“Well, that.” Jake dips his head close enough that our noses brush. “And I’ve been dying to kiss you all morning.”
“Then by all means, don’t let me stop you.”
I grin as he pulls me onto his lap to straddle him, using one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes move thoroughly across my face, as though he’s trying to memorize my features. Then he leans forward and presses his mouth to mine. A sound escapes my throat when his tongue parts my lips, sliding between them to taste me.
I’ve been kissed before, but not the way Jake kisses, which feels urgent and all-consuming. His hands slide down my body to grip my hips before he drags his mouth along my jawline and nips lightly at my throat. I let out a shaky cry as one hand dips lower.
“Jake,” I moan, and his eyes lock on mine as I rock against his lap, my breath growing labored until he leans forward to meet my lips again, and the world around me goes hazy.
THE DULL ACHE INmy neck slowly drags me back into consciousness. I lift my head, rolling it to relieve the pain, then blink in the darkness. Jake’s silhouette slowly materializes into view. He’s sitting upright, but his head has fallen back against the couch cushion, his chest rising and falling gently.
I lean over to grab my phone: 2:57A.M.I can’t believe we spent the entire day on this sofa. I blink the darkness into focus, wincing as my eyes drift over our empty wineglasses and the Vietnamese takeout containers littering the coffee table. I never let a mess sit for so long.
“Jake,” I whisper, nudging him lightly in the side. He groans softly but doesn’t move. I reach up to grab the blanket that’s pooled around his ankles and wrap it around his slumbering form. He exhales softly, and a hint of a smile plays on his lips. Without thinking, I brush back a dark lock of hair from his forehead.
I’m slipping into dangerous territory here, and I know it. Jake is traveling across the country next week, and who knows if I’ll even hear from him again when he gets back. Getting attached to him will only lead to heartbreak.
Sighing, I scan the apartment, attempting to see it through hiseyes. It was a beautiful space once. Any realtor would salivate over its hardwood floors and original crown moulding. But over the years, it’s steadily fallen into a state of disrepair. The dark, heavy furniture has been out of style for at least a decade, and the floral-print chairs, the height of fashion during the shabby-chic era, now look like they belong at a yard sale. One kitchen cabinet is dangling sadly from a loose hinge, a repair I’ve been meaning to tackle for months but have never gotten around to.
Truthfully, the entire apartment is in desperate need of updates. It’s been sorely neglected ever since my mom got sick. Even so, I can’t bring myself to change a thing. She designed every room herself, each lovingly curated detail still retaining her essence. How could I possibly erase her from it?
When I moved into my parents’ bedroom two years ago, I promised myself I’d donate some of her things, but I’ve always found excuses not to do it. It’s my room now, but at the same time, it’s still hers. The comforter on the sleigh bed no longer smells like her, but it’s still comforting to crawl underneath each night. Only now there’s a new scent, one that’s soapy and clean. I’m surprised how much I like the change.
“Jake,” I whisper again, shaking his arm lightly. “Wake up.” He groans as one corner of his mouth rises in a sleepy half smile, his eyes still shut tightly. “Let me sleep, you insatiable woman. I need to regain my strength.”
I shake my head as I slip my fingers through his, ignoring his protests as I drag him up to a sitting position. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
5
WHEN I AWAKE AGAIN,a stream of sunlight is pouring through my bedroom window. Dragging one eye open, I roll over to check my clock. It’s quarter to ten in the morning. I never sleep this late, and I feel like I’m on the bottom of the ocean. Propping myself up in a sitting position, I see Jake at the foot of my bed, slurping cereal out of a soup bowl.
“Hey, Edward Cullen, you always watch girls while they sleep?”
Jake pulls the spoon from his mouth and points in my direction, his eyes narrowed. “Only the ones I’m planning to murder.”
“Don’t you have an apartment to go home to?”
Jake shrugs. “Sure. But I’d rather stay here and hang out with you.”
I yawn, pulling back the covers. “Where do you live, anyway?”
“Brooklyn. South Slope. With three dudes who all think they’re the next John Mayer.” Jake tilts the bowl upward, slurping down the rest of the milk in one long gulp. He looks more adorable than ever first thing in the morning, white T-shirt rumpled, chestnut hair sticking up in every direction.
“How’re those Cheerios?”
He shrugs. “Incomparable to your blueberry pancakes, ofcourse. But I was starving, and I couldn’t bear to wake you. You looked too peaceful. Not to mention beautiful.”
Beautiful. My heart flutters at the sentiment, especially coming from the hottest man to ever grace my bedsheets.
“I think I can be persuaded to make another batch. But it’s going to cost you.”
Jake’s face breaks into a mischievous grin.
“Oh, Dorothy,” he moans, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he leans forward to brace his hands against the pillows behind me. I grab him by the neck of his T-shirt, tugging his body downward as he silences my laughter with kisses.
AN HOUR LATER, Ifinally cajole Jake out of bed with the promise of pancakes and a shower, followed by pasta and slow-cooked tomato sauce that simmers for the better part of the afternoon.
By the time it’s ready it’s nearly 6P.M., and the setting sun has cast long, tangerine-colored shadows that spill through the living room windows and across the wooden floors. Grabbing a pair of tongs, I remove the onion halves, carrots, and basil stems from the pot and toss them into the trash can. The air is potent with the warm smell of spices, making the apartment feel comforting and cozy. It’s been ages since I’ve done so much home cooking, and my heart swells with contentment.
