty good boy advice, too. "We'll miss you, but that is so exciting!"

His face flushed with pleasure. "Thank you, Miss Mia”.

He was unfailingly polite and insisted on calling me "Miss" no matter how many times I told him he could use just my first name.

"We're throwing you a going away party when the time comes," Bridget said. "You deserve it for putting up with me all these years."

Booth's blush deepened. "That's not necessary, Your Highness. It was-is-a pleasure serving at your side."

Bridget's eyes twinkled. "See, this is why you deserve a going away party. You're the best."

Before Booth could explode from how red he was turning, I added, "We'll make it parrot themed."

Bridget and I collapsed into laughter again while the bodyguard shook his head with a half-resigned, half-embarrassed smile.

It was almost enough to take my mind off Damien.