I hear the click and feel the tiny pinch half a second later. My eyes clench when someone squeezes my finger, but I decide to keep my eyes closed because I already know it’s Ford. I try to drift back to sleep because if I never make eye contact with him, then I won’t have to acknowledge what happened earlier in the evening.
My head dips when he exhales, and his heartbeat grows steadier against my ear, telling me that my blood sugar reading is okay.
I want to ask why he’s taking it manually when I’m wearing a monitor on my arm that everyone insisted on, but I choose the avoidance route instead.
After at least twenty minutes of keeping my eyes closed and making sure his pulse stays steady, I peek one eye open and see that it’s completely dark in his room. The hallway noise has quieted, and the random guy I pulled into Ford’s room before anyone could see is long gone.
I replay the night over and over again, hating that I can still feel the effects of Ford’s dirty messages and how good it felt to tease him…until things took a nosedive.
My blood sugar dropped quickly, and truthfully, I’m lucky that Ford walked in when he did, because I was unprepared–which was careless of me, considering I knew that it would drop eventually.
It’s a shame I didn’t get to finish my rendezvous because of the events that came after. I should be used to the feeling of disappointment, but the longer I lie on top of Ford, the more my body is reminded of what I didn’t get.
I move slightly and pray he’s fallen asleep. I breathe evenly through my nose and try to change my thoughts, but I keep ending up in the same place: Ford. His tongue in my mouth, his hands on my curves, the flare of jealousy in his eyes when he saw me on top of his bed. I shift gears and force myself to think about the handsy sophomore and his hot kissing, but that only makes things worse.
“Taytum.”
I freeze and pretend to be asleep.
“Are you okay?” Ford asks. “You keep squirming. I checked your blood sugar. You’re pretty level right now.”
I nod softly against his chest. I unhook my leg from around him, but his hand comes down on top of it, and he pushes it back down.
“What’s wrong? Don’t lie to me if you feel sick,” he demands.
“I don’t,” I whisper. “I feel fine.”
It’s a half truth. I’m one big giant knot that needs untying, but it has nothing to do with my blood sugar, so in that sense, I am fine.
A few moments of silence pass, and I’m right back to where I was before—turned on and itching to be alone.
“Stop moving, and tell me what’s wrong,” he urges.
“I’m fine, really.” I slowly sit up, but Ford forces me to my back. There’s likely a scowl on his face as he peers down through the dark, but all I can see is the outline of his messy hair and broad shoulders. “Taytum.”
I copy his low tone. “Ford.”
His grip against my upper arms tightens. “What is it? I know when something is wrong.”
I quietly scoff, but he’s right. He always knows.
Ford’s breath brushes against my chest, and I just remembered that I’m in my bra. Great.
“I don’t trust you,” he admits.
My eyebrows furrow. “Says the guy who made a fake profile just to message me all sorts of dirty things.” I pull on my arms, but he doesn’t let up. “I don’t trust you either.”
“You tried to fuck some guy in my bed.” His words are clipped with anger, and my cheeks feel hot.
I try to turn away, but Ford blocks me, so I’m left with only my words. “Well, that’s your fault. You turned me on and then told me to go find someone else.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted all along? To find some guy and have a few one-night stands here and there? To go on dates without me interfering and without Emory bursting through the door?” Ford flops to his back, and my arms suddenly feel cold without his touch. “And to clarify, I didn’t tell you to fuck them on my bed.”
“Well, I still didn’t get what I wanted, so there’s that!” I’m brimming with irritation, and I’m still turned on, which is only pissing me off further.
“That isn’t my fault!” he argues. “I walked into my bedroom. It wasn’t like I was purposefully interrupting your little fuck sesh.” Ford is angry, and that doesn’t happen often.
I sit up abruptly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get off! There! Are you happy? I finally got pushed far enough with your little tactics that I broke down and pulled some guy in here, and I still didn’t get what I wanted!” My shoulders drop in defeat, but I’m frantic on the inside. “Now you know what’s wrong with me. I’m turned on and full of irritation. It’s not a nice combo.” My body flushes with heat. “Thank you for showing up and giving me some glucose tablets and for making sure my blood sugar is okay, but I’m leaving now, because I cannot lie comfortably in this bed with you after how my night started and how it ended.”
I hook a leg over his and try to scramble off his bed for my shirt, but I’m hauled to my back. Breath whooshes out of my lungs and past my lips quickly. I try to scan the dark room for an escape because there is nothing good that can come from me staying in his bed.
“I’m not leaving you alone after you nearly fainted.” My lips open to fling out a rebuttal, but Ford puts his hand over my mouth to silence me. “If you’re in need of a release that bad, then go for it. But you’re stuck with me for the rest of the night, Tay.”
I want to scream and kick my legs, but I remain unmoving and silent.
When he feels it’s safe, he slowly removes his hand from my mouth and lies down on his side of the bed.
Between clenched teeth, I forcefully say, “Fine,” but still attempt to climb over him. His hand snaps to my hips before I can even explain myself. “Relax! I’m not leaving. I’m sleeping on the other bed. Away from you.”
He says nothing. His hand leaves my waist, and I pad over to the other side of the room on quiet feet. I tear open a dresser drawer and steal one of his shirts. The sound of my jeans hitting the floor echoes in the silent room, and my bra goes next. I know he can’t see much, so I don’t bother covering up when I pull his large T-shirt over my head. Then, I climb into the bed opposite of his and am thankful he no longer has a roommate so I don’t have to torture myself by lying in his bed.
“Are you going to make sure to listen to blood sugar alerts? Or do I need to continue to check for you?”
His condescending tone sets me on fire, but I keep my response nice and steady. “I can check my own blood sugar.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Are you going to get yourself off, or do I need to do that for you too?”
My jaw slacks at the audacity. “Actually, I was wondering if you could go find that guy that was in here before to see if he can come finish the job.”
“Over my dead fucking body,” he mutters. “How’s this? Just go to sleep.”
I roll my eyes. “I think I’ll just wait for you to fall asleep, and then I’ll get myself off.”
A few seconds pass before he pretends to sleep, and his fake snoring fills the room. My lips wobble as I try not to break the tension with a giggle but fail miserably, and we’re both quietly laughing.
Ford’s ability to make me laugh when I’m angry with him is unmatched. It’s the reason why I haven’t killed him yet.
I pick up a pillow and throw it at him from across the room. “You’re annoying.”
“Goodnight, Heartbreaker.”
I sigh, turn to my side, and try my hardest to go to sleep.
