“Jack.” I was trying not to laugh. “You’re arguing with a dog.”
“He started it.”
Candy appeared in her doorway, arms crossed, watching the entire scene with an expression of profound amusement. She caught my eye and gave me a look—knowing, a little smug, the kind of look that said“I see exactly what’s happening here and I approve.”
I felt my face heat.
“Sorry about Meatball,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “He gets excited when his favorite person comes home.”
“His favorite person is supposed to be you,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, well.” She shrugged. “You’re more interesting. Also you give him cheese.”
“One time!”
“One time was enough. You’re his now.” She whistled. “Come on, Meatball. Let’s give the lovebirds some space.”
Meatball gave me one last adoring look, licked my hand, and trotted back to Candy’s apartment with his tail still wagging.
The door clicked shut behind them.
I looked up at Jack. He was watching me with that expression again—soft, a little dazed.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing. Just—” He shook his head. “You’re different with him. With Meatball.”
“Different how?”
“Happy.” He tucked a curl behind my ear. “I like seeing you like that.”
My throat went tight. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just took his hand and led him into my apartment, and if I held on a little tighter than necessary, he didn’t mention it.
CHAPTER 17
Jack
I woketo the sound of Pauline’s breathing—a kind of contentment I could get used to.
The bone-deep sense that the world had finally clicked into place, and I could stop running towards something—because it was here, wrapped around me, her hair tickling my nose and her cold feet somehow finding the warmest part of my legs.
The morning light was doing something to her skin—painting it warm, catching in her curls where they’d dried wild and untamed.
She was wearing my shirt. It had ridden up in her sleep, exposing the curve of her hip, and I had to physically stop myself from running my hand along that skin because waking her up seemed like a crime when she looked this peaceful.
I loved her in my clothes. I felt possessive satisfaction seeing her wrapped in something that was mine. It was primitive and probably ridiculous, but I didn’t care.
This was dangerous. This feeling. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and wanting to jump.
Her eyes opened and caught me staring. Again.
“What?” she mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.
“You talk in your sleep.”
“I do?”
“You do. You were giving very detailed instructions about something. Very… specific instructions.”
