February

03

COREY WAS STRANGELY COMFORTING when I arrived and even more so when I woke up the next morning. It felt weird not waking up with a headache, but as soon as my mind began to replay all of the events that had occurred the night before I almost prayed for one.

I had gotten to his apartment late that night and was so shaken up by what had happened just before that I had barely spoken to him. He didn't want much, and I didn't want sex, so all he did was pull the comforter over us after I had taken my dress off and laid down on his bed. And now I was awake, just a couple of hours before I had to go to work, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring aimlessly out of his wide, street view window.

I let my thoughts glide above apartment buildings and across the buzzing skyline of NYC. I'd grown up here all my life had sent hundreds of wishes and promises across the skyline, but it never got old. New York would never be dull for me. It didn't seem to matter where I was viewing it from either, as even Corey's apartment could give me the same thrill as I would find on top of the Empire State Building.

"Hey," Corey stirred beside me and I felt the bed dip as he sat up and moved closer to me. Arm on my waist and fingers resting on the brim of my panties, he toyed with the line between sex and comfort so effortlessly that I almost let myself be coddled. For a moment, I did, and I rested my head on his shoulder. "Everything okay?"

His hand moved up to my hair as he stroked it fondly, his fingers creating a gentle rhythm between my scalp and my curled ends. "Last night was . . . a lot." I exhaled shakily, feelings the emotions that I didn't want to feel return and stir something sticky inside of me that I couldn't quite pinpoint. But his hands, his hands were nice—they felt good. I tried to focus on his hands.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

I shook my head, my eyes still gazing across rooftops. I just wanted him to keep his fingers running through my hair and to let my head rest on his broad shoulders. I wanted to forget about Ruth and the kiss and how she made me feel and how the kiss made me feel and . . . and now my head was aching. I sat up and let out a heavy exhale as the tension in my chest only thickened. I wanted to be bitchy but Corey didn't deserve my bitchiness, at least not today. "I'm not in the mood to talk about it right now." I whispered, turning to face him and giving him a soft smile.

He moved his hand from my hair to the small of my back, his fingers tracing my spine ever so gently. As I watched his long eyelashes flutter before those warm, honey eyes I found myself recalling so many memories we shared over the years. He was smiling reassuringly back at me, as if he understood and he trusted me even though he had no idea why I was feeling the way that I was. I could've murdered someone, and he would've just kept his fingers on my back and that gentle smile on his face. That was one thing I loved about him—his unwithering devotion, not matter what. I wasn't used to someone loving me unconditionally, and that was all Corey knew how to do. As much as I appreciated it, I often felt smothered by the weight of expectation.

But right now, all of Corey felt like warmth on a chill, windy night.

"Okay," He murmured before placing a kiss on my forehead and then, when I leaned forward, one on my lips. The kiss didn't need to deepen any further and I didn't want it to. I wanted him to just hold me, talk to me kindly, and be there.

Which was exactly what he did.

♢ ♢ ♢

"WHO'S YOUR BOYFRIEND, HUDSON?"

Harrison Rossi was the last person that should be meddling in my personal business, and he knew it too. He wasn't my friend, was barely my coworker, and we had both made it clear the minute we were assigned to the same section that we hated each other. And to be honest, I would've like him a lot better if he weren't such a cocky, entitled bastard who's only real experience in journalism was whatever his father had put on his resume. He, like Colin, was only apart of Delight for the clout and appearances.