Page 165 of Stick It
Words can’t describe…
Fisting the front of his shirt, I yank him toward me. He’s so surprised that he comes, eyes wide as I plant my mouth on his. His lips are hard beneath mine, but only for a second before he caves to my touch. I run my tongue along the seam of his lips, and he parts, granting me entry. I don’t deepen it. That’s not what this is.
It’s a thank-you. For seeing me. For listening. For…everything that I can’t put into words.
My lips tingle and his are swollen when I let him go, and his eyes shine as they dart over my face. “I don’t know what that means…” he confesses, voice thick. “Is it a dumb idea or?—”
“Not a dumb idea.” My vision is blurry before I blink the sheen of tears away. “I love it.”
He hesitates, gaze meeting mine. “Yeah?”
I nod, tryingreally hardnot to cry in the middle of the shop. “Losing that tradition has been one of the hardest parts.” My voice catches, and I take a moment to inhale. Smiling wistfully, I share with him, “I used to get excited every time he came home with a new mug. It meant more than he probably ever knew to know that he thought of me when he was away. That I was a part of his life even when he couldn’t be a part of mine. This…this means a lot.”
Jax brushes his thumb across my cheek before cradling my face in a soothing gesture that I lean into.
“I’d love nothing more than to bring back his tradition and make it our own,” I tell him in a thick rasp. “Thank you.” My voice cracks over the words, and in the next instant, Jax has hauled me into his chest, his large arms banding around my back, his hand cupping the back of my head and holding me to him like I’m something precious to be safeguarded.
Time ticks by, but we don’t move. His arms remain securely wrapped around me while I bury my nose in his chest and inhale his cedarwood and mint scent.
He remembered.
As if it wasn’t enough that he fixed the mug Kyle broke, he’s gone and brought my dad’s tradition back to life. Breathed fresh air into it. Thought about it. Planned it. Risked my reaction to suggest it. Not because he had to, but because hewantedto.
The ache in my chest grows sharp and full. It’s not just grief this time—it’s the sudden, startling realization that I care for him. That maybe I’m already half in love with him. But this, Jax’s kind of love? That’s the kind that sneaks up on you. That seeps in slowly and then suddenly, all at once.
Eventually, he bumps my shoulder. “Let’s find the perfect mug.”
We browse the shelves together, holding up mugs, debating colors, shapes, and ridiculous designs. I snort when he shows me one shaped like a cat, and he laughs when I hand him one with a misshapen handle I can barely fit my fingers through.
After pointing out a few other ones, we both reach for the same mug—a hand-thrown one with a deep indigo glaze that catches the light like a lake at twilight.
“This one,” we say at the same time before both bursting out laughing.
Jax pays, ignoring my protests, and as we walk back to the hotel, his fingers laced with mine and a paper bag swinging gently between us, something unfurls in my chest. A tiny seed of hope. Maybe Icantrust him—all of them, even.
Fuck, I hope so, because I’m pretty sure this is what falling in love feels like.
49
KYLE
It’s mid-morning,that quiet lull between the breakfast rush and the lunch crowd. The cafeteria’s not empty, but it’s not packed either—just the usual hum of students grabbing food between classes, muted chatter, and the occasional scrape of a chair against tile. I’ve got the end of the table the hockey team has claimed to myself, working through a late breakfast and scrolling mindlessly on my phone, earbuds in but not really listening. Just killing time. Minding my own business.
Until she shows up.
Dylan. Fucking. Carter.
She drops onto a chair several seats down like she owns the place. Like shebelongshere.
This table—ourtable—is where the guys sit. At peak hours, it’s packed with the team, loud and rowdy. Right now, it’s mostly empty. Just me and a couple of others lingering before our next classes. The onlywomenwho should be here are puck bunnies, maybe the occasional girlfriend when someone on the team has one, but that’s it.
Since Dylan is neither, nothing more than a fuckinginterloperon our team, she has no right to be sitting here. It’s a point I’ll stand by until my last fucking breath.
As if the universe is out to personally piss me off today, Finn appears. Sliding a tray of food in front of her like she’s too good to stand in line like the rest of us, before he claims the seat next to her. He doesn’t even notice me sitting at the same fucking table as him. Too fucking hypnotized by Dylan’s presence. Too sucked into her toxic orbit to notice if fucking Big Bird walked in.
I grip my fork tighter, knuckles whitening as I watch him give her this stupid fucking grin. The two of them are lost in their own little world, talking quietly. She laughs at something he says, and he leans in closer, their heads nearly touching. It’s disgusting. The heart eyes. The shared looks.
Don’t get me started on if I have to watch him tuck her hair behind her ear one more time or smile at her like she’s the second coming of Christ. I’m bordering on homicidal as it is.
