S O P H I A H O N E Y

"THIS BOOK DOESN'T MAKE SENSE," I say, shoving a handful of chips into my mouth as I scroll through my Kindle.

After the long day I had-gathering a bunch of information about my new job, or slavery as Blair likes to call it-I came back to the apartment, eager to have a Netflix-and-chill night all to myself. The girls had invited me over to their dorm, even suggested a sleepover, and while I knew it would be fun, I'm too used to my alone time to say yes. So now, here I am.

I've been here for a couple of minutes.

Okay, maybe hours.

"She's so dumb," I mutter to myself, growing increasingly frustrated with the book I'm reading. This is the fourth one today, and out of all the female characters I've encountered, this one has to be the craziest. Wanting to get laid next to her parents' room? That's next-level reckless. Even thinking about doing the same in her place would freak me the hell out.

Being the good girl is exhausting sometimes. Maybe that's why I read books like this-living vicariously through these fictional characters. But even then, the reality of actually doing something like that? Still terrifying.

Maybe this is a sign that I need a good fuck.

My first time was bad enough, which probably explains why I'm like this. But how do I even get laid when I have no clue what to do or how to go about it?

I sigh, shutting my Kindle and setting it beside me as I lean back against the couch. My gaze flickers between the clock on the wall and the front door.

Three in the morning.

And Theo's still not back.

I expected him to show up at some point, maybe a few hours after I got home, all smug and annoying, demanding to know why I was at the rink. But for the past several hours, he's been out.

It's not unusual for him to be out late, but this late? By now, he'd usually be home, either watching a movie or working out, sticking to his usual routine.

My eyes land on my phone, resting on the coffee table.

I sit up, reaching for it-then quickly pull my hand back.

What am I doing?

Am I seriously thinking about calling him? Why should I? He's probably at some club, wasting his time, drinking, and maybe looking for chicks.

The classic playboy outing.

Just as I shake off the thought, my phone starts ringing, the suddenness making me jolt. My heart hammers as I glance at the screen.

Theo.

Why is he calling me? Does he want to gloat about how much fun he's having?

I slide to ignore and slump back against the couch, grabbing my Kindle again. But before I can even open the book, my phone rings again.

I groan, swiping to accept. "What?" I snap. "Why are you call-"

"Hey, Soph, it's Logan."

"Oh." I pause, taken aback. "Umm... hey, Logan." A beat of silence. "What are you doing with Theo's phone? Is everything okay?"

Why am I worrying about Theo? I should calm down and let Logan talk.

"Oh, yeah, he's just-Theo, stop that!" Logan shouts away from the phone, his voice strained. "Could you open the door, Soph? We just got out of the elevator."

"Oh, alright."

I stand up and head to the front door, unlocking it just as Logan and Theo stumble inside. Logan is practically holding Theo up as they make their way in, Theo swaying heavily. Then, after a few steps, Theo shrugs out of Logan's hold and sits down on the floor, his back hitting the wall.

"For fuck's sake, Theo!" Logan mutters under his breath, crouching beside him. He grips Theo's arm, trying to pull him up, but Theo doesn't budge.

"Get the fuck up," Logan hisses, yanking again.

Theo groans, sliding his arm away and shifting to the other side.

"Logan?" I whisper, stepping closer. "What's going on?"

I glance at Theo, who's grinning like a fool, eyes shut.

"What's wrong with him?"

Logan exhales sharply, pushing strands of hair away from his face. "Nothing. Just him acting like this when he drinks too much."

"He's drunk?" I look at Theo again, noticing how red his face is. "His face looks like a monkey's butt." I bite my lip, holding back a laugh.

Logan chuckles. "He always has a monkey butt face, by the way."

I'm this close to laughing out loud.

"I can hear you guys," Theo mumbles, his voice low but clear. "And I don't have a butt face."

Slowly, he opens his eyes but I can tell it takes effort.

I kneel in front of him, catching the faint scent of alcohol. His whole demeanor makes me think about how I behaved last week when I got drunk.

Was I worse?

Or better?

I sure hope I was the latter.

I stare at Theo, watching as he lazily tilts his head back against the wall, blinking slowly like the effort of keeping his eyes open is just too much.

Logan stands up, stretching his arms. "Well, I should probably head out."

I whip my head toward him. "What?" My voice comes out more panicked than I intend, and Logan just raises an eyebrow.

"I have to head out," he repeats, "The other guys are drunk as well and I need to drop them off at their dorms. They are lucky enough that Coach gave us a break or else."

"You're seriously just gonna leave him like this?" I gesture wildly at Theo, who is now poking at the floor as if it holds the secrets of the universe. "What if he- I don't know-does something stupid? Shouldn't we get him to bed or something?"

I should not be worrying over this.

I should be getting my phone and taking a picture of him acting this way and making fun of it throughout the week.

Yet I'm not.

Logan shakes his head. "It's a waste of time, Soph. Trust me. This isn't his first rodeo of acting this way. He'll sleep it off right there and get up when he's ready."

I gape at him. "So, what? I'm just supposed to leave him on the floor?"

"Yup," Logan says, popping the p.

I glance down at Theo again. His eyes are closed, but his lips are twitching like he's trying not to smile.

"Okay then." I mutter even though I'm not enough the thought of him lying on the floor.

Did I mention the floor is cold?

"Don't think too much Soph." Logan claps me on the shoulder. "He'll get up. Eventually."

I glare at him, but he just grins. "Good luck, Soph," he teases, already backing toward the door.

"Wait, Logan-"

"Night!" he calls before slipping out and shutting the door behind him.

I turn back to Theo with a sigh, kneeling in front of him again. He's still resting against the wall, looking completely at ease.

I nudge his knee lightly. "Theo."

Nothing.

I poke his arm. "Theo, come on, you should at least-"

"Sophia," he murmurs, his voice soft and heavy with exhaustion.

I freeze. He rarely ever calls me by my full name. It's always Soph or Sophie.

"What?" I ask, my voice quieter now.

He finally cracks one eye open, staring at me like I'm the most interesting thing in the world. "You're freaking out."

"I am not freaking out," I argue.

He smirks lazily. "Liar."

I groan. "Theo, seriously, at least get up and go to your bed. The floor is not comfortable."

"Feels fine to me." He stretches out his legs, proving his point.

I throw my hands up in frustration. "I swear you're more annoying when drunk."

Theo chuckles, the sound deep and warm, and for some reason, it makes my stomach turn.

And not in a bad way.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Fine. Sleep there. But don't complain when you wake up with a stiff neck."

He grins. "Would you fix it for me?"

I roll my eyes. "Theo, just get up."

"No."

"Theo..."

"Sophia...."

I huff, placing my hands on my hips as I glare down at Theo. He's still sprawled against the wall, looking way too comfortable for someone sleeping on the floor.

"Okay, that's it," I mutter. "You're getting up."

"No," he mumbles without even opening his eyes.

"Yes," I argue, grabbing his arm and attempting to drag him up. But of course, he doesn't budge.

"Theo, get up,” I demand, putting more strength into tugging his arm.

“Nope,”

“Oh my God, why are you even worse now?”

I grit my teeth, digging my heels into the floor as I pull with everything I have. For a moment, it feels like he’s actually moving—until his hand closes around my wrist and before I can process what's happening, I lose my balance, stumbling forward.

When I look up, I realize just how close I am. His face is right there, only inches away. His fingers are wrapped around my wrist, holding me in place.

I take in the lazy, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes-half-lidded from exhaustion and alcohol-glint with mischief.

"Thought you were dragging me, Soph?" His voice is lower, teasing.

My heartbeat kicks hard against my ribs. Suddenly, I’m too aware of everything—the warmth of his breath fanning across my skin, the heat radiating off him, the sharp tug in my stomach that I don’t want to name.

I swallow, forcing my voice steady. “Let go of me, Theo.”

"And if I don't?"

I blink, completely thrown off by his words. Did he just-

"Theo, you're drunk," I say slowly, trying to keep my voice steady even though my entire body feels like it's burning up.

He hums in response, his head tilting slightly as he looks at me, eyes heavy-lidded. "I'm not. You are."

"Let me go." I demand but he shakes his head.

"No."

"Theo."

"No."

A frustrated sigh slips from me as I rack my brain for a way out of this ridiculous tug-of-war. Before I can come up with anything, he shifts closer, lowering his head until his forehead rests against my shoulder.

The sudden contact steals the air from my lungs. My whole body locks tight, pulse hammering as his breath warms the side of my neck.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, his nose brushing against my collarbone. The soft nudge sends a shiver racing through me, sharp and involuntary.

Heat floods my cheeks, my thoughts scattering like broken glass. He has no idea what he’s doing to me—what kind of chaos he’s stirring inside me.

Okay, nope. I need to get out of this.

“Theo—” I start, but his grip tightens.

“Don’t go.” His voice is softer now, stripped of all teasing. Almost… pleading.

I go still, the fight draining from me. “Theo…”

“Please.” The word falls from him like it costs him something. “Don’t leave me too.”

My frustration fades as something heavier settles over me. There's something in his voice-something raw. Broken.

I glance down at him, searching his face. His usually sharp features are softened with exhaustion, his lips slightly parted, his brows furrowed like he's trying to hold something back.

I feel my heart squeeze.

Who left him?

“Theo…” I say softly, placing my free hand over his. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Just… let go.”

But he only shakes his head. “No. You’ll leave me. Like they did.”

My breath hitches. Whoever they are, they left him scarred enough to still be gripping onto the ghost of it.

I bite my lip, trying to think of what to do. He’s not in his right mind, and I don’t want to push him when he’s like this.

“Theo, we can’t stay on the floor,” I reason gently. “I’m cold.”

He shifts, pulling back just enough for me to see his face clearly.

And the sight makes my stomach twist.

He looks… broken.

The cocky arrogance I’m used to is gone. No smirk, no teasing edge. Just a boy who looks like the weight of the world is pressing down on him.

“You’re cold?” he asks quietly.

I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. And you will be too if you don’t get in bed.”

He shrugs faintly. “I don’t mind the cold.”

I narrow my eyes at him, refusing to let him brush it off. “Well, I do.”

For a second, his lips twitch like he might smile. But it fades as quickly as it comes, replaced by something darker. “…It’s not like I’ll sleep if I go to bed.”

The words stop me in place.

I pause, my frustration melting away. "You won't sleep?"

He shakes his head, a tiny, helpless motion.

I hesitate, my heart aching as he leans in again. This time, before his forehead can rest against me, I press my hand gently to his skin to stop him.

His brows furrow, and he pouts like a child denied something simple.

"I'm cold," he states, and I almost groan. That's what I've been saying this entire time!

"That's why I said you should go to bed," I remind him.

"I'll still be cold if I go to bed." His voice is quieter now, almost slurred. His eyes look so tired. "I don't like sleeping alone."

Something inside me clenches at that.

I open my mouth, then close it. I don't know what to say.

I should tell him to suck it up. I should tell him that I definitely won't be sticking around just because he suddenly hates being alone.

Instead-

"Then get a teddy bear," I blurt out.

He blinks, like he wasn't expecting that response.

I wasn't expecting that response.

Then, before I can backtrack-

"Will you be the bear?"

My brain short-circuits.

"What?" I whisper, completely thrown off.

He stares at me, his expression open and serious in the most unserious way. "You said I should get a bear since I'm cold. But you feel warm. So... can you be my bear?"

I gape at him.

Did he just-?

No. Absolutely not.

"Theo," I start, voice strained, "I am not going to be your teddy bear."

"But you're warm," he murmurs, like that explains everything.

I sigh, trying once again to pry his hand off my wrist, but he doesn't budge. He's strong even when he's drunk, and it's beyond frustrating.

"I don't care if you're drunk. I'll hit you if you don't let go."

He doesn't. Instead, he buries his face in my shoulder again, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

"You also smell good," he mutters.

Oh, hell no.

My body feels like it's overheating, every nerve hyperaware of how close he is.

"Theo," I warn, "if you don't let go then I'll.... I'll bite you." Bite you? Really?

"I don't mind." He says and I know he's smirking.

Why did Logan leave me with this version of Theo?

"I don't like sleeping alone," he says again and I sigh.

"Then get a-"

"I know. A teddy bear," he interrupts, smirking slightly. "Which is why I asked if you could be mine."

"No," I say firmly.

Theo frowns, his grip on my hand loosening before he finally lets go. Without another word, he lies down on the cold floor.

I cross my arms. "You should get up and go to bed."

His eyes flick up to me, and despite his drunken state, there's something clear about his expression. "Will you join me?"

I exhale sharply, frustration bubbling up. "Goodnight, Theo." Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel, walk into my room, and shut the door behind me with a little more force than necessary.

Collapsing onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling, annoyed. My things are still in the living room, but I don't care. I shut my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it doesn't come.

Why do I even care? If he wants to freeze out there, that's on him. I'm not sharing a bed with him-that was never on my agenda tonight.

But he helped you when you were drunk too, a little voice in my head reminds me.

I scowl. Yeah, but I didn't ask him to sleep in the same bed as me.

I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. Just sleep, damn it!

Minutes pass and I am still tossing and turning, my mind refusing to quiet down. No matter how many times I flip the pillow or curl tighter into the blanket, I can’t shake the restless pull inside me. The silence feels too loud, too heavy, pressing against my chest until I can’t take it anymore.

I sigh, press my lips together, and finally force myself to get up. Each step toward the door feels like giving up a battle with myself, like betraying my own stubbornness. But I push it open anyway.

Theo is still where I left him, stretched out on the floor. His eyes are closed now. Relief loosens the knot in my chest. At least he’s asleep.

“Stop staring at me,” he mumbles without even opening his eyes.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I clear my throat, crossing my arms. "Get up." I take a deep breath. "Let's go inside."

His lashes lift, his gaze finding mine. And then his whole face changes. His eyes brighten, his expression lighting up like a little kid being told he gets one more gift. “For real?”

Why does he look so happy over something so small?

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, stepping closer. I grab his hand, tugging, but he rises effortlessly, like my help was unnecessary. The corner of my mouth twitches into something dangerously close to a glare.

Cunning bastard.

“So…” I hesitate, not sure I want the answer. “Which room are you—”

“Yours.”

Of course.

We walk the short distance, my nerves sparking like live wires. When we reach my room, my eyes dart around quickly, making sure nothing humiliating is in plain sight. Once I’m satisfied, I motion toward the bed.

Theo climbs in with an ease that unnerves me, stretching out like he belongs there. I hover near the door, part of me itching to retreat. But then he speaks.

“Sophie.” His voice is slower, softer now. He shifts, patting the space beside him. “Lie down.”

“You’re warm now,” I argue, clinging to the excuse like a lifeline. “The bed will help you sleep—”

"It doesn't." His voice is sharp, cutting through my excuse. He may be drunk, but in this moment, he sounds completely sober. "I want you in the bed."

"But..."

"Please stay, Soph." He sits up slightly, looking right at me. "I need this."

The way he says it makes something inside me falter. I don’t know what to do with the sudden heaviness in his voice. My chest tightens, and I hate that I can’t look away from him.

I move slowly, climbing onto the bed as though it might bite me. I lie stiffly on the far edge, putting as much space between us as the mattress allows. My whole body hums with tension, every muscle braced.

This is fine, I tell myself. It's just one night. He's drunk, clearly going through something, and I'd feel like the worst person alive if I let him freeze on the floor.

I keep my back turned to him, facing the wall, my arms curled close to my chest as I try to steady my heartbeat.

It's fine.

I shut my eyes.

...But then I hear movement.

A shift of fabric. The faint creak of the mattress.

And then-

Warmth.

My breath catches as I feel him inch closer, his body heat radiating against my back.

No. No, no, no.

“Theo—” I start, ready to roll away, but then his forehead presses gently against my shoulder.

I don't move. I can't move. Every thought in my head collapses into silence. My skin prickles, my breath stuck in my chest.

His breath is warm against my skin as he exhales slowly, his fingers gripping the blanket between us.

"I just..." His voice is so quiet, so unlike his usual confident self. "...I don't want to be alone tonight."

I should say something. Tell him to move. Tell him to stop. But my throat won’t work. The truth is, I’m not just afraid of him being this close. I’m afraid of what it does to me. Of how easily his vulnerability cuts through my defenses.

So I stay still. My eyes burn into the wall, trying to pretend my heart isn’t a wild, frantic drumbeat. I should push him away. I should protect myself.

But I don’t.

The silence stretches, heavy but fragile. Minutes drag by.

“…Soph?”

My fingers clutch the sheets. “Yeah?”

There’s a pause, long enough that I almost think he’s fallen asleep.

Then, in the softest whisper, “Thank you.”

The ache in my chest deepens, sharp and unfamiliar.

I close my eyes, forcing my face to stay calm, pretending none of this touches me.

But it does.

And the scariest part isn’t him.

It’s me.