First Date Part 2 Late Night Confessions （Or What Happens After Club Business） #2
“Only the dangerous ones.”
More of that assessment. And then, “You sure about this?” He asked the question quietly and like it cost him something, and I knew he wasn’t just referring to him staying the night. When he said this , he meant all of this between us.
I barely knew Jake, but I knew enough. Enough to feel safer with him than I ever had with men who’d claimed to love me.
Enough to know he wasn’t just acting like a decent human to get laid.
And while, yes, okay, I had no clue how to date a biker, I’d dated my fair share of assholes, and Jake was not one of them. Not even close.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He kept his gaze on me for another few moments, silent, and then nodded once before shifting his attention to my apartment. “Nice place.”
I followed his gaze and cringed at the chaos of my living room where my dual monitors sat surrounded by empty coffee cups and Post-it notes covered in code snippets.
Normally, I’d blurt an apology and make an excuse for the mess, but I didn’t bother with Jake. I mean, I’d just told the man he was my default setting, and he hadn’t bolted. Some dirty coffee cups weren’t going to scare him away.
“I’m going to change,” I said.
He brought his gaze back to me, running it down my body, over the clothes I was wearing. “Why?”
“Okay, so just to give you a little peek inside a woman’s brain,” I said as his eyes met mine again. “We don’t sleep next to a man in the clothes we wear to emotionally spiral and eat our feelings.”
His brows pulled together. “That what you did tonight?”
“Yes. Obviously. This is what women do when they like a guy and have no idea what the hell they’re doing. We spiral. We overanalyse. We eat brie. And we do all of that in our emotional support T-shirt that is absolutely not meant to be worn when said guy sleeps over.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He just watched me, his gaze softening at the edges like he was seeing every sharp, messy, neurotic part of me and filing it under shit he liked.
“I like knowing that,” he said, all low gravel and raw truth. “That you spiralled. That you gave a shit. And I like that you didn’t play it cool. You let me see it, and that means something to me.” He paused. “You don’t need to change.”
I stared at him, speechless.
Guys didn’t usually talk like that to me. They didn’t talk about things that mattered.
I’d dated polished, charming, hyper-ambitious men who could talk for hours about startups and strategy but didn’t know how to say this means something to me .
Jake justsaid it. Like honesty wasn’t a risk, but a baseline. And it knocked the air out of me in the gentlest way. So yeah. I panicked a little.
My mouth jumped in like it’d been waiting for my brain to emotionally collapse. “This shirt says, ‘I attended a JavaScript summit and all I got was this T-shirt.’ There’s nothing sexy about that. I can’t wear?—”
Jake took a step closer and silenced me with a finger to my mouth. “It’s sexy because it’s yours.”
Cue internal overheating.
“But,” I pressed, waving a hand between us, “it’s covered in coffee stains and anxiety sweat. Surely your standards are higher.”
He leaned in and brought his mouth to my ear. “Darlin’, you could wear a bin bag and I’d still be hard.”
OH. OKAY.
“I—okay—wow—great—um—bed, then?” I said, my voice glitching like fluster.exe just crashed my processor.
He gave me that smirk of his. The one that said he knew exactly what he was doing to my organs. “Lead the way.”
I took him into my bedroom where he shrugged off his jacket while I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth for the second time tonight. I may have been about to sleep next to Jake wearing this old T-shirt, but there was no way I would be doing that with anything but fresh breath.
I may have also washed my face while I was in there.
Okay, okay. I did almost a full skin routine.
And yes, I was absolutely stalling. I was about to sleep next to a man who looked like sin incarnate. While wearing a dirty, oversized T-shirt and ugly sleep shorts. I was making sure that my face at least looked good.
When I came out, he was sitting on the edge of my bed barefoot, and I couldn’t deny just how much I liked seeing him in my bedroom with his shoes off. There was something about a barefoot man in my personal space.
Shoes meant leaving. Barefoot meant he was staying.
It meant he was comfortable. Settled. Soft and casual in a way he didn’t show the world.
The secret cavewoman part of me was strutting: “His feet are on my floor. His scent is in my air. He has touched down on my territory. We are mated now.”
I know. I hear it too. I sound like a girl who just practiced signing his last name with hers in five different handwriting styles. Someone please reboot me. Cavewoman.exe just overrode all my emotional firewalls and installed a mating protocol I did not consent to.
“There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink,” I said. “It’s, um, pink.”
He laughed as he stood. “I think my reputation can handle a pink toothbrush.”
While he was in the bathroom, I sat on my bed, trying not to freak out about the fact that Jake— Savage —was about to sleep in it. With me. The same man who terrified half of Brisbane had now seen my collection of throw pillows and the soft toy koala I’d had since I was twelve.
When he came back, his eyes found mine immediately. He must have seen something in my expression because he stopped and said, “We’re just sleeping, darlin’. Nothing else has to happen.”
“I know. It’s not that. It’s just...”
“Just what?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve let anyone this close.
” I gestured vaguely at my bedroom, at the organised chaos of my life, the little pieces of who I really was when I wasn’t out in the world.
“The last guy I dated...let’s just say he was more interested in stealing my code than getting to know me. ”
A menacing gleam flickered in his eyes. “His loss. Though I’m adding him to the list with Johnson.”
I laughed softly, the tension easing from my shoulders. “My very own avenging biker?”
“Anyone who hurts you answers to me now, Eden.”
The possessive note in his voice should have been a red flag. Instead, it was the opposite. A green flag waving all over the place.
When he drew back to strip off his jeans, leaving him in boxer briefs and his black T-shirt, all I could do was stare at his powerful muscles and the effortless, untamed way he moved.
And I couldn’t help but wonder how I, a nerdy coder who was awkward around men, had drawn the attention of someone like Jake.
A man who wasn’t just the hottest guy I’d ever seen, but also thoughtful, fiercely protective, and quietly caring in a way that completely undid me.
He slid into bed next to me, positioning us so he could spoon me. His arm wrapped around my waist with a sureness that made me feel anchored and safe. The solid warmth of him pressed against my back felt right in a way I wasn’t ready to think about just yet.
“Okay?” he murmured into my hair.
I tangled my fingers with his where they rested on my stomach. “More than okay.”
Current status : Lying in bed while Jake sleeps, still spooning me. Sneaking glances at him every now and then, wondering how someone so dangerous can look so peaceful.
UPDATE (4:29 a.m.): This man talks in his sleep and even that somehow makes me want to climb him like a tree. What is wrong with me? Do not answer that.
UPDATE (4:43 a.m.): Just moved while trying to adjust my pillow. Jake tightened his arm around me and made a sound that I think was a possessive-in-his-sleep growl. Send help. For my ovaries.
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