Still, I stepped closer. Slowly. Hesitantly.
I peeked at the license plate.
It began with 34.
My heart skipped.
Without letting myself overthink it, I moved toward the car and knocked on the window of the back seat.
The glass whirred down, smooth and slow.
Julien came into view.
He was lounging in the back seat like royalty—one arm draped across the seat, an iPad in hand, stylus resting between his fingers like it belonged there. Effortlessly cool. Effortlessly him.
"Were you...?" I started, unsure where the sentence was going.
He didn't let me finish.
"Do you want to come in?"
A slow nod—and he opened the door, signaling me in.
The car smelled like leather and… totally Julien. Rich, masculine, addictive. I almost leaned in to inhale it, but I caught myself just in time.
He shut the door softly behind me.
There was a driver in the front seat—fast asleep, his head tilted to the side. Clearly given permission to rest.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"One hour, thirty-five minutes," he replied, without looking up, his voice smooth as silk as he scribbled something onto his iPad. The screen glowed faintly. It looked like he was calculating stocks or some kind of financial chart.
He wrote a few more numbers, then calmly tucked the stylus into its slot, locked the iPad with a click, and set it aside.
"I thought you weren't going to come," he said, leaning slightly toward me.
Too close.
Close enough that I could see the scattered moles on his skin—the same ones I used to count like stars. He reached past me, unbothered by our proximity, and slid the iPad into a leather case beside me.
"Well, I didn't think you'd wait," I murmured.
"I said I wanted to talk to you," he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I'd wait."
I swallowed hard.
My stomach twisted.
Everything felt strange. Unreal.
Finally speaking to Julien. Julien—wanting to talk to me for a reason I still didn't understand.
"Where do you work, Pen?" he asked casually, settling back against the seat like we did this all the time.
Oh God. That question.
"Uhm… at a fast food restaurant. But they pay well," I added quickly.
That greedy, fat bastard pays me eight dollars per shift.
His eyebrows lifted—just slightly. A flicker of disbelief.
"Didn't you go to college?"
Here it comes.
"N-no. I—there was no money," I admitted. "I got scholarships from three schools but they were only partial. I had to take care of the rest myself and… well, there was just no money for that."
I couldn't see his face clearly, but I could feel the disapproval building in his silence.
Then, softly, almost scolding: "My goodness, Pen. How could you let that happen? You were the smartest in the class. What do you mean you're working at a fast food restaurant?"
I swallowed. My throat was tight.
It sounded worse coming from him. Like a verdict.
"What do you want to study?"
His voice—husky, smooth—was distracting in ways I wasn't ready for.
"Literature," I whispered.
He nodded like he already knew.
"I know a few schools around here that are great in that field. Make enquiries."
I blinked.
"Wait, I don't—I don't understand. Why should I?"
"Make enquiries, Pen," he said, his tone low and unwavering. "You should go to college."
He paused.
"I'll take care of everything."
My breath caught in my chest.
"What?" It came out soft. Barely there.
"If it's far from home, I'll get you an apartment near the campus," he said without missing a beat.
"B-but, why? Why would you—? Wait, are you doing this because you feel bad for… Madison?"
He paused, his expression unreadable. "Madison and I haven't even spoken since prom night."
"Then, why…?"
"I'm doing this because I care about you, Penelope."
My face flushed, warmth blooming uncontrollably across my skin. "Y-you do?"
"Yes. In ways you could have never imagined."
His hand reached for mine, lifting it gently before pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the back of it. The gesture was slow. Intimate. It made my breath hitch.
I froze. Completely.
Then I pulled my hand back, retreating into my confusion. "Stop it. Stop it, Julien. This is madness. You've never even spared me a glance during high school, why now? On my sister—your ex's funeral?"
"Can you stop talking about her?" His tone was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "None of my decisions have ever been related to her. We've cut ties for three years now. This is about you and I. You, Penelope… and me, Julien."
I swallowed, my chest tightening, heart thudding hard enough to echo in my ears. "Make me understand, Julien."
He exhaled, not with frustration but with sincerity—like he'd waited years to say what came next.
Then he reached for my hand again, gripping it gently, grounding me. He leaned forward and locked those impossibly glassy, dreamlike eyes on mine. They weren't just looking—they were seeing.
"I like you, Pen."
My breath caught.
"What?" It came out as a whisper. Fragile.
"I've liked you since game night. When I watched you dance alone in your room."
He cupped my face—fingertips cold with the chill of his knuckle rings pressing into my skin. But it wasn't the metal that sent a shiver down my spine. It was his words. His voice. Him.
"I was in the room when you staggered in, and before I could make my presence known… you started dancing. In ways that drove me mad."
Realization twisted my stomach into knots. "I—I got naked."
He didn't say a word.
That silence confirmed everything.
I swallowed, panic and heat rising all at once. "I—I—I fingered myself."
"I watched."
I was trembling now, heart thundering, breath unsteady, pulse everywhere.
What was even happening?
Was this a goddamn dream?
"This is a dream come true, baby. You have no idea how long I've waited and longed for this."
His voice was low, almost reverent, as he touched my face, his fingers gliding tenderly across its smoothness. "I've seen you in my dreams… This is unreal. Touching you like this."
"I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I—"
Shit.
"I—I can't do this, Julien."
"Yeah, I know." He offered a soft, understanding smile. "Confessing on your sister's funeral like this is… weird. I—Just don't reject this offer. Please."
His voice lowered even more, almost fragile now. "I'll be hit with guilt if I don't get to help you out with your education. Please, just accept my offer… and we can part ways."
I considered his words, my mind racing.
I bet he didn't know I sent him love letters and that he was my biggest fucking crush.
I played with the tiny pendant of my necklace, eyes lost in a daze, staring into space.
Then, I slanted my gaze toward him—only to find his locked on me. Watching. Searching. Wanting. Lusting.
Our eyes held. Neither of us blinked. I watched while he stayed, still and intense.
My hand moved before I could second-guess myself.
Without much hesitation, I leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.
Before I could pull away completely, his hand gently gripped my jaw, trying to kiss me back—but I pulled away again, just enough to watch his lips chase mine. Hungry and desperate.
Until, somehow, he was straddling me.
I held his gaze as it burned into mine. The hunger in his stare. The way his lips glistened, parted and needing.
I brushed a finger slowly across them and whispered silently in my head, "I've waited too… for this moment. The moment I never thought would come to be. The moment I still believe is a dream."
"We can't do this here," I whispered.
"Yeah," he murmured, biting down on his lower lip as his eyes flicked around the space. Then, he leaned back, slowly, like he didn't want to but knew he had to.
"Uhm. I'm lodged at Levels Hotel. Would you like to come over?" His voice was low, controlled. "I'll ask Tyler to bring you."
I considered his offer.
"My shift ends at 6."
"I'll be in by 6:15."
I swallowed. "Okay."
He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a sleek Z-Fold phone and a hotel keycard. The motion was casual, smooth—like he did this sort of thing all the time. He handed me the golden card.
"You can go in when you get there."
I took it, eyes fixed on the card.
"Levels Hotel. Penthouse key," it read.