Jesus, Jax. Have some decorum. He is likely traumatized from the dinner.
Dr. Jax O’Connell(6:54 AM):
Traumatized? Please. He’s doing exactly what we did after the Christmas Gala. Remember? When you ‘forgot’ your pager in the on-call room and we didn’t leave until you were walking like a baby giraffe?
My face creates its own thermal energy. I type with thumb-banging ferocity.
Preston York(7:21 AM):
I AM REPORTING YOU BOTH TO HR. ALSO, I AM ALIVE. STOP DISCUSSING MY SEX LIFE. I AM GOING TO BUY THE HOSPITAL AND FIRE YOU.
Dr. Jax O’Connell(7:22 AM):
Aww, look at him using all caps. He’s definitely naked. Have fun, Princess. Don't pull a hamstring, make sure you stop for stretching.
Maxwell York(7:23 AM):
Please ensure you are hydrated. And Preston? Fix your hair. I can sense it from here.
I throw the phone onto the pile of clothes.
"I hate this family," I whisper. "I hate everyone except the man currently occupying the bed outside this door."
I look in the mirror.
“Oh god,” I whisper.
My hair is standing up in a fin. There is a smudge of something—taco sauce? Lubricant? A mixture of both?—on my collarbone. My eyes are puffy.
This will not do.
I spend the next twenty minutes engaged in high-stakes crisis management. I wash my face with Luke’s bar soap (which smells like pine and makes my skin feel tight, but beggars can’t be choosers). I finger-comb my hair until it looks "artfully tousled" rather than "electrocuted." I use a dab of toothpaste on my finger to scrub away the morning breath.
And then, I attend to the… logistics.
I clean myself up. Thoroughly. Because while last night was spontaneous and frantic and mind-blowing, this morning? I have a plan. And that plan involves waking Luke up in a way that ensures I don't have to wear pants until at least noon.
As I’m rinsing off, I catch my own reflection again. I look… giddy.
Stop it,I tell myself.You are Preston York. You do not gush.
But I am gushing. Internally.
I think about the guys I dated at prep school. The ones at St. Andrews. It was always a transaction. They liked the dinners. They liked the weekends in the Hamptons. They likedthe idea of being "York-adjacent." I never knew if they were looking at me or at the credit limit on my Amex.
But Luke?
Luke threatened my father. Luke drove a rusty wedge into the York family dynasty just to defend me. He didn't want the Black Card; he wanted the Black Binder.
He wantsme. The messy, neurotic, over-caffeinated Spare.
A terrifying thought hits me:I think I’m in love with him.
“No,” I whisper to the shower curtain. “Too soon. That is Stage 5 Clinger behavior. Do not say it. Do not be weird. Just go have sex.”
I take a deep breath. I splash cold water on my face one last time. I check the mirror.
Tousled hair? Check. Flush on cheeks? Check. Ready for round two? Check.
