He places his palm low on my waist, steadying me, drawing me the tiniest bit closer.
“Taking you inside,” he murmurs. “What else would I be doing?”
I should protest, but I don’t. I lean into him instead, my body choosing for me. “Lottie must be sleeping,” I whisper as I lock the door behind us then turn to face him. “You don’t have to walk me to my bedroom, you know.”
He gives me a look that is entirely too confident and entirely too soft at the same time.
“Madeline,” he says softly. “I’m not leaving you on your birthday. I’m staying. It’s not up for debate.”
He pulls me quietly through the dim living room down the narrow hall, looking for my bedroom. When I nod in the direction of mine, he pushes the door open and steps inside.
“Which side do you prefer?” he asks simply gesturing to my bed.
He doesn’t even pause. He begins to undress, his belt hitting the chair followed by his shirt, which he grabs by the hem and peels over his head. My mouth actually waters when I see the V of muscles at his hips.
He stands there with his carved pecs and chiselled abs stealing every breath from my lungs. When he takes off his pants and is left in nothing but a pair of black Cove boxer briefs, I swear my legs shake.
“Jesse, my bed is tiny,” I protest weakly. “You really don’t need to stay.”
He steps closer, fingers hooking in the hem of my shirt, tugging me toward him. “I don’t care if it’s the size of a postage stamp,” he says. “I’m not leaving you tonight. It’s your birthday. Also, we should probably talk about that.”
He lifts my shirt, and my arms automatically rise over my head as he slips the fabric over my head. He skims his hands into the waistband of my pants, pulling them down over my hips before he helps me step out of them one foot at a time. The air hits my skin first, then his gaze hits harder.
He frames my face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping along my cheekbones, tilting my head so I’m looking directly at him.
“Mads. It’s your birthday. You didn’t think that might be something I’d want to know?”
“It’s really not a big deal,” I insist, trying to keep my voice light as I rub my hands over the backs of his arms.
“Not a big deal?” His voice drops. “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday.”
I shrug one shoulder, trying to ignore the heat crawling up my neck. “I’ve never really celebrated it.”
His brows pull together. “What do you mean you’ve never celebrated it?”
I give him a tiny, embarrassed laugh. “People just…tend to forget. I don’t usually remind anyone.”
He goes very still.
“Did your parents call you today?” he asks, but his tone makes it clear that he already knows he won’t like the answer.
“No.”
“Mads.” His jaw flexes. “Did they text? Anything?”
I shake my head. “They almost never remember.” And then, because old habits die hard, I try to brush it off. “It’s honestly fine?—”
“It’snotfine.” The edge in his voice is razor sharp. “You deserve a whole damn parade today.”
I laugh. “It honestly doesn’t bother me that my parents forgot.”
“Mads.” He drags a hand down his face, torn between fury at my parents and absolute disbelief at me. “Mads, it’s not okay that your parents forgot. But I don’t give a damn about them. I care aboutyou.And if I’d known today was your birthday, I would have shown up for you. I would have taken you to dinner. I would have made the whole day all about you because that’s what you deserve.”
“Jesse—"
He cuts me off by tilting my face up and pressing his mouth to mine in a soft, lingering kiss that makes my knees go weak.
“You have to stop saying such sweet things to me,” I whisper.
