Chapter 17 – Morning After Awkwardness

The first thing I notice when I wake up is warmth.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up—for me to remember where I am, why I feel so sore in all the best ways, and why my arm is currently draped over someone else's body.

My body tenses before my mind fully registers what's happening.

Riley.

She's still asleep. Her breathing is slow, steady, and way too close to my ear. One of her arms is wrapped around my waist, keeping me tucked against her like I belong here. Like this is normal.

Which it's not.

Holy shit.

I slept over.

I never sleep over.

Panic flutters in my chest, but I force myself to stay still. No sudden movements. I don't want to wake her up. Because what the hell do I say to her when she opens her eyes?

Good morning? Great sex? So, what now?

Nope. No, thank you. I would rather die.

Carefully, I shift just enough to glance at her face.

God, she looks unfairly good in the morning. Her dark hair is messy, falling over her forehead in soft waves, and her lips are parted slightly as she breathes. The sunlight creeping through the blinds casts a warm glow over her skin, and for a second, I forget why I was panicking.

But then she moves.

Her fingers flex against my hip, her arm tightening just slightly before she shifts, exhaling a slow breath. I go completely still, holding my own breath.

And then, her eyes open.

We stare at each other.

Neither of us says anything.

The air between us is thick with something I don't know how to name—last night, regret, confusion, something else entirely?

Riley blinks first. Then, her brow furrows slightly, her voice still rough with sleep. "You're still here."

I swallow hard. "Uh. Yeah."

She doesn't say anything for a long second. Then, slowly, she pulls her arm away, rubbing a hand over her face.

And just like that, the warmth is gone.

The shift is subtle, but I feel it.

My stomach twists.

I sit up, pulling the blanket with me as I move to the edge of the bed. I should get dressed. I should leave before this gets any more awkward than it already is.

But I don't want to.

I bite my lip, debating whether to say something, when Riley finally speaks.

"So… do you want coffee or something?"

I blink. "What?"

She shrugs, running a hand through her messy hair. "I was gonna make some."

Oh.

Oh.

For some reason, that makes my chest feel weirdly tight. I was expecting her to make an excuse, some excuse about needing to go or pretending like this never happened.

But instead, she's offering me coffee.

It's such a normal thing, such a casual thing, but coming from her, it feels like something more.

"…Yeah," I say finally, voice a little too soft. "I'd like that."

She nods once before getting up, stretching her arms over her head, completely unaware of the fact that I'm definitely staring at the way her muscles flex.

I look away quickly, pretending to fix the blanket like I'm not internally losing my mind.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Riley moves first, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before pushing off the bed with an easy stretch. The muscles in her back shift as she rolls her shoulders, the faint morning light catching on her skin, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

I should look away. Really, I should.

But I don't.

She seems completely unaware of my staring, yawning as she reaches for a shirt discarded at the foot of the bed. And maybe that's worse.

Because I feel everything from last night creeping back in—the heat, the closeness, the way her mouth had felt against mine. The way she had whispered my name like it meant something.

I shake myself, dragging the blanket tighter around me like it's some kind of shield. Get it together.

But then Riley turns back toward me, and I freeze.

Her eyes flick down to where I'm still curled up on the bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, and something unreadable flickers across her face.

"Uh…" she hesitates, then clears her throat. "You, um—want a hoodie or something?"

I blink.

She's already pulling one from her chair, holding it out toward me. It's an old, worn thing, probably one of her favorites, if the softened fabric is any indication. It smells like her—like something clean and faintly woodsy.

I should say no. I should get dressed in my own clothes and leave before this gets any weirder.

But I don't.

Instead, I reach out and take it.

Her fingers graze mine as I do, just for a split second, and that stupid, fluttering feeling in my stomach makes a return. God, what is wrong with me?

"Thanks," I murmur, pulling it over my head quickly. It's huge on me. The sleeves practically swallow my hands, and the hem falls well past my hips.

Riley watches me for a second, lips twitching. "It looks better on you than it does on me."

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the warmth in my chest. "Yeah, yeah. Just make the coffee."

She huffs a small laugh but turns, heading toward the kitchen. I take the opportunity to breathe.

This is fine.

This is normal.

I'll have coffee, pretend this doesn't feel like something more than a one-time thing, and then I'll go home and figure out what the hell just happened between us.

Simple.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

But as I watch her move around her kitchen, barefoot, relaxed, wearing nothing but sweats and an easy confidence that makes my heart ache, I realize something.

I'm screwed.

So, so screwed.

The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged with something neither of us seems willing to acknowledge.

Riley moves through her kitchen with effortless ease, opening a cabinet and pulling down two mismatched mugs. She doesn't ask how I take my coffee—she already knows.

The realization settles in my chest like a stone.

How long have we known each other? Too long for this to feel as new as it does. But at the same time, it's different now. Everything is different now.

I pull her hoodie tighter around me, inhaling a breath that's embarrassingly shaky.

"Cream and sugar, right?" she asks, not looking at me as she pours.

I nod before realizing she can't see me. "Yeah."

She slides the mug toward me without another word, then leans against the counter with her own cup, blowing on the steam before taking a sip.

For a moment, it's almost normal.

Almost.

Except for the fact that I'm still in her clothes.

Except for the fact that my body still remembers the way she touched me last night.

Except for the fact that neither of us seems to know what to say.

I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. I need to break the silence.

"So…" I start, hesitating. "This is… weird, right?"

Riley snorts into her coffee. "Oh, yeah. One hundred percent."

Some of the tension eases. Not all of it—but enough.

I exhale a small laugh. "Okay, good. Just checking."

She smirks, setting her mug down with a quiet clink. "Wouldn't want you to think I do this all the time."

Something in my chest clenches at that.

I try to play it off, forcing an easy tone. "Oh? Not your usual routine? Random hate sex with a longtime rival?"

Riley tilts her head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Something dangerous.

"Did it feel like hate to you?"

My stomach drops.

I don't have an answer for that.

Because no, it hadn't. Not even close.

And I think Riley knows that, too.

I swallow hard, looking down at my coffee like it holds the answers to all my problems.

Riley exhales softly, running a hand through her messy hair. "Look, Ava, we don't have to make this a thing. It happened. It was…" She pauses, and for a moment, I wonder what word she's going to land on. A mistake? An accident? Something to forget?

"…Good," she says instead. Quiet. Almost hesitant.

I don't look at her. "Yeah. It was."

Another pause.

She shifts her weight, tapping her fingers against the counter. "So, what now?"

I finally lift my eyes to hers, and for the first time since waking up in her bed, I let myself be honest.

"I have no idea."

And the worst part?

I really don't.