Page 103 of The Backup Plan

“My God,” he says as he collapses on top of me, teeth grazing my collarbone, as he runs his hand up and down the one side of me his body isn’t covering.

His heart races against mine as our fingers link and breaths slowly shift from pants to even.

“Definitely better than orange slices and Gatorade,” he says.

And then we both laugh, because let’s face it, he’s not wrong.

Lucas

I wake up to her tucked against me like she never planned on leaving.

She stayed.

Her hair is a mess. One of her arms is draped across my chest, her hand fisted like she’s staking her claim. Her leg is hooked over mine, warm and solid.

For a second, I simply lie here with the sunlight spilling through the blinds and just breathe. Because this doesn’t feel like a mistake.

It feels dangerous in a way that makes my chest tighten. Not because I regret it, but rather because I don’t.

And that’s new.

Her lashes flutter, but her eyes don’t open yet. She shifts closer instead, tucking her face into the hollow of my neck like she knows it’ll fit there perfectly.

Definitely better than warm orange slices and Gatorade.

I swallow.

I’ve played through pain that made my vision blur. I’ve stood in stadiums so loud the roar rattled my bones. But this—waiting to see if she’s going to wake up and pull away or say this was a mistake—might be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Last night wasn’t a lapse in judgment. Or a weakness. Or something I’m already trying to forget.

“I’m sick of pretending this isn’t happening.”

Last night was what I’ve waited for. What we’ve waited for. Wanted. And was pretty damn incredible.

Unable to stop myself, I shift so I can brush my mouth against her temple. Gentle. Unrushed.

Yeah, it was sex last night, but lying here next to her, it feels like so much more than that, and I’m not exactly sure how that’s supposed to make me feel.

Her breath stutters. Then she smiles. It’s slow and sleep-drugged and already has my cock stirring.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice rough from sleep.

“Morning.”

Her eyes flutter open now. Brown and warm and searching my face like she’s bracing for something.

I don’t give her time to think. Or question. Or doubt.

“No regrets,” I state quietly. Unequivocally.

She studies me for a beat, like she’s deciding how honest she can be.

And the suspended silence as she does has my heart racing.

She snuggles in closer. “None,” she murmurs. “Just nerves.”

I nod. I get that. I run my thumb lightly along her arm to try and ground us both. “Whew. Because if you’d said yes, I was going to have to spend some serious time pretending I was fine with it.”