Page 41 of Rules, Roses, and Rivals
Jake is in my bed.
The thought struck sharper now. Not dreamy. Not hazy.Clear.
Jake. Not my boyfriend.
Not Mathieu.
My heart stuttered.
The sudden spike of guilt was a punch to the gut, and yet… I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My hand hovered over his, then brushed it lightly, fingertips tracing the lines I knew too well. He stirred behind me, catching my hand in his, and then?—
A kiss.
Pressed to the back of my shoulder, unhurried. Intimate.
My skin lit up where his lips touched it.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice gravel-edged, the rasp of his stubble grazing against me with every syllable. “Not time to get up yet.”
I should’ve pulled away.
I didn’t.
“I don’t know what time it is,” I said instead, voice low, almost ashamed. I pulled his hand to my chest, anchoring myself there, even as my pulse roared in my ears. His bicep curved across my chest in a way that made my breath catch. I should have shifted his hand. Should have saidsomething.
But I didn’t want to.
He groaned, stretching, then let go and rolled onto his back. I turned to my stomach, lifting onto my elbows, watching as he blindly fumbled for his phone on the side table. The glow from the screen cut through the shadows and hit his face.
Jake. Rumpled. Stubbled. Hair a mess. No perfect styling. No cocky smile.
Just him. Raw. Real.
Anddevastating.
My throat tightened. My stomach clenched.
I’d seen this version of him before—but never like this. Not in my bed. Not after a night tangled together like... likethatmeant something.
“It’s just barely six,” he said, dropping the phone beside him. He turned toward me, his voice gentler now. “Hey...”
“Hi,” I whispered, suddenly self-conscious, retreating behind the dark again now that the phone screen had gone black. Safer not to be seen. Safer not to look too long.
Jake rolled back toward me, closing the distance like it cost him nothing. His breath brushed my cheek, warm and steady. My heart was doing anything but steady.Thundering.Crashing against my ribs like it wanted out.
He didn’t smell like sleep or sweat or morning breath.
He just smelled likeJake.
And I knew—without question—that my sheets would smell like him long after he was gone.
The thought hit me with a strange, twisted sort of panic.
When his fingers grazed my cheek, tucking my hair back behind my ear, I flinched—but only a little. Then I sighed. His touch was too soft. Too careful.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
Weird question. Loaded, actually.
