Chapter 13 #2
The oversized shirt slipped off my shoulder again, and I gave up trying to fix it. My skin still tingled where his fingers had been, and I couldn’t decide if I was more confused, alarmed, or—God help me—intrigued by this new side of him.
Walking to Jaxson’s room now felt like crossing a minefield while blindfolded and wearing tap shoes.
My heart was doing its best impression of a hummingbird on espresso.
I was about to share a bed with Jaxson—JAXSON—the star of every inappropriate dream.
The same Jaxson who’d wrapped his hand around me last night and made me see stars.
You can do this. It’s just sleeping. In the same bed. With the man you’ve been in love with for years. No big deal. Completely normal. Nothing to have a complete nervous breakdown over.
I couldn’t go back to my room—Bree was probably deep into her latest manga by now, and I refused to interrupt what she called her “research.” But going to Jaxson’s room? That required more courage than facing Colt’s wrath after someone reorganized his protein powder collection.
So there I stood, doing my best impression of hallway decoration, when—
“Lan?”
I jumped about three feet in the air, my heart attempting a jailbreak through my throat. Jaxson. Of course it was Jaxson. Because the universe clearly thought my gay panic needed an audience and possibly a laugh track.
He stood there, the hallway light creating a halo effect around him, and for a wild moment, I wondered if I’d died from anxiety and this was heaven’s welcome committee. His amber-hazel eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, fixating on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“What are you doing standing there?” His voice was warm, amused, and did absolutely nothing to calm the riot in my chest. “I’ve changed the sheets and made the bed. Go to sleep. You’re tired, aren’t you?”
He’d changed the sheets. For me. I nodded, managing a squeaky “Thanks, Jaxson” that sounded like it came from a mouse being slowly crushed by embarrassment.
I practically teleported past him into his room, desperate to escape before he noticed how flustered I was.
The scent of fresh laundry hit me, mingling with that uniquely Jaxson smell that made my knees weak and my common sense pack its bags for an extended vacation.
Don’t read into it, don’t read into it, don’t—
His room was exactly like him: minimalist, organized, perfect.
Everything had its place, unlike Nico’s room which looked like a gaming store had exploded after fighting a tornado.
The bed—oh God, the bed—was neatly made, the covers turned down invitingly on one side.
For me. Because I was about to sleep in Jaxson’s bed. With Jaxson.
Breathe, Lan. Oxygen is important. Your brain needs it to function, though evidence suggests it’s already failed spectacularly at that job.
The door clicked behind me, and Jaxson’s voice nearly made me jump out of my skin again. “What are you waiting for?”
My racing heart to calm down? My brain to start working? World peace? An explanation for why the universe seems determined to test the structural integrity of my sanity?
“Nothing,” I mumbled, climbing onto his bed—his bed—and sliding between sheets that smelled fresh and crisp and faintly of him. The mattress was perfect, firm but yielding, supporting me like it was made for my body. Another thing to add to the list of “Ways Jaxson Ruins All Other Men for Me.”
“Good night, Jaxson,” I managed, proud that my voice only shook a little and didn’t crack like I was going through puberty all over again.
“Good night, Lan,” he replied, switching off the main light.
The bedside lamp cast a soft, golden glow across the room, creating shadows that danced across the walls and highlighting the sharp planes of Jaxson’s face in a way that made my heart stutter.
It reminded me of when I was younger, when sharing a bed with Jaxson meant nothing more than comfort and safety.
Before my heart decided to stage a coup and fall hopelessly in love with him.
I heard drawers opening and closing, then the door again. Probably heading for his shower. Alone in his room—his room—I did what any self-respecting younger brother would do: claimed the entire bed like a conquering emperor. Operation Starfish Expansion was a go.
This was his new bed, the one he’d bought last year after finally admitting that his old mattress was probably older than Nico.
I’d been dying to try it out but never had the excuse.
Rolling over to his side, I buried my face in his pillow, inhaling deeply.
God, his scent. It was everywhere, surrounding me, making my head spin like I’d chugged one of Wei’s experimental cocktails.
A heady mixture of his cologne, shampoo, and something uniquely Jaxson that no fancy department store would ever be able to bottle.
The moment my face touched his pillow, a strange warmth spread through me, starting at my chest and radiating outward.
It wasn’t just psychological comfort—it felt deeper, more visceral, like my body was recognizing something my mind couldn’t quite grasp.
The sensation wasn’t new; I’d felt echoes of it whenever Jaxson touched me, but never this strongly, never this all-encompassing.
I stayed there, drowning in Eau de Jaxson, my mind wandering down paths that would make even Bree’s adult novel blush.
The sheets were cool against my bare legs, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me.
Sleep tugged at my consciousness like a persistent puppy, and the last coherent thought I had was how perfectly I seemed to fit in his bed, like it had been waiting for me all along.
When I next opened my eyes, I was wrapped in warmth, pressed against something solid and very male. My brain took its sweet time connecting the dots, each neuron firing at approximately the speed of a sloth on tranquilizers, but when it did—
Oh. OH.
I was in Jaxson’s arms. Actually in his arms. Not a dream, not a fantasy, not one of those embarrassing scenarios I’d imagined during particularly boring lectures.
This was reality, and I was so not prepared for it.
His chest was pressed against my back, one arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
Every point of contact burned like a brand, sending jolts of electricity through my system that would put Thor to shame.
That same strange warmth from earlier flooded my system again, stronger now, like my body was drinking in his presence. It felt like coming home to a place I’d never known I was missing—a sense of rightness so profound it made my chest ache with how perfect it felt.
My heart wasn’t just racing—it was attempting to break the sound barrier. And certain parts of my anatomy were definitely getting ideas they shouldn’t, rising to attention faster than Colt responding to a misplaced protein shake.
Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I found myself turning carefully in his arms, studying his sleeping face like an art student cramming for their final exam.
He looked younger in sleep, the weight of being our family’s responsible adult temporarily lifted from his shoulders.
No spreadsheets to balance, no brothers to wrangle, no Lans to drive to work at ungodly hours.
Just Jaxson, vulnerable and beautiful in a way that made my chest ache with want.
And because my self-preservation instinct was apparently on vacation in Tahiti, I lifted my hand to his face.
Just one touch, I told myself, the same way Nico says “just one more game” at three a.m. Just to make sure this is real.
My fingers hovered for a moment, trembling with both fear and anticipation, before gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw.
His skin was warm beneath my fingertips, slightly rough with stubble that sent shivers racing down my spine.