Chapter Three #2
Family house. That explained the voices downstairs, the lived-in feel despite the expensive furniture. Jamie’s apartment barely fit him and Nick without someone’s elbow ending up in someone else’s cereal bowl.
“Must be nice,” he said then caught himself. “Not in a bitter ‘eat the rich’ way. More like a ‘wow, you have walls that don’t share DNA with your neighbors’ way.”
“The walls are definitely DNA-free.” Sloane took a bite of toast, and Jamie absolutely didn’t watch his jaw work. “Though my brother’s music taste might count as biological warfare.”
“What does he play? Please tell me it’s something deeply embarrassing. Polka. Yodeling. Those YouTube videos of screaming goats set to Taylor Swift.”
“Classic rock at volumes that violate several noise ordinances.” Sloane’s expression stayed neutral, but humor lurked in his eyes. “He claims it’s character building.”
“Whose character? The neighbors?”
“That’s the ongoing debate.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, forks scraping against plates, morning light painting gold stripes across the bed.
Jamie looked at the clock on the wall. Not a single hour since sunrise and already he’d messed up three times, once by getting drunk enough to invite himself into a stranger’s bed, twice by wanting to stay, and now by wanting Sloane to keep talking.
Jamie cleared his throat. “You have a really nice room. Very...no clutter. Mine looks like a laundry rebellion.”
“I used to collect coasters,” Sloane offered, his lips twitching. “Got boring, so I switched to art and dogs that don’t judge.”
“Plural dogs?” Jamie brightened, leaning forward like a spotlight swung. “Current head count?”
Sloane’s expression turned wistful, the way guys look at photos tucked inside old wallets. “One, once. Daisy. Golden retriever. Best co-pilot ever.”
Jamie’s fork paused mid-air. “Daisy,” he echoed. “Classic. She ride shotgun with her tongue out the window?”
“She preferred the back seat, and expressed opinions about my music with snorts.” Sloane’s eyes softened at the edges. “Ten years ago. She’s...retired now.”
“Retired?” Jamie’s brain supplied retired from living. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She had the mountains, a ball collection, and zero regrets.” Sloane’s thumb traced the rim of his coffee mug like it was a photo frame. “I buried her favorite squeaky squirrel with her. Figured she’d want a victory toy on the other side.”
Jamie’s chest did a slow throb he refused to call tenderness. “I had a hamster named Gouda. It died mid-wheel spin. Very on-brand dramatic exit.”
Sloane’s laugh came quiet and genuine, the sound settling into Jamie’s bones like it belonged there. “Gouda had been commitment to cardio.”
Jamie snorted. “Also to cheese. Total type-A rodent.”
“That’s why I like canines.” Sloane’s leg brushed Jamie’s knee. “They stick around longer. And if you get a good one, they’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“You think I need trouble prevention?”
Another of those patient, measured looks from Sloane. “Depends. You have any other plans to pass out in strangers’ cars, or was last night a one-time special?”
“I’m making it a rule to only pass out in my own bed from now on. Lower risk of waking up with regrets. Or without pants,” Jamie huffed while hiding a smile.
“Well.” Sloane’s eyes gleamed in the lamplight, making Jamie work harder to find his next breath. “If you need a spotter for future drinking escapades, let me know.”
“You volunteering?”
Sloane’s mouth ticked up at the corners. “Sure. Someone’s got to make sure you don’t end up on a milk carton.”
The morning light caught the angles of Sloane’s face, highlighting the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
Focus on your eggs. Not his jaw. Definitely not his jaw.
“Thanks for this,” Jamie said, gesturing vaguely at the food, the room, the whole surreal situation. “Most guys would’ve just called me an Uber and washed their hands of the whole thing.”
“You couldn’t tell me your address.” Sloane’s gaze stayed steady on him. “It seemed like the better option than leaving you on a park bench.”
“Park benches are underrated. Free accommodation, fresh air, suspicious stains that build character...”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time.” Heat crept up Jamie’s neck as he tried not to think about passing out in the guy’s car on a regular basis.
Sloane set his plate aside, turning slightly to face him more fully. The movement was unhurried, but something shifted in the air between them. “No?”
Every smart answer died on Jamie’s tongue. The question landed soft but direct, no games, no pretense. Just Sloane watching him with those stupidly attractive eyes, waiting.
“I...” Jamie’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat. “I don’t usually wake up in strange beds. It’s not really my thing.”
“Noted.” Sloane’s expression didn’t change, patient as stone. “What is your thing?”
Apparently developing feelings for dangerous-looking men who bring me breakfast. Jamie set his own plate down, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Disaster, mostly. I’ve got a real talent for it.”
“You seemed pretty together last night.”
“Before or after I face-planted into your car?”
“Both.” No hesitation. Sloane leaned back slightly, weight on one hand, casual but alert. Like he could wait all day for Jamie to sort through whatever was happening in his head.
Jamie’s laugh came out shaky. “You’re really bad for my ego, you know that? I’m trying to maintain my disaster reputation here. But I guess I’m not the only one concerned about egos.”
Sloane’s eyebrow arched. “You saying I have an ego problem?”
“I’m saying anyone who claims they built the damn table probably needs a bigger room for it.”
“Fair point.” Sloane’s mouth curved. “Though I notice you’re still sitting at it.”
Jamie’s breath caught. The air between them shifted, growing heavier, charged with something that made his skin prickle. Sloane hadn’t moved closer, but suddenly the space felt smaller, like gravity had rearranged itself.
Heat licked at the edges of reason, dragging Jamie under. “Maybe I like the view.”
“Just the view?” The question landed soft but weighted.
Jamie’s plate trembled slightly in his hands. He set it aside, pulse racing. “Depends. What else is on offer?”
Instead of answering, Sloane leaned in. Not fast, not sudden. Just a steady closing of distance that gave Jamie every chance to pull back, to laugh it off, to remember why kissing virtual strangers was a terrible idea.
He didn’t move.
Sloane’s hand found Jamie’s jaw, thumb brushing along skin with unexpected gentleness. The touch sparked through his system, making him forget every sensible thought he’d ever had.
The kiss hit him like a shock of pure electricity. Sloane kissed like he did everything else. Confident, thorough, with just enough edge to make Jamie’s head spin. His tongue traced Jamie’s lower lip, and he opened for him without thinking, hands fisting in Sloane’s shirt to anchor himself.
Heat pooled low in his belly as Sloane’s teeth caught his lip, just enough pressure to make him gasp. The sound seemed to unlock something in Sloane, his grip tightening, deepening the kiss until Jamie couldn’t remember his own name.
Holy hell, the man could kiss. Like he’d gotten an advanced degree in it. Like he’d studied Jamie’s specific weaknesses and decided to exploit every single one.
When they finally broke apart, Jamie’s lungs burned. He blinked, trying to restart his brain while Sloane watched him with eyes gone dark.
“So…” Jamie cleared his throat, proud when his voice only shook a little. “That’s... quite the breakfast special.”
His thumb traced Jamie’s jaw once more before he pulled back. “Should I apologize?”
“Only if you’re actually sorry.”
“I’m not.”
The honesty of it made Jamie’s stomach flip. “Five stars. Might need a defibrillator.”
That earned him a laugh, low and warm. Sloane retrieved their plates like he hadn’t just scrambled Jamie’s entire nervous system, settling back against the headboard with maddening calm.
Jamie picked up his fork with hands that definitely weren’t steady. The eggs had gone lukewarm, but he barely tasted them anyway. Every nerve ending still sparked from that kiss, skin hypersensitive like he’d been struck by lightning and survived to tell about it.
The thought of leaving made something twist in his chest. Which was ridiculous. He’d known Sloane less than twenty-four hours.
“Thank you,” Jamie said again, setting his fork down. “For breakfast. And for not leaving me on a park bench. And for...” He gestured vaguely. “Being decent about all this.”
“Not exactly a hardship.” Sloane collected their plates, stacking them neatly. “Having you here.”
The words were simple, but something in Sloane’s tone settled over Jamie like a claim. He needed to leave. Needed distance to think clearly, to remember all the reasons getting involved with anyone right now was a terrible idea.
“I should probably...” Jamie stood, tugging his jacket straighter. “Would you mind taking me home? Unless you’ve got things to do. I can call someone—”
“I’ll take you.” Sloane rose too, movements fluid. “Just need to grab my keys.”
Relief and disappointment warred in Jamie’s chest. He wanted to stay, wanted to explore whatever this thing between them might become. But wanting had gotten him into trouble before. Better to leave now, while he still could.
Even if every cell in his body protested the decision.