Chapter Six
Jace
Iwake up with my cock hard. Not from some half-assed dream about a nameless girl I’ve hooked up with, and definitely not the usual morning boner my body gives me to remind me I’m still alive.
This is different, because this is her.
Bells.
She’s curled up against me on the couch, her arm draped across my stomach, fingers twitching now and then. Her face is turned toward mine, her breath warm against my skin.
She fits there. Christ. She really fits.
Fuck.
I don’t do this.
I don’t wake up next to girls and I never fucking let them use my arm as a pillow.
My arm under Lola is completely dead. Pins and needles shoot from my shoulder down to my fingertips, and a dull ache builds with each second I leave it there.
I stay still because I might wake her if I move. And if she wakes up, this changes.
That thought alone fucks with my head.
Girls don’t trust me. They lust after me. They flirt. They laugh too loud. They sure as fuck don’t curl up beside me and breathe me in like I’m something solid, something safe, or something worth holding onto.
I’ve never just laid with a girl and let the silence stretch. Never done anything that didn’t end with fucking and walking away.
That’s the rule. Get in. Get off. Get gone.
No lingering.
I’ve never wanted anything else.
Until now.
I glance up at the ceiling. I can’t believe I kissed her last night.
My first kiss. Fuck, it was hot. Not soft or sweet or some awkward teenage shit.
It was fire. It was her breath and her hands in my shirt, dragging me closer as if she didn’t trust the space between us.
It was her mouth opening under mine, that quiet little sound she made when I pulled her flush against me. It was control snapping clean in half.
I almost lost myself in her.
I’ve done everything with a girl except kiss them. That’s always been the line, because kissing is close and personal. You can fuck someone and still act like they’re nothing. You can zip up your jeans and forget their name before walking out the door.
A kiss doesn’t work that way. It lingers. It settles under your skin. It brands. And now it’s everywhere. My lips still remember the shape of hers, the heat of her breath, and the way she whispered my name against my mouth.
God, I wanted more. So much fucking more.
I wanted to press her down into the couch and drag those sounds out of her until she couldn’t think straight. I wanted to see what she looks like when she comes. What sounds she makes when she does. Whether she gasps, trembles or digs her nails into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
God, I wanted to fuck her. But thank God I didn’t, because I know myself. Once I fuck them, something switches off. The chase ends, the thrill fades, and they become just another face I don’t care about. Another name I forget.
And I don’t want that to happen with Lola.
I don’t want to lose this.
Whatever this is.
It’s easy with Bells. She doesn’t demand anything I can’t give. She doesn’t try to fix me, tame me, or turn me into some version of myself that behaves. She lets me be the mess I am and still shows up with food and sarcasm.
And for the first time in my life, I can breathe when someone is close to me.
That’s the part that frightens me. Not the kiss. Not the wanting. But the breathing.
I slowly turn my head, as if one wrong breath might wake her and send this whole thing to shit.
Her mouth is slightly parted. No glasses.
Long lashes rest against her cheeks. Freckles scattered across her nose that you don’t notice unless you’re close.
Close enough to count them. Her hair’s a mess from sleep, a strand falls across her cheek.
There’s a crease on her face from the couch cushion.
She’d probably be embarrassed if she knew.
But fuck, she’s beautiful. Not the loud, filtered, posed, tits-out, lip-glossed kind of beautiful that has guys lining up with their cocks already half hard. She’s the quiet type. The kind who sneaks in when you’re not looking and hooks into your ribs.
My eyes move to her mouth, because I remember exactly how she tasted. Warm. Sweet. A little desperate.
I remember how she melted into me. I didn’t pull away when she did that, and that’s a problem. But damn, I want it again. Her mouth. Her breath. The heat of her pressed against me.
I want to roll her under me and take that sleepy softness and turn it into fire. I want to hear what she sounds like when she forgets to be careful. When she stops thinking and just feels.
That right there really scares the hell out of me. Because this isn’t just some random girl from a party. This isn’t a name I’ll forget by tomorrow.
This is Lola.
I wonder if she’s a virgin. She probably is.
She’s not the type of girl who gives herself away to assholes who collect bodies and call it experience.
She doesn’t seek validation. Doesn’t need a guy’s hands on her to feel wanted.
She walks through the world with her head held high and her sarcasm ready, never once glancing around to see who’s watching.
Girls like her don’t fuck guys like me. They fall in love with guys who deserve them. Nerdy ones just like her.
I’m fucking scared that I already ruined something good. That she’ll wake up and the air between us will feel awkward.
I take a deep breath and try to stay still.
I’ll wait to see what she does when she wakes up.
If she pulls away, I’ll swallow it and pretend none of this is tearing at my chest.
For once in my life, I’m not chasing after anything. I’m waiting.
She stirs and I go completely fucking still.
Her lashes flutter, slow and heavy, then her eyes open. Blue. Clear. A little dazed from sleep and too damn pretty. For half a second she just blinks at me, trying to figure out where she is.
Then she focuses on me and I hold my breath.
This is it. The split second where everything could go to shit. Where she frowns. Where she pulls back. Making it awkward all because we shared a fucking kiss.
Her mouth tilts.
A slow, knowing smirk spreads across her face, and damn, I almost laugh from the relief.
“Well,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “This is kind of unfair.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What is?”
“You.” She squints at me. “It’s illegal to wake up looking that pretty. Some of us need at least ten minutes and caffeine.”
I snort. “Pretty?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” She shifts slightly but remains pressed against me. “I said looking. That could just be the lighting.”
I smirk, but the relief hits my chest so hard I almost choke on it.
She’s still Bells. Still the same sharp and mouthy girl. Completely unfazed by the fact that she kissed the town’s resident asshole and didn’t spiral about it.
Thank fuck.
I reach up and move the strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. My knuckles brush her skin. She watches me with that steady blue gaze that always makes me feel as if she sees more than she lets on.
“You want breakfast?” she asks.
“I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
She squints at me. “Why not?”
“I have to choose what’s a priority with my pay.” I shrug, keeping it casual.
I can say this stuff to Bells and know that she won’t look at me with pity. Noah and Reece know I go without sometimes. I’ve got a suspicion she knows too. That’s probably why she’s always throwing food my way, pretending it’s no big deal.
“Well, that’s just depressing, Jace.”
I let out a soft laugh.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she says, already pushing herself upright.
She climbs off the couch and stretches her arms above her head.
My mind briefly short-circuits as her sweater rides up inch by inch, revealing a strip of skin at her waist. Pale.
Smooth. There’s a gentle dip where her waist curves inward before flaring out to her hips—a natural line.
My eyes follow it before I can stop myself.
An intense, reckless urge surges through me.
I want to drag my lips across that strip of skin just to see what she would do.
Would she gasp?
Would she freeze?
Would she shove me back with a smart remark and a flushed face?
Fuck.
My pulse kicks up harder now. Hard enough that I feel it in my throat. My cock responds immediately, thick and eager, pressing against my jeans as if it has its own damn agenda.
She drops her arms, sweater falling back into place, and my brain attempts to reboot.
Too late.
The image is seared into my memory.
Bells grabs her glasses from the small table and walks toward the kitchen as if she hasn’t just set my entire nervous system on fire.
And I’m left lying here, trying to remember how to breathe, wondering how the hell a strip of bare skin can hit harder than any naked body ever has.
And that is an entirely different level of terrifying.
“Coffee first,” she calls out over her shoulder.
I follow her.
That’s the thing about Bells. She just moves, and somehow I end up orbiting her anyway. As if she’s got some quiet spell wrapped around my ribs, and I’m too far gone to fight it.
I sit on the bench while she digs through a cabinet.
“I don’t know how to make pancakes,” she says. “I can make toast. That’s about all I’ve got in me.”
“Toast’s good,” I say.
I’d eat cardboard if she handed it to me.
“By now, my dad would have a whole banquet ready,” she says, her voice softening. “Eggs. Sausages. Bacon. Hash browns. You name it. Coffee that tastes like tar. He used to hum while he cooked. It drove me nuts.”
She releases a small breath that isn’t quite a laugh, then stops mid-thought and just stares at the counter.
She swallows hard, lifts her hand, and presses the lever on the toaster. The click sounds too loud in the quiet kitchen.
“I miss it already,” she whispers. “The noise.”
Her voice fractures on the last word, and a tear slips down her cheek before she can hold it back.
I push off the stool and walk around the counter.
While she’s staring at the toaster, I step in behind her and wrap my arms around her.