Raisins
COOPER
I felt better when I woke up. Still starving, but the bone-deep exhaustion from yesterday had settled into a restless energy. I’d slept surprisingly well, considering I’d been forced to share a bed with my archnemesis.
Jon was already up, zipping his bag so efficiently it sounded aggressive. He looked fresh and annoyingly awake. He’d even shaved. I didn’t have that problem. I couldn’t grow a beard to save my life—not that I wanted to.
Stretching luxuriously, I glanced at his arms. The way his biceps bulged under his sleeves, the ink coloring the hard ridges of muscle.
A violent surge of want shot through my belly, fast, unwelcome, and very fucking inconvenient.
It was so easy to imagine those arms pinning me down, his heavy weight pressing me into the mattress until I almost couldn’t breathe.
It was one of my favorite daydreams.
What? No, it wasn’t. My favorite daydream was Jon stepping on a Lego, or falling into a cactus.
Obviously.
He gave me a curt nod. “Morning.”
“Yes,” I managed, pushing myself upright. Then I froze, clenching the blanket to my chest. The situation between my legs was impossible to ignore, and I really didn’t want Jon witnessing it.
“We should get going,” he said, checking his watch.
“Yes.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong? You’ve said yes twice.”
“Is it illegal in the state of Missouri to agree?” I snapped.
He sighed. “No, Cooper, it’s not illegal. Just out of character. If you need a shower before we leave, can you get to it? We’re behind schedule.”
“I do need a shower. And I will get to it. But you need to turn your stupid head around.”
He paused. “Why?”
I gestured wildly at the clothes strewn across the floor. “Because I’m naked.”
“My presence hasn’t stopped you before.” He smirked. “In fact, I’ve seen you naked more than once.”
“Don’t think about me naked, you perv.”
“I didn’t say I was thinking about it. I’m just pointing out your habit of streaking.”
“It happened once and I didn’t know you were there!”
“Twice—and you totally knew. You practically did a lap around me.”
“No one forced you to look!”
“I’ll turn around now.” He winked. “Go take your shower.”
That tone—that stupid, low, controlled tone—together with the stupidest wink was not helping me calm down.
Muttering under my breath, I scrambled for my bag and bolted for the bathroom.
At the door, I paused, my eyes landing on the armchair in the corner.
There was a flat pillow and a tangled sheet draped over it.
Oh. That hurt.
So he hadn’t slept next to me after all. He’d spent the night upright in an uncomfortable chair just to avoid touching me. Of course. If there was a way for Jon to reject me, he always found it. Every damn time.
Was he that desperate to stay saintly?
Or the worst thing—did he just not want me at all?
I brushed my teeth, then jumped in the shower.
Jon had clearly just been there—the steam had trapped his scent in the small space.
Want rushed through me. I leaned my forehead against the damp tile and groaned, the dull, pulsing ache in my body growing more insistent.
I wrapped my hand around my length, knowing it wouldn’t take many tugs.
I tried not to think of Jon. Not out of decency—I’d shamelessly made myself come numerous times while thinking about him—but last night he’d chosen a dusty armchair over a bed with me, so it was mostly out of pettiness that I didn’t want to tie this orgasm to him.
But of course, I failed. Of course I came to a thought of his cum pooling on my tongue as he was worshipfully repeating my name.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom, my stomach let out a roar. Jon looked up from his phone. His nostrils flared and he moved his head like he was shaking off water droplets.
He couldn’t smell what I’d been doing, could he?
“You’re hungry,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“I forgot how grumpy you get before coffee,” he muttered, reaching out to grab my bag before I could.
“I’m not grumpy. You’re grumpy and visually upsetting.”
“Acing the maturity again, I see. Let’s find a breakfast place. You need protein.”
“I do not,” I replied, as if suggesting amino acids was an insult of the worst kind.
I marched toward the door, but as I passed him, I deliberately nudged my shoulder against his arm. Just to be annoying. Just to get revenge for the armchair.
“Coop,” he warned.
I tilted my head.
“Yes, Jon? Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me with an intensity that made my knees wobble, his jaw set so tight I thought this time it might actually snap.
“Take a picture,” I finally muttered, needing to end the silence. “It’ll last longer.”
“Just get in the car,” Jon said, massaging his temples. “Brat,” he added under his breath.
After fifteen minutes of driving, we found a place serving hot breakfast. Jon’s ridiculous muscle mass meant he needed protein and eggs and whatever men who looked like bodyguards were supposed to eat. I had no such concerns. My body ran primarily on sugar and caffeine.
I was in line to refill my coffee when an older man cut in front of me. Earlier, he had given me a look filled with contempt, muttering a very derogatory word under his breath. Now, he shoved me aside, telling me to get my coffee from another line. I lost my balance and stumbled into the wall.
“Hey,” I snapped. “You pushed me!”
The man once again raked his beady eyes over me, stopping at my rainbow bracelets. His mouth thinned into a line before he opened it to say something undoubtedly nasty. But before he could utter a syllable, a shadow fell over us.
Jon.
“Touch him again and I’ll drag you outside by your fucking hair and beat you into a coma,” he said, sounding so calm that it took the man a while to understand. Before I could even blink, Jon hauled me into the hard shelter of his body.
I let him hold me. No, that was an understatement. I leaned into him, my nose catching his scent that seemed to settle the upset buzzing under my skin.
His touch made me feel safe and protected, almost like he had claimed me in front of everyone.
I had no idea what was happening, but I wasn’t about to complain.
I gave the man my meanest scowl, feeling untouchable with Jon’s arm around me.
A smug certainty settled over me—Jon would level this entire breakfast buffet if that guy so much as touched a hair on my head.
If I were a cat, I would’ve purred. Something close to that escaped my mouth, making Jon press me tighter against him.
The man took one look at Jon and visibly gulped. He turned to leave, but Jon caught his wrist.
“Apologize.”
His low command resonated deep inside me. I grazed his fingertips with mine, briefly, but he noticed—and pulled me closer.
The man stuttered an apology and left.
“Are you okay?” Jon asked.
I blinked, slightly taken aback by his intensity.
“Yeah,” I managed to say, a little breathlessly. “Thank you for—whatever that was.” I opened my mouth to add that I’d had it under control, but ended up not saying it. Because it wasn’t true, and because I was feeling ridiculously smitten.
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” Jon said, sounding serious.
I knew there was a sensible explanation for this—he’d promised Jack to look after me—but I still appreciated the way his thumb traced a slow line against the small of my back.
For a moment, neither of us did anything.
I barely dared to breathe, not wanting to ruin the rare moment of peace between us.
We stood there for a while, probably looking like two idiots who didn’t know how to behave at a breakfast buffet.
“Go sit,” he finally said. “I’ll bring your coffee.”
I blinked, my knees feeling like jelly.
“O—okay.”
A minute later, he returned with the coffee and a blueberry muffin. He didn’t even mention the Nutella croissant I’d already demolished. He just sat there eating his sensible things.
“Come on, live a little. Take a bite of my muffin,” I said.
“No, thank you.”
I sighed. “Why are you so boring?”
Jon’s smile dimmed, and I felt a pang of guilt.
“I didn’t mean it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re not boring at all.”
“It’s okay. I know I’m not fun to be around,” he said, shrugging. “I wasn’t raised to enjoy much of anything.”
Now I felt like a monster. “You are fun! You’re an absolute hoot.”
He snorted, a real, genuine sound that made something inside me spark. “A hoot? That’s a first.”
The half-fond, half-exasperated way he looked at me made the air heavy with unspoken things. It also made me blush.
“Is it okay if I drive first?” I asked when we got back outside.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, looking at me like he was trying to figure something out.
In the car, Jon changed the Modern Talking cassette to Queen. I sang “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of my lungs. Jon took the Queen cassette away and put the radio on. I told him I’d changed my mind and he wasn’t a hoot.
We’d been driving for maybe thirty minutes when I pulled over, suddenly so tired it was difficult to concentrate.
“What’s wrong?” Jon asked.
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “I’m getting tired again, but why? I just woke up like two hours ago.”
A big yawn cut me off.
“I’ll drive,” Jon said.
“Okay. I’ll take a nap,” I murmured, then yawned again. “After my raisins,” I decided.
I rummaged through my bag. Nothing.
“No!”
I dug deeper. More desperately. Still nothing.
“Oh no. No no no.”
“What?” Jon was beside me immediately.
“I’m out of raisins.” My lip wobbled. My throat felt like it was closing up. It was just a snack, but suddenly, the lack of chocolate raisins felt like the end of the world. A physical, aching void opened in my stomach. I was going to cry over raisins, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Can you eat something else?” Jon asked carefully. I turned on him, tears already blurring my vision.
“No, Jon! I can’t! I want my raisins!”
I started to sob. Actually, hysterically sob. I couldn’t stop the overwhelming wave of grief.