Page 133 of Eight Count Heat
"What is it about, then?" I ask, needing to hear him say it.
He studies me for several seconds, those steel-gray eyes seeing more than I'm comfortable revealing. "It's about you, Reese. Just you. The way you challenge me, the way you see through my bullshit, the way you never back down even when faced with eight Alphas twice your size."
"So it's about you liking that I'm difficult?" I tease, trying to lighten the sudden weight of the moment.
He shakes his head, not allowing me the easy escape. "It's about me liking who you are. Difficult, challenging, brilliant parts included. I want to possess every piece of you."
Something warm blooms in my chest, something deeper than heat or desire, something entirely about the man holding me. I reach up, tracing the strong line of his jaw with my fingertips.
"I like who you are too," I admit quietly. "Even the controlling, perfectionist parts."
His smile transforms his face, softening the hard edges I've grown accustomed to. "Good," he says, capturing my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm. "Because the perfectionist in me is already planning round two."
I laugh, the sound free and genuine. "Let me guess—you have a detailed strategy with multiple positions and optimal hydration breaks."
"Mock all you want, Callahan." His knot has begun to subside, allowing him to shift us into a more comfortable position. "But I haven't heard any complaints about my attention to detail so far."
"No complaints," I agree, settling against him. "Just wondering if you can maintain that level of performance for the rest of the night."
His eyes darken with renewed hunger. "Is that a challenge?"
"Would you respond to anything else?"
"From you?" He leans in, lips brushing mine in a surprisingly tender kiss before the possessiveness returns. "Probably not. And Reese? By morning, you're going to know exactly who you belong to."
As his mouth captures mine more firmly, I surrender to the knowledge that whatever Gray and I are becoming, whatever is developing between us beyond designation biology, it's not something I want to fight anymore.
For tonight at least, I'm exactly where I want to be. With exactly who I want to be with.
Tomorrow's complications can wait.
chapter THIRTY-SEVEN
Jackson
The screen of myphone lights up at 5:47 AM, casting shadows across my ceiling. I squint at it, annoyed. Whoever's texting can fuck right off.
Monday morning practice got pushed to 8AM—Coach Bennett's rare act of mercy after our weekend at Riverside. "Recovery day," he called it, which in Coach-speak means he'll only work us half to death instead of completely.
I grab the phone, expecting Beckett with some stupid meme. Instead, Gray's name flashes on the display.
Need a favor. Can you grab some clothes from Callahan's dorm? Room 312, Westover. Key under the potted plant by her door.
Before I can respond, another text:
She needs something for class. Can't go back herself.
I stare at the screen. Gray with Reese. All night. Not exactly breaking news after the way they showed up after his family's dinner yesterday, but it still hits different seeing the evidence in a 5 AM text.
I type back:Why me?
His response comes quickly:You're up. I can hear you moving around from here.
Fucking Alpha senses. I forgot his room is right below mine.
Fine. What does she need?
Jeans. T-shirt. Whatever's comfortable. She says there's an SRU Rowing hoodie on her desk chair.
