He didn’t want to wake her.

Gabe might have slept, he might not have. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes, a buzzing awareness filled his body. The woman in his arms took over all his senses, and early morning light spilled into her bedroom in a honey-slow advance.

His eyes made a lazy pass through Bex’s room—a picture of her looking effervescent in an emerald dress at what must have been Sam and Aderyn’s wedding, an iPad, a half-used tube of blood-orange hand cream—until at last, they landed on the alarm clock by the bed. Almost six-thirty.

Bex’s alarm hadn’t rung yet, but he hadn’t seen her set it and it was a weekday. Better safe than sorry.

“Bex.”

She groaned, and her breath tickled his arm. Gabe couldn’t help but smile.

How had he gotten here? How the hell did he have the control to stay so respectful last night? All he knew last night was that another one-night stand was only going to chase Bex away. He wanted more than just another night of drunken sex with her, and he was going to need to prove it.

Bex, in her bed—in his arms—was an indulgence, and Gabe wanted to splurge. Right now, though, the weight of his indulgence was making his arm go numb.

He eased his right arm out from underneath her, flexing feeling back into his fingers before touching her shoulder. She was so damn soft.

“Bex, it’s six-thirty.”

“I’m up,” she grumbled.

“I’ll be right back.” The bed creaked its regret as he stood.

Gabe slipped on his jeans and made his way back through Bex’s house, studying the artwork on the walls as he passed. His eyes skimmed over a photograph of the stars, and then another family picture with what must be her parents and a younger Sam. Near the front door, Bex had hung a framed piece of cross-stitched fabric with a honey badger silhouette, and another piece by the TV spelled out, “Home is where the wifi is.” You could tell a lot about a person by the art they hung, and Bex’s house felt like an extension of her—quirky yet inviting, warm and safe.

The kitchen had to be close. Gabe stopped short in front of the dining room table, and a flurry of color pulled his eyes to an antique-style china cabinet. There, lining the top two shelves of the open hutch, stood an enormous and humbling display of sex toys.

Jesus.

It looked like someone had conveniently left this out of the tour last night. This must be what Bex meant when she said that she didn’t need anyone. Still, a dildo didn’t hold you at night. And last night, Bex had wanted to be held. No matter how much she seemed to be denying herself human connection, when you broke down her barriers, she longed for it.

Gabe shook his head and strode into the kitchen, which Bex had decorated with yellow accents—an enormous teapot, hand towels the color of daisies. Why did she need alcohol to let herself get that vulnerable? If she was sober, he would have fucked her till sunrise.

He rummaged around Bex’s kitchen until he found a Mason jar, then filled it with cool water from the fridge. Bex was still half-asleep when Gabe returned to the bedroom, so he set the water next to the alarm clock and moseyed back into the kitchen.

He should get out of here, but still. This was Bex’s fortress and he was inside her walls. He’d be damned if he’d let himself get kicked out now.

So he made pancakes. Nothing fancy—just from a mix he found in her pantry—but home-cooked.

He was cracking eggs into a second skillet when Bex materialized in the doorway in a breezy blouse and crisp pants. She moved with the hurried air of a weekday morning, tapping on her phone as she entered the room.

“Feeling okay, Bex?”

She half froze, as if she hadn’t expected him to still be here.

Gabe tried not to feel a sting of pain at the dismay on her face. “I figured there’s no better hangover cure than carbs.”

She looked at him, deciding. “Except for hair of the dog.”

He couldn’t help his smile. “True, but after your comment last night, I figured you might have work today.”

She swept an arm down her body. “You figured right.” She stepped into the kitchen, and he nodded his head for her to sit.

Why had this suddenly gotten weird?

Gabe looked over his shoulder as Bex scraped back a chair and eased into it. He slid the eggs from the frying pan onto a plate and carried them to the table.

“This looks delicious.” Her voice was so small in the room. At least she looked up at him, her eyes grateful.

“Bisquick special. I hear you’re the kind of girl with an appetite.”

She lowered her eyes. “Speaking of which.”

Shit, they were going to talk about last night. Gabe knew it was going to be bad from the way she kept fiddling with her fork.

“What happened last night?” Bex asked.

His stomach dropped. Did she not remember? Had she been that out of it? If so, thank god he hadn’t made a move. But what must she think of him now?

He took a seat across the table from her. “You were drunk, and I brought you home. Put you to bed.”

“I know,” she said, and relief flooded through him. “But why didn’t you kiss me?” Her lips pulled into a pout.

“Because you were drunk.”

She flashed her eyes at him, full an angry sort of heat. “I wanted you to be rude with me.”

“Another time, honey. When you can tell me in detail exactly what you want me to do.” He would make sure of it.

Bex shook her head. “Maybe not.”

Gabe’s shoulders tensed, and it wasn’t just from his awkward sleeping position last night. “What does that mean?”

She waved her hand over the table. “This. This breakfast…it’s…nice. But, clearly, we’re not on the same page, here.”

A note of frustration crept into Gabe’s voice. “Bex, when you were sober, you told me you didn’t want to sleep with me. But Drunk Bex, apparently, changed her mind. You’re damn right we’re not on the same page, here. I don’t even know what book we’re in.”

Her lips twisted. “Good question.”

He sighed. “I’m still learning this game, Bex. I don’t play it as well as you do.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. “Is that supposed to mean I’m a slut?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, no. It means you need to be clear with me. Tell me what you want. Without a social lubricant.”

Bex crossed her arms over her chest, and all the heat sucked out of the room. “Right now I need you to clear out so I can get to work.”

Gabe sighed again. “Right. Okay.” But wasn’t okay.

He grabbed his car keys from the bowl by the front door. From here he could still see into the dining room, where Bex sat like a mannequin, staring at her plate. Her face was pulled into a frown, sad and frustrated and tired, and his shoulders dropped.

He left her, there, with the pancakes on the table uneaten and growing cold.