Page 25 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

Times change.

The wind still blows.

Ivy

What a Difference a Day Makes

Jensen rolls over nextto me and his hand lands on my pillow, inches from my face. He’s out. I’ve been looking at my phone for ten minutes, and this is the first time he’s moved.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “Let’s get up and go get some coffee.”

He mumbles in his sleep.

I sit up and play with his hair. He groans and rolls his head away, but it’s not out of my reach, so I playfully scratch all over his scalp until he opens one eye.

“Coffee shop’s open.”

“We were there until one in the morning.”

“No. That was the community center. The coffee shop was closed until twenty minutes ago. Totally different thing.”

“It’s in the same place.”

“But last night it had wine. This morning, it has coffee. And baked goods. Let’s go get some.”

“Show me your tits.”

I’m naked. One yank and he could see them easily enough.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

I tease the sheet back and forth across my chest. He opens his second eye. Rocking the fabric lower, I go slow. So slow.

A grin replaces his grumpy face. “You have a mean streak, you know that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’ve barely revealed the top swells of my breasts.

He yanks the sheet down and lunges for me. I squeal and squirm, grappling for the hem that I have no chance of retaking from him. Pinning my arms above my head, he kisses his way down my neck and continues downward until his mouth reaches my nipple.

I stop feigning resistance and enjoy the heat of his tongue, the warm suction he’s settling into. This is nice. But we just did this six hours ago. And I really need coffee.

“While you’re getting comfortable there, I’m getting cranky up here. You better caffeinate me soon.”

His messy hair and sleepy eyes are almost irresistible.

“You think this is comfortable?” His erection pokes my thigh. Laughter from me is not the reaction he’s seeking, but I can’t help it. He’s so predictable I felt this move before he made it.

“I’m sore from last night.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel bad? Because if I’m being honest, it feels more like an ego stroke.” He raises his eyebrows.

“No strokes for you until after I’ve had coffee.”

He releases my wrists, shaking his head. “Mean. Cruel. Vicious. Wicked.” His stream of adjectives keeps flowing as he walks to the bathroom.

I can hear him in there grousing in the mirror about it being too early, grumbling about how he wanted to sleep some more.

He’s cute when he’s cantankerous.

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