Page 49 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
God.
I press the palms of my hands to my eyes, trying to blink the images away, but they cling. The way his hand slid over mine. His mouth at my ear. The heat of his body, real and solid and entirely too much.
It was just a dream, but it felt like more. The way he looked at me, like I wasn’t breakable.
Like I was his.
I shove the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, grounding my feet to the floor like it’ll help.
It doesn’t.
It’s just because of yesterday. The way we posted those pictures and announced ourrelationship.
That’s all it is.
Get it together, Ava.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel his hand at the small of my back. His mouth brushing mine. The way he whispered my name, his lips trailing lower…
Nope. I am not thinking about this.
I change into a sweatshirt and leggings, then head for the door. The hallway is quiet, but the scent of coffee drifts up from the kitchen.
Of course, he’s up.
I pause with my hand on the banister, suddenly aware that I’ll have to look him in the eye in a moment. That I’ll probably sit next to him at breakfast. That my brain will replay every second of that dream even while he’s asking if I want more coffee.
I press my lips together. It’s fine. I can handle this. I square my shoulders and head downstairs.
The kitchen is already alive when I step inside. Jackson’s leaning against the counter in a dark gray shirt and joggers, his hair damp from a shower. Noah is on the floor trying to teach a stuffed animal how to do a slapshot with a plastic mini stick. Liam’s sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal and the comics section spread out beside him.
“Morning,” Jackson says, without looking up. He’s pouring coffee, my mug already beside his.
I blink. “Oh. Morning.”
Noah glances up, his stick tapping against the tile. “Do you sleep here every night now?”
The question catches me off guard. “Um… for now,” I say. “Just while I figure some things out.”
Noah shrugs, apparently satisfied, and goes back to adjusting his bear’s slapshot grip.
Jackson lifts the coffee pot, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Nothing like an interrogation first thing in the morning, huh?”
“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, offering me some coffee. “I figured you’d want your usual.”
My throat goes dry instantly. “Thanks. That’s… yeah. That’s perfect.”
I take the mug, fingers brushing his.
Big mistake.
The contact sends a spark through me like a live wire. Stupid, residual dream nonsense.
Jackson doesn’t seem to notice. He just leans back against the counter again, sipping his own coffee like this is just any other morning.
Noah crashes his mini stick into the cabinet, prompting a lecture from Liam about stick handling.
I sit down at the table, lifting the mug to my lips and praying he doesn’t notice I’m unraveling inside.
