Page 122 of Bleacher Report
My heart leaps.
“Peyton,” he says, setting his phone aside and taking mine too. “You did it.”
Before I can second-guess myself, I lunge at him, laughing, arms wrapping around his neck.
“We did it,” I whisper against his jaw, giddy and a little stunned.
“Yeah, we did,” he says, pulling me closer. “Bethany left Seattle, and you just got your syndication deal. And we did it with time to spare.”
He presses his lips to mine and my mouth opens for him, his hot tongue searing against mine, each of us fighting to get closer, to have our hands all over each other, to touch everywhere we can.
Soon, his hands slide down to my waist, gripping tight as he lifts me clean off the couch. I gasp, instinctively wrapping my legs around his hips, anchoring myself to him as he straightens to full height.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To celebrate the end of our arrangement and the start of something permanent."
Our lips never leave each other as he carries me up the staircase and down the hall to his bedroom.
And I know that he’s right. We’re on to something so much better.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Christmas Morning
PEYTON
It’s quiet. Still. The kind of quiet that makes me forget where I am for a second. But then I smell baked bread, cinnamon, and nutmeg wafting up the stairs, and I remember—I’m in Hunter’s childhood home.
He’s already out of bed, the space beside me still warm, and I can hear faint humming from downstairs. Carly’s cheerful voice, totally on-key, humming “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” has me tempted to jump in and sing the melody, but my voice sounds more like fingernails against a chalkboard than Hunter’s mother. I’m not ready to scare Hunter off with my horrifying singing just yet.
I roll over and stretch, my cheek still pressed into the soft pillowcase. Something about this house, this morning, feels like I made the right decision to come.
I slip out of bed, pull out one of Hunter’s old college hockey hoodies from the brand-new dressers under the window, and follow the sounds of clattering pans and laughter down the stairs. Carly’s in the kitchen in a Santa apron with flour dusting her hair, smiling like she’s been waiting all morning for Christmas to arrive. Her cheeks are pink and flushed, her voice steady and full of happiness. Whatever Hunter’s fears were…maybe Bethany was wrong. Carly seems stronger and in good health. Then again, this is the first time I’m meeting her.
“Good morning, dear. Are you hungry?” I hear Carly say, noticing me coming through the kitchen threshold before Hunter does.
But then his eyes are on me in a split second. Those deep green eyes that I know could find me in a crowded room or a packed stadium. A shiver shoots down my spine and my cheeks warm to a blush that must be evident because his soft smile turns to a smirk.
He knows he’s winning me over.
Cocky bastard. I can’t help it—I smile back.
“Starving. It smells really good in here. Can I help with anything?” I ask, as Carly fills batter into the waffle maker and Hunter turns to open the fridge, reaching in to grab the orange juice carton.
Carly waves me off with a spatula. “You just enjoy. You’re our guest.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, stepping up beside her. “I’ve been known to dominate the cinnamon roll icing game. Legendary, even.”
Carly grins. “Then you’ve come to the right place. The icing’s cooling by the window. You want to be on drizzle duty?”
“Drizzle duty is my calling,” I say, already moving to the bowl of thick icing. I pick up the spoon and test the consistency, giving Hunter a look. “Cream cheese frosting?”
“Of course,” he says, pouring juice into glasses. “This isn’t amateur hour, Collins.”
I glance up at him as he closes the fridge and catches me staring. He walks coolly up behind me and bends, his mouth close to my ear. “That hoodie on you is doing it for me, by the way. I might like it even better than my jersey,” his voice low and private. “It’s almost unfair that we’re not alone. I’d take you on this island if it were just us.”
There’s a deep need in his voice. One that I can relate to wholeheartedly.
