And he’s mine.
The snowstorm was still going strong, roads getting worse by the minute, so when dinner wrapped up, Jason insisted Thomas and I come back to his place for the night instead of trying to drive home.
Which is how I ended up in Jason’s guest room while Thomas got exiled to the couch downstairs—both of us texting like teenagers until well past midnight. We agreed to wait until morning to tell Jason about us, so we had to get through the rest of the night pretending nothing had changed. Pretending we weren’t dying to sneak off and jump each other.
I slip out of bed, wincing at the dull ache in my hips. The memory of what caused that soreness makes my face heat, and I have to pause in the middle of the room and take a breath.
Jason’s definitely still asleep—he never wakes up before nine on weekends, and after all those birthday drinks last night, probably closer to ten today. Which means I might get Thomas to myself for a little bit. Even if it’s just to kiss him good morning.
I pull on my sweatpants and the soft gray sweater I keep at Jason’s for sleepovers, then sneak into the bathroom to brush my teeth. My reflection is…not ideal. Hair sticking up, pillow creases on my cheek, deep under-eye circles. I try finger-combing the chaos into something passable, fail, and give up. Thomas has seen worse.
Still—now that we’re dating, I find myself caring a little more about bedhead than I used to.
I splash cold water on my face and head downstairs as quietly as I can. The steps creak under my weight, and I wince with every one, hoping Jason’s still dead asleep.
As I hit the bottom, I smell fresh coffee and hear movement in the kitchen. My stomach flips.
Thomas stands with his back to me, still in yesterday’s jeans and navy sweater—the one that fits him like it was made for him—fussing with Jason’s overcomplicated coffee machine. His hair’s damp from a shower, curling slightly at the back.
“Morning,” I say. My voice comes out way too soft.
He turns, and the way his face lights up makes my knees go unreliable.
“Hey.” His sounds lighter than usual, almost giddy.
We pause, grinning at each other across the kitchen, until he walks straight to me. His hands find my waist, and he kisses me—slow at first, then deeper, and I melt right into him.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips.
I laugh quietly, sliding my hands up his chest. “It’s been six hours.”
“Way too long,” he says, and kisses me again.
His mouth tastes like toothpaste, and his body’s warm and solid against mine. He walks me backward until I hit the wall, his hands sliding from my waist to my hips, tugging me closer. I can feel his heartbeat picking up—just as fast as mine.
“Thomas,” I murmur, suddenly all dizzy and pliant.
The kiss shifts, turns hungry. One of his hands moves to the small of my back, then lower, squeezing. The other cups my face, tilting it just right. A soft sound escapes me—half sigh,half moan—and Thomas answers with a low growl that rumbles through his chest.
“Fuck,” I gasp as his lips trail down my jaw, my neck.
He’s hard against my hip, and the realization sends a jolt straight through me. His hand moves from my ass to the front of my pants, palming me through, and for a second I forget how to speak.
“Not here,” I manage, though it physically hurts to push him back even an inch. “Jason might wake up.”
He blinks, like he genuinely forgot, then steps back, flushed and breathless, eyes dark. “Sorry,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. “Got carried away.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say quickly. “It’s not that I don’t want to—”
“I know,” Thomas says, cutting me off with another kiss. He exhales, then shifts uncomfortably, adjusting himself in his jeans with a grimace that makes me laugh.
He nods toward the coffee machine behind him. “Want some coffee?”
“God, yes,” I say, grateful for the distraction.
He pours me a mug and hands it over. I take a sip, the warmth hitting instantly. Jesus, I love coffee.
“So,” Thomas says, leaning against the counter and watching me over the rim of his cup, “what’s the plan for today?”
