This isn’t the side of the bed I’m used to; I’m not particularly picky, but Jackson likes the left, so I’m always left with the right.
But I’m glad this guy didn’t take the left side; it’d make things even weirder if he were in Jackson’s spot.
I don’t really notice it happening, because my thoughts have switched to Jackson and the events of tonight. I hope he got what he needed from Bathroom Girl—scratched the itch, or however the hell he puts it. I’m not sure why he always waits for it all to just build and build until he’s finally so hard-up that only a quickie in a public bathroom can relieve the craving. It’d make a hell of a lot more sense for him to just have sex more often. But it’s his life and I’m not going to judge. That’s not something we do.
“Mmm…night, Sky.”
Thoughts of Jackson are washed away by the intrusion of the semi-strange voice, and the feel of an unfamiliar body clinging to me like a fucking barnacle.
What. The. Fuck?
I glance down to see Jersey Coyote has shifted to his side and is snuggled right up against my body, his head nuzzling against my shoulder and his arm thrown across my chest.
“Dude, no, we arenotcuddling,” I say firmly, doing my best to maintain a level of politeness.
He doesn’t answer, though, instead just snuggling in closer and mumbling something I can’t make out.
I give him a little nudge, starting to get really annoyed now. “Hey…um—” Shit, what the hell is his name? Boyd…? Or Lloyd…? Or Troy…? Damn, it was so loud in that bar, and frankly I didn’t really care enough to pay attention when he introduced himself.
“Seriously, you need to move. This is really not cool,” I growl. “Haven’t you heard of personal space?”
But then I realize the reason he’s not responding is because he’s already asleep.
Fucking hell.
I consider shaking him awake and telling him to back the fuck off, or get the fuck out, but I really can’t be bothered dealing with whatever his reaction is going to be. Either he’ll be embarrassed, or he’ll think I’m overreacting, or he’ll try to make a move—which I’d probably respond to because my dick seems to suffer from amnesia. Whatever the outcome, I don’t want it. I just want to bail on the hook-up like I usually do, and like I should have done ten minutes ago.
I carefully pry Jersey’s arm from my chest and slowly shift my body away from him until I’m clear enough to set his arm down on the mattress and climb out of bed. I glance back and see he hasn’t woken, and is now snuggling against the pillow I was just using instead. Works for me.
I tiptoe across my bedroom and slip out the door, breathing a sigh of relief once I’m on the other side. I cross the living room to Jackson’s door and push it open a crack, peering inside to double check that he’s actually alone.
The room’s dark, but there’s only one figure in the bed and definitely nothing remotely X-rated happening, so unlike me he didn’t change up his usual routine tonight.
I enter the room and close the door behind me, stepping quietly over to the bed and getting in on the right side—my side.
Jackson’s on his side, facing away from me, so once I’m under the covers I snuggle in against his back, linking my arm around his bare torso and hugging gently.
“Isn’t there a guy in your bed?” he mumbles.
“That’s why I’m in yours.”
“That makes sense.”
“He wanted to cuddle after I fucked him,” I explain, unable to keep the distaste from my voice. “It was so gross.”
“Says the guy currently spooning his best friend,” Jax says in a dry tone.
“You’re different. And I didn’t just cum in your ass,” I point out. “Sex and cuddling don’t go together. Sex is for hook-ups. Cuddling is for us.”
“You might be onto something. Although I think Deacon would disagree,” he says wryly.
This is true. I’ve been friends with Deacon since our first year of college and it’s always both baffled and amazed me how avidly he equates sex with intimacy and emotional connection. Or maybe I’m the weird one for thinking sex should just be sex. But why would I need it to be anything more? If I need an emotional connection, I have it right here.
“That’s because Deacon doesn’t have a Jackson,” I say, nuzzling my forehead into Jax’s back.
“Hmm…”
“What?” I ask, my brows furrowing in response to that thoughtful noise. I wish I could see his expression right now.
