CHAPTER 5. Carter
Thomas: Can’t sleep. Thinking of sneaking into your room, even if Jason’s going to kill me.
I press the phone to my chest and grin at the ceiling like a lovesick idiot.
After years of being down bad with no hope, I’m finally allowed to feel like this.
Thomas Moore is my boyfriend.
Even in my head, the word sounds fake. Like a daydream I’m probably going to snap out of mid-toothbrush.
I reread our texts from last night, my cheeks heating as everything rushes back.
After the tow truck finally showed up, we somehow made it to Jason’s birthday dinner—two hours late, with half-frozen hair and clothes that definitely still smelled like car sex no matter how much we tried to pretend otherwise.
We sat at opposite ends of the table, and every time our eyes met across the pasta and birthday candles, my brain just went offline.
God, I want this man.
And he’s mine.
The snowstorm was still going strong, roads getting worse by the minute, so when dinner wrapped up, Jason insisted Thomas and I come back to his place for the night instead of trying to drive home.
Which is how I ended up in Jason’s guest room while Thomas got exiled to the couch downstairs—both of us texting like teenagers until well past midnight.
We agreed to wait until morning to tell Jason about us, so we had to get through the rest of the night pretending nothing had changed.
Pretending we weren’t dying to sneak off and jump each other.
I slip out of bed, wincing at the dull ache in my hips. The memory of what caused that soreness makes my face heat, and I have to pause in the middle of the room and take a breath.
Jason’s definitely still asleep—he never wakes up before nine on weekends, and after all those birthday drinks last night, probably closer to ten today. Which means I might get Thomas to myself for a little bit. Even if it’s just to kiss him good morning.
I pull on my sweatpants and the soft gray sweater I keep at Jason’s for sleepovers, then sneak into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
My reflection is…not ideal. Hair sticking up, pillow creases on my cheek, deep under-eye circles.
I try finger-combing the chaos into something passable, fail, and give up. Thomas has seen worse.
Still—now that we’re dating, I find myself caring a little more about bedhead than I used to.
I splash cold water on my face and head downstairs as quietly as I can. The steps creak under my weight, and I wince with every one, hoping Jason’s still dead asleep.
As I hit the bottom, I smell fresh coffee and hear movement in the kitchen. My stomach flips.
Thomas stands with his back to me, still in yesterday’s jeans and navy sweater—the one that fits him like it was made for him—fussing with Jason’s overcomplicated coffee machine. His hair’s damp from a shower, curling slightly at the back.
“Morning,” I say. My voice comes out way too soft.
He turns, and the way his face lights up makes my knees go unreliable.
“Hey.” His sounds lighter than usual, almost giddy.
We pause, grinning at each other across the kitchen, until he walks straight to me. His hands find my waist, and he kisses me—slow at first, then deeper, and I melt right into him.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips.
I laugh quietly, sliding my hands up his chest. “It’s been six hours.”
“Way too long,” he says, and kisses me again.
His mouth tastes like toothpaste, and his body’s warm and solid against mine. He walks me backward until I hit the wall, his hands sliding from my waist to my hips, tugging me closer. I can feel his heartbeat picking up—just as fast as mine.
“Thomas,” I murmur, suddenly all dizzy and pliant.
The kiss shifts, turns hungry. One of his hands moves to the small of my back, then lower, squeezing. The other cups my face, tilting it just right. A soft sound escapes me—half sigh, half moan—and Thomas answers with a low growl that rumbles through his chest.
“Fuck,” I gasp as his lips trail down my jaw, my neck.
He’s hard against my hip, and the realization sends a jolt straight through me. His hand moves from my ass to the front of my pants, palming me through, and for a second I forget how to speak.
“Not here,” I manage, though it physically hurts to push him back even an inch. “Jason might wake up.”
He blinks, like he genuinely forgot, then steps back, flushed and breathless, eyes dark. “Sorry,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. “Got carried away.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say quickly. “It’s not that I don’t want to—”
“I know,” Thomas says, cutting me off with another kiss. He exhales, then shifts uncomfortably, adjusting himself in his jeans with a grimace that makes me laugh.
He nods toward the coffee machine behind him. “Want some coffee?”
“God, yes,” I say, grateful for the distraction.
He pours me a mug and hands it over. I take a sip, the warmth hitting instantly. Jesus, I love coffee.
“So,” Thomas says, leaning against the counter and watching me over the rim of his cup, “what’s the plan for today?”
I take another sip, thinking. “I was going to make pancakes. Jason’s favorite hangover food.” I still feel bad we barely made it to dinner last night. Pancakes seem like a decent peace offering.
“Good thinking,” Thomas says, suddenly serious. “We want him in a good mood if we’re gonna break the news.”
I blink. My heart picks up as it hits me what he’s saying. “You’re sure you want to do that today?”
I mean—I’m in. Fully. I just didn’t expect him to be okay with rushing it, especially considering he’s barely out to anyone.
“I am,” Thomas says simply. “I’ve wasted enough time, Carter. I don’t want to keep doing that. But if you’d rather hold off—”
I shake my head, cheeks warming. I know he said he was serious, but I didn’t realize he meant this kind of serious. The kind that plans. The kind that talks to Jason. My heart squeezes, and I can’t help smiling, a little flustered. “I’m good. Just...it’s gonna be awkward.”
“Exactly,” Thomas says. “Which is why we should get it over with. He’s gonna find out either way—better it comes from us.”
He’s right. As much as I hate the idea of sitting Jason down like we’re breaking bad news, I hate the idea of sneaking around even more.
“Okay. So I make pancakes, we have breakfast, and then we tell him?”
Thomas nods. “Yep. And after that, I need to dig my car out of that lot next to Gigi’s.”
“Oh—shit, right,” I blink. “It’s still out there somewhere under a mountain of snow. I should check on mine too, see if the shop’s called.”
“Cool. So—breakfast, Jason, car errands,” Thomas says, then hesitates. “And after that…maybe we head to my place? You could stay over, if you want.”
He tries to say it casually, but the faint pink in his cheeks gives him away.
“Sounds great,” I say, trying to sound casual—like my heart isn’t attempting a full jailbreak.
Thomas practically beams, and I can’t help beaming back. I turn to the fridge to hide the fact that my face is probably the color of a stop sign and start rummaging for pancake ingredients. That’s when my phone buzzes.
I pull it out, expecting maybe a weather alert or something from the group chat—but it’s four texts from Logan.
Logan: Don’t say you told me so
Logan: But I hooked up with Min
Logan: And asked him out
Logan: He’s amazing
I blink at the screen, rereading just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. It’s not April Fool’s, right? Because this definitely reads like a prank. I type out a response.
Me: Is this supposed to be a joke? If yes, it’s not funny, Logan.
His replies come in rapid-fire bursts.
Logan: Not joking
Logan: We had sex
Logan: It was amazing
Logan: And you’re right, I’m in love with him
I just stare at my phone, frowning. For a second I consider calling him—or calling an ambulance to Drip. He might’ve gone full hypothermic and started hallucinating.
Logan’s been off dating for four years—ever since Jamie, his boyfriend of nearly six, cheated on him with another guy.
Since then, he’s been living on a strict one-night-stand diet, dodging second dates and emotional attachment like they’re contagious.
And now he’s suddenly in love with Min? The cute guy from the flower shop next door to our café? Please.
I mean, yeah, Logan’s obviously had a massive crush on him forever, but he’s always denied it. Just flirted shamelessly every time Min walked in, never crossing the line because, quote, he “doesn’t pee where he drinks,” or whatever that means.
So reading this now? Full-on delusional.
We should probably check the kitchen gas lines for a possible leak.
Behind me, Thomas moves closer, his chest pressing against my back, his hands settling on my hips.
“Everything okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing up at him, still dazed. “It’s Logan.”
“Wait—do you need to work today?” Thomas asks, brushing his lips over my temple.
I shake my head. “No, I’m off. But Logan’s being weird.” I shoot him a quick reply.
Me: Did you hit your head?
He reads it immediately, of course, and fires back:
Logan: How dare you?
I snort, but before I can even type a comeback, another message flashes across the screen:
Logan: Did you fuck Thomas?
I lock my phone so fast I’m pretty sure I break a personal—and possibly international—speed record. My face ignites with heat, because I’m about 99% certain Thomas was looking right at my screen when that came through.
I freeze, eyes squeezed shut, praying for a sinkhole.
“Interesting,” Thomas says near my ear, voice dropping. “Did you fuck Thomas?” he repeats, low and dangerous like he’s quoting evidence in court.
“I—I mean—it’s not what you’re thinking,” I stammer.
“And what am I thinking?” he asks, lips brushing that obnoxiously sensitive spot under my ear.
“Jesus, Thomas,” I mutter, nearly dropping my phone.
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my back, then presses a kiss to the nape of my neck. “Did you plan to fuck me?” he murmurs, full of smug amusement.