My heart does that stupid flipping thing again. “Jax ...” I start, not sure what I’m going to say.
But then his hand slides to the back of my neck, and he pulls me in for a kiss, and all thoughts flee. The kiss is deep, slow, and thorough, tasting like maple syrup and something darker. When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“So,” he says, his voice rough. “You ready for that movie?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll clean up, and you get it ready. I spied a bag of popcorn in the cupboard. I’ll put it on.” As he gathers up our plates and takes them to the kitchen, I feel bad that he is waiting on me hand and foot, but it also feels so good to finally have someone look after me for once.
9
JAX
I’m in so much trouble.
Not the kind of trouble I’m trained for like mountainous terrain, fighting fires, medical emergencies, or cats stranded in trees. This is the kind of trouble that has me watching Sloane curl up on the couch in my flannel shirt, her hair still messy from our earlier sex episode, and I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling. This was supposed to be simple. Fun. A way to help her get over her dickhead ex while we waited out the storm. But watching her text her best friend, seeing that smile spread across her face, hearing her laugh, it’s doing things to my chest that have nothing to do with physical attraction.
“Popcorn’s ready,” I announce, carrying the bowl over to the couch.
She’s already queued up another Christmas movie, something about a baker and a widowed dad, and she’s looking at me with those dark eyes that seem to see right through all my bullshit. I settle onto the couch, and she immediately tucks herself into my side, fitting against me like she was made for it. We fall into comfortable silence as the movie starts, but I’m barely paying attention to the screen. I’m too focused on thewoman pressed against my side. The way she occasionally makes little comments about the plot. The way her breathing evens out as she relaxes. The way her hand rests on my chest, right over my heart. I should be panicking. Should be reminding myself that this is temporary. That in a day or two, the roads will clear, and she’ll go back to her life, and I’ll go back to mine. That this is just a blizzard bubble, not reality. But instead, I’m thinking about how I could get used to this. Coming home to her. Watching Christmas movies. Making her laugh. Making her come. Making her feel wanted, valued, and cherished.
Fuck.
“Jax?” she murmurs, tilting her head up to look at me.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For wanting to spend time with me ...” She trails off, her cheeks pinking.
My chest tightens. I hate that her ex made her doubt that. Hate that she needed someone else to show her what she should have always known.
“I’m no one special.” The words come out rougher than I intend, weighted with more feeling than I should be showing.
She stares at me for a long moment, those brows pulled together, something shifting in her expression. “I think you're special, Jax.” Then she leans up and kisses me, soft and sweet and tender in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with connection. My heart aches. When she pulls back, she settles against my chest again, and I wrap my arm around her, holding her close.
“This movie is terrible,” she says after a few minutes, but there’s affection in her voice.
“The worst,” I agree. “Want to turn it off?”
“No. I want to see if the baker ends up with the dad or the hunky contractor.”
I chuckle. “My money’s on the dad.”
“Obviously, the dad. Single parents always win. But my vote would be the contractor.” She giggles.
We watch in comfortable silence, and slowly, gradually, I feel her body go heavier against mine. Her breathing evens out. Her hand on my chest goes still. She’s fallen asleep. I look down at her, curled against me like a cat, and something in my chest cracks wide open. She looks peaceful. Soft. The stress and hurt that’s been etched into her features since I found her has smoothed away. Did I do that? Maybe not all of it, but some of it. I made her feel safe enough to let her guard down. To trust me. To sleep. And I’m absolutely, completely, irrevocably fucked. Because this isn’t just fun anymore. This isn’t just helping someone get over their ex. This is something deeper, something real, something that’s going to hurt like hell when it ends.
I should wake her up. Should take her to bed properly, let her sleep in comfort instead of being cramped up on the couch. But I don’t want to move. Don’t want to disturb this moment. Don’t want to risk her pulling away. So, I just sit here, holding her, watching the terrible movie, and trying not to think about what happens when the snow stops falling.
I must doze off, too, because I wake to the sound of something crashing outside. Not just wind … something heavy, metallic, violent. Sloane stirs against me, mumbling something incoherent.
“Shh,” I murmur, carefully extracting myself from under her. “Go back to sleep.” She makes a small sound of protest but settles back into the couch cushions, already half-asleep again.
Another crash, louder this time.
