Chapter 3
JENNA
I’m dead.
Well, not physically dead—though my skull does feel like it’s trying to secede from my body—but spiritually dead.
Emotionally dead. And dignity-wise? I’ve flatlined.
Toast. Over and out. Someone please locate my next of kin and inform them Jenna Howard has died of embarrassment sometime around midnight.
I groan into my pillow and scrunch my eyes shut against the sunlight stabbing through my blinds.
Oh God. I drank. I cried. And I… I kissed… Wait… did I call him a hot chocolate daddy?
My stomach lurches. Memories flicker like a broken neon sign.
His mouth, warm on mine. His hand sliding into my hair. His breath hitching ever so slightly.
“Ohhhhh nooo,” I whine into my comforter.
If I were capable of movement, I’d roll off the bed and into a grave. Instead, I croak into the cottony fluff, “What have I done?”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it blindly, hoping it’s a notification from Jesus saying He forgives me for whatever chaos I caused last night.
Nope, not Jesus. Just Paige.
PAIGE:
Rise and shine, my sweet hungover gremlin! Did Daddy Oliver tuck you in okay?
I fling the phone across the bed.
Nope. Not today. Not mentally stable enough.
I sit up slowly, being extra careful. Because if my head makes another sudden movement, I’ll need a priest and an exorcism. When my eyes finally adjust to the light seeping into my room, I notice the glass of water beside my bed along with two pills and a neatly-folded note.
Take the meds and drink this when you wake up. Then text Paige and let her know you’re alive.
—O
His handwriting is clean and confident. Masculine with a hint of artistic flair. Ugh, of course his handwriting is sexy.
I gulp down the water and pain relievers, then swing my legs out of bed. The memory of his arms around me flashes through my mind—strong and warm, lifting me like I weighed nothing. I grab my phone again and stare at the message from Paige, debating how to respond.
ME:
Stop calling him Daddy
PAIGE:
Why? Does it make you blush? Squirm? Or maybe it makes you squirt?
ME:
BLOCKED
PAIGE:
You would never block me. You love me too much. Besides, we saw everything. Now, go apologize to the nice chocolate man before you spontaneously combust
I hate it when she’s right. God help me.
I shower, blow-dry my hair into something vaguely human, and slip into a cream sweater and a pair of jeans. My hands actually shake as I drive downtown. Not because I’m hungover as that headache is down to a dull throb. No, this is nerves. Pure, stomach-twisting, heart-thumping nerves.
The bell over the door jingles softly when I push it open, and a sweet fragrance washes over me—rich cocoa, caramelized sugar, and chocolate melting somewhere in the back kitchen.
Then I see him.
Oliver stands behind the counter, wiping down the marble with a folded towel.
Black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders.
His tattooed forearms flexing as he moves.
When he glances up at me, his head tilts slightly as he smiles.
It’s soft, warm, and a little too knowing. I nearly turn around and walk back out.
“Hey,” I manage to croak, clutching the two coffees in my trembling hands. “I, uh, brought you a latte. The dark-chocolate mocha you mentioned you like.”
The drink and my silent prayer are a pitiful hope that he forgets I basically climbed him like a tree last night.
He lifts a brow. “Peace offering?”
“A thank you,” I quickly reply. “And maybe a tiny apology. But mostly thank you.”
He sets his kitchen towel aside and comes to the counter. Up close, he’s even more irresistible—tall, solid, smelling faintly of sugar.
“Were you planning to apologize,” he says slowly, “for kissing me?”
My pulse flatlines, then spikes violently. “No!” I squeak. “I mean… yes, but also no. I mean… shit, I don’t know what I mean.” I squeeze my eyes as if that’ll make the embarrassment go away.
A deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “Relax, Princess. I’m teasing.”
I set the latte on the counter harder than intended. “Please stop calling me Princess. I’m too hungover for that level of flirting.”
“If you were too hungover,” he says, his tone dipping, “you wouldn’t be blushing like that.”
Damn him.
I clear my throat, willing my voice to return. “Did I… did anything else happen? Besides the kiss?”
His smile deepens. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember crying. And talking too much. Way too much.” My face scrunches as I shake my head. “And calling you—”
The corners of his mouth lift into a boyish grin. “If I remember correctly, you called me hot chocolate daddy.”
I whimper. Actually whimper.
He folds his arms on the counter, leaning in slightly. “You also informed half the bar that I smell delicious.”
I slap a hand over my face. “Please tell me I didn’t sniff you in public.”
“You did,” he says, amused.
“Oh God.”
His voice softens, and he puts me out of my misery. “You kissed me, sweetheart. That’s it.”
I peek through my fingers. “Was it… Was I bad?”
“No, Jenna. You were perfect.” He chuckles, and my breath catches.
Oliver holds my gaze, his expression shifting to less teasing now. “You said my name. In your sleep.”
I blink. “I did?”
“Mhmm.” His eyes track my face, as if memorizing it.
“Said it right after you kissed me, like it finally clicked and you remembered me after all these years.” He continues, and his voice dips into that gentle-command register that turns my bones to pudding.
“But we’re not doing drunk kisses again, Princess.
Next time your mouth is on mine, you’re going to be fully sober.
And completely aware of what we’re doing. ”
I stare at him. He said next time. Next. Time. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
He straightens slightly, though he stays very close. “Now, did you drink your water this morning?”
“Yes,” I say automatically. “You left it on my nightstand.”
“Good girl.” Holy shit, I thought guys only said that in romance books. I’d be lying if I said that simple phrase coming from his lips didn’t make my panties wet. “And the meds?”
“Yes. Those too.”
“Did you eat?”
I blink. Then blink again. “Well, no—”
“Wrong answer.” He tilts his head with a single raised eyebrow. “You’re getting food as soon as you leave here.”
My heartbeat does a stupid, fluttery thing. “You can’t just boss me around, Oliver.”
“Oh, Princess,” he tsks. “I absolutely can.” The devilish smirk on his face makes my knees go weak. But before I can overthink it, he gestures to the coffee. “Thank you for this, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” I smile. A moment passes between us. It’s soft, charged, and a little terrifying. “So,” I say quickly, scrambling for self-control. “I owe you dinner. For everything. Just name the place and I’ll take you out this week.”
“Mmm. No.”
My eyes widen and I rear back. “No?”
“No,” he repeats firmly. “You’re not taking me out.” He slowly drags his gaze down my body, then back up to meet my eyes. “I’m taking you out.”
My breath stutters. “You… you don’t have to—”
“Jenna.” His voice is quiet but his tone is unarguable. “I’m not letting you pay for a thank you dinner when I’m the one who enjoyed last night the most.”
Heat climbs my neck as my breaths quicken. “Are you always this confident?”
“Only when I know what I want,” he replies, leaning in closer. “And I want you.”
My pulse bangs against my ribs. A date. A real date. With Oliver Jacobson, who has muscles now and kisses like pure sin and calls me Princess in a way that should be illegal.
“W-when?” I manage.
“Tonight.”
“That’s…” I clear my throat. “That’s soon.”
“I’ve been patient long enough.” Oh. Oh wow. “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he adds. “Wear something warm. And comfortable.”
My brain tries to process too many things at once. “What are we doing?”
“You’ll see.”
I shake my head weakly. “You’re very secretive, sir.”
“And you,” he says, tapping a finger to the latte in my hand, “need food. Go eat. Drink water. And stop worrying about last night.”
“I’m not wor—”
He raises that eyebrow at me again, and the lie dies on my tongue.
“Okay, I’m worrying a little.”
He tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear, and I forget how to breathe. “Don’t. It was the highlight of my night.”
My stomach swoops, and I miss the faint touch of his hand on my face. “And tonight?” I ask quietly.
He gives me a devastating smile. “Tonight might ruin us both.”
Dear Lord. I am so not surviving this man.