He’s not making jokes. Not making a move, though I wouldn’t say no, especially after that halftime show.Good Lord. But he knows it’s not the time. And that alone tells me—this is the Jensen I fell in love with.
The man who waited a month before we slept together. The man who memorized my coffee order after a single run-in at the coffee shop, before he even knew if he’d see me again. Theman who showered me with affection and attention. Who always knew what I needed, in every moment of every day.
I slide my arms around his back and tilt my chin up. “I just want to be with you. Talk. Snuggle. We can get ready for bed and then… will you just hold me?”
His lips twitch, one corner curving into that trademark smirk that always makes me feel more at ease.
“I’d love that, babe.” He rubs my shoulders, presses a kiss to my forehead, then threads his fingers through mine and leads me toward the bedroom. Down the hall.
My eyes flick to the office door, and a spark of panic taps against the edge of my peace.
As we near it, he slows, opens the door, and pushes it all the way until it’s flush against the wall.
A calm pours over me, my pulse steadying.Oh my God. He can’t possibly know how much that means to me. How much I needed it.
His hands come up to cup my face, his eyes meeting mine. “Office door stays open. Always.” He leans in, brushing his lips over mine—soft, tentative—then kisses me again, firmer this time but no tongue. Just quiet devotion.
“Let’s get ready for bed,” he says with a smile. Then, he smacks my ass with a low grunt, his bottom lip catching between his teeth.
I laugh, the sound coming easily, and it feels so damn good. It’s so natural. Images flash in my mind, ones of us laughing, teasing, and having fun. Ones I’d buried, because the bad always took over.
But not tonight.
Tonight’s about new beginnings. About moving forward and leaving the past where it belongs.
It’s dark.
Jensen’s fingers trace slowly back and forth, skimming the top of my breast. I’m turned on, but more than that, it just feels good—being wrapped in his arms, spooning. It’s my favorite way to cuddle: his chest pressed to my back, my head half on the pillow, half on his bicep. Every space between us sealed tight. His bottom arm draped over mine, my top arm holding his.
It’s intimate, warm, and the way we usually fall asleep after sex.
But we haven’t had sex.
“Is it worse to have me here andnothave sex than to have me at Scarlett’s?” I murmur.
“Nothing’s worse than not having you here.” His voice is low and gravelly, and it sends a slow vibration down my spine.
I tighten my hold on him. “I love this. Being held by you. It’s one of my favorite things.”
“I love holding you.”
I told him earlier I didn’t want to have sex tonight. Not because I don’t want to—God, I do—but because I needed to be here. Really be here. I wanted to feel our home. Feel Jensen. Feel everything without sex soothing my anxiety or giving me a false sense of security.
It’s worked. Everything about being here feels right. And damn, it feels good to be back in my own bed. Leo and Vivian’s is comfortable, but it’s not mine.
We’ve been reminiscing again. We talked about tonight, too, about Scarlett and Megan, and about Matt standing up for Jensen. That meant everything. Jensen asked if I was mad at him. Or at Scarlett.
I told him I wasn’t.
I’m not. Mad isn’t the right word. Frustrated, maybe? It was awkward and uncomfortable—very non-self-aware of Scarlett and Megan, but I get it. I just wish I hadn’t been in the middle of it all. The questions from Megan. Stuck between Jensen and Scarlett. I don’t blame any of them for their feelings, especially Scarlett.
I didn’t tell her much for a long time, and even after I did, it took me a while to open up fully. But in that last month before I left, when Jensen relapsed again and everything fell apart, she was one of my go-tos. I spent the night at her place more than once. Cried for hours on her couch. Told her things Jensen had done that I’ve never told anyone else. Not even Matt. And Matt knows more than anyone about what went on with Jensen.
Scarlett’s the person I called at Leo and Vivian’s when I had a rough day, which, in the beginning, was almost every day until I started getting closer to Cooper and Vivian.
She saw the pain. She heard the shit. She felt it too.
Jensen’s thumb grazes the pointed peak of my nipple. I’m in my pajamas, a silk cami set that barely covers my boobs, with cheeky shorts to match.
