180 Falling for Him
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Chapter 180 Falling for Him
I stood on my toes and pressed my mouth to his.
My lips touched the edge of his smile.
“Happy New Year.”
We left Midtown Crossing half an hour later.
Everything looked strange.
The streets were the same, but wrong.
My hands were numb from the cold.
My ears were still buzzing.
I couldn’t tell if it was the wind or my brain shorting out.
By the time we got back, my legs were cramping so badly I had to lean on the counter to get my boots off.
I nearly passed out in the shower.
The water was too hot, and I didn’t care.
I crawled into bed, shut the light, and stared at the ceiling.
I turned over once.
Twice.
Closed my eyes.
Opened them again.
My brain kept replaying Midtown–his face in the floodlights, the noise, the heat, the way my body slammed into his like I’d been waiting all year for it.
I kicked off the blanket and rolled onto my stomach
A knock came from the door.
Three short taps.
“Can I come in?” Ashton’s voice was quiet.
I sat up.
My hair stuck to the side of my cheek.
“Yeah. What’s wrong?”
He opened the door and stepped in, arms crossed like he didn’t trust himself not to touch anything.
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“I can’t sleep.”
I blinked at him. “Okay… and?”
“So I’m sleeping with you.”
I stared.
He added, calmly, “We can take my bed.”
“Can I say no? It’s not cold in here. The heating works fine.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Any other options?” I asked.
Ashton didn’t hesitate. “We take your bed.”
I stared at him.
He stared back like I’d already agreed.
I lasted about four seconds.
It was almost two in the morning.
I wasn’t asleep, but my body had started giving up.
“Fine. Stay here then.”
He crossed the room in two big strides, peeled back my duvet, and dropped onto the bed.
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He moved so fast I blinked at the ceiling for a second before the mattress dipped under his weight.
I reached over and switched off the lamp. “Go to sleep. It’s late.”
I didn’t feel weird.
Not at all.
My body didn’t tense.
I didn’t shift to the edge of the bed.
He lay next to me like it was normal.
Actually, it felt more normal than being alone.
The bed wasn’t huge, not like his back in Skyline.
If one of us turned, we’d end up on top of the other.
So I just gave up and rolled toward him.
His arm came around my waist like it’d been waiting.
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He held me like he’d done it a hundred times before
I’d spent an hour failing to sleep.
Now I lay against his chest and yawned.
Just before I drifted off, I saw Midtown again.
His face under the lights, the crush of people, the fireworks.
That kiss.
***
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I didn’t go anywhere for the next two days.
I stayed inside and worked.
Drew until my fingers cramped.
Reviewed my old notes.
Sorted through reference shots I’d ignored for weeks.
The contest deadline was too close to screw around.
Ashton stayed too.
Barefoot most of the time, wearing T–shirts and living on coffee.
I asked him why he wasn’t working.
He shrugged it off every time, then muttered something about a stalled project and no new tasks.
I didn’t press.
I liked the quiet.
My favorite spot was the swing in the back garden.
I went out there every evening with a mug of ginger tea, let the wind hit my legs, and rocked until I forgot I was supposed to be stressed,
The chain creaked with every swing, the breeze smelled like pine and wet soil, and the air made my skin cool and tight.
The house in Skyline had a swing too, but it had been too cold to use.
In Riverbend, the evenings were warmer. The breeze didn’t bite.
The swing here was built for two. Wide seat, solid frame, faded white paint along the armrest.
Sometimes I sat there alone, with a pencil between my fingers and my sketchbook open on my lap.
Sometimes Ashton joined me.
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The air moved slowly back here. No car horns. No alerts pinging on our phones every three minutes.
We’d left all of that behind.
I used to catch myself staring at him when we sat out there.
His profile was sharper in the low light, jawline shallowed, the sun casting an orange streak across his cheekbone.
His hands always rested loosely on his knees.
His lips didn’t move unless I spoke first.
I wished time could stand still, freeze at this moment, in this house, forever.
I’d told myself not to feel anything. Not to fall for him first.
But I couldn’t stop.
Somewhere between the silence and the space he gave me, I’d stopped watching and started wanting.
I was falling for him. No–already fallen.
And I wasn’t naive enough to call it anything else.
I told myself I’d deal with it after the competition.
I’d give him a proper answer.
***
January third. The day of the finals.
Eight hours, nine a.m. to five p.m., no breaks, no stepping out.
Twenty of us had made it this far.
Best of the best, supposedly.
Each of us had our own cubicle. No phones. No talking. No peeking at anyone else’s desk.
We had to sketch a full design from scratch.
After that, we’d present our concept and get our first score.
Then the judges would go behind closed doors, argue, and come back with a second one.
The scores were weighted. First and second rounds combined.
Winner takes all.
The venue was a fancy conference center on the eas edge of Riverbend, glass everywhere, heating too high, lobby packed with brand sponsors pretending they weren’t watching.
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Ashton drove me there.
We arrived at eight sharp.
I sat in the passenger seat, clutching the strap of my bag.
“I think I’m a little nervous,” I said, staring at the building like it might bite.
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