25
Aura
Morning came in soft and gold through my curtains, which felt disrespectful considering my body had spent the night discovering that physical reconciliation with Easton apparently came with athletic requirements.
I was asleep on my stomach with one arm shoved under my pillow and my braids half across my face when the bed dipped beside me. Then it dipped again, harder this time, and bounced just enough to drag a groan out of me.
“If that’s Bliss with breakfast, I need her to know I support her growth, but I will bite.”
A low laugh moved over my spine.
Not Bliss.
My whole body knew it before my brain caught up.
The mattress shifted as Easton climbed over me, one knee on either side of my hips, his hands braced near my shoulders, caging me beneath him without putting his full weight on me.
He was shirtless, blond hair rumpled, mouth soft from sleep and entirely too pleased with himself for a man whose existence before caffeine should have been illegal.
“Morning,” he said.
I turned my face enough to glare at him through one eye. “You are too large to be this cheerful.”
“I’m not cheerful.”
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m conducting a wake-up.”
“You’re bouncing the bed like a kid on Christmas morning.”
His grin hit slowly, and I hated how much I loved it. “That was almost sweet.”
“It was my half-awake observation.”
He lowered himself just enough that his mouth brushed the side of my neck. “Get up, my sexy girl.”
My eyes opened the rest of the way.
He went still above me, like he had heard himself at the same time I had.
The words hung there, warm and ridiculous and intimate in the morning light, and after everything we had broken to get here, my chest didn’t know whether to fold around them or fight them off with a chair.
My mouth curved before I could stop it. “Your sexy girl?”
His hand slid along the sheet beside my ribs, his thumb brushing the bare skin at my waist where the blanket had shifted. “Testing it out. With Clarke off the table, I gotta come up with something.”
“And how do you think that went?”
“Pretty well. Your pulse jumped.”
“You’re on top of me. That is a biased trial.”
“I’m a pre-law partner now. I understand bias.”
I laughed into my pillow, and the sound came out sleep-rough and embarrassingly happy.
His face changed above me, not enough to make the moment heavy, but enough that I felt it in my chest. He looked at me like my laugh was evidence he had been waiting for, like hearing it in daylight meant we had survived something he still wasn’t ready to name.
I reached back and pinched his thigh.
He flinched. “Violence before breakfast is a strong choice.”
“You woke me up by disturbing the bed.”
“I’m putting you to the test.” He shifted off me, then rolled me with one firm hand at my hip until I was on my back and he was over me again, all broad shoulders, sleep-warm skin, and smug hockey-boy focus. “Get up. We’re meeting everyone for breakfast.”
I blinked. “Everyone?”
“The crew.”
“You woke me up for a public couple launch?”
“I woke you up for waffles.”
“Liar.”
His mouth brushed the corner of mine. “And a public couple launch.”
“That’s more honest.”
He kissed the other corner of my mouth, smiling when I tried not to lean into it. “We made this shit official last night.”
My heart did something stupid and soft. I covered it with suspicion. “Did we?”
“Very official.”
“Was paperwork filed?”
“Unfortunately, half the emotional support committee was involved.”
I groaned and pushed at his chest. “The girls.”
“The girls, the guys, probably Hannah by now, and if Briggs had access to a press release template, campus security would be informed before lunch.” Easton dropped beside me and reached for my phone on the nightstand. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“The new group chat.”
I froze. “The what?”
He held the phone up but kept it out of reach because he had survival instincts and long arms. “I silenced it around four this morning because holy shit, they can be a lot.”
I lunged for it, but he just lifted it higher.
“Easton Wade.”
“That tone used to piss me off.”
“It should scare you now.”
“Meh.” He shrugged. “I know you love me, so it doesn’t.”
“You’re stealing my phone.”
“I’m protecting your sleep.”
“That’s very authoritarian of you.”
“That’s very awake of you.” He unlocked the screen with the smug confidence of a man I had apparently trusted with my passcode at some point during the night, which felt like a separate emotional emergency. “Group chat name is currently Operation: Don’t Be Weird About Them.”
I stared at him. “Who made it?”
“Bliss.”
“That tracks so hard it needs a helmet.”
He scrolled, his mouth twitching. “Charm objected and suggested They Finally Stopped Being Idiots. Ryan reacted with a thumbs-up, Briggs sent thirteen confetti GIFs, Cade said, Please stop texting until morning, and Bliss said, Morning is a state of mind.”
I grabbed the pillow and covered my face. “I’m moving.”
Easton tugged the pillow away. “You’re coming to breakfast.”
“With them?”
“With the crew.”
I stared at him. “You realize they’re going to stare at us like we’re a science experiment.”
He grinned. “I know.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I spent seven months acting like I didn’t want to hold your hand in public, Aura. I’m going to let them watch me love you out loud.”
That took the fight clean out of my mouth.
He saw it. He always saw too much when he was close enough to touch me, and instead of making it heavy, he kissed me, soft and quick, still smiling against my lips like he knew exactly how badly he had just shaken me.
“Breakfast with the crew,” he murmured, “and tonight I’m picking you up for a real date.”
“A real date?”
“Yes.”
“We have had sex in questionable locations, but not dates.”
“Terrible brand. We’re fixing it.”
“That feels dangerously healthy.”
“Don’t panic. I’m still me.” His hand slid into my hair, careful with my braids even when he was being playful. “Baby, just wait and see what I have in store.”
That should have sounded cheesy. On anyone else, it would have. From him, with his morning voice and his hand in my hair and his body warm against mine, it landed somewhere between promise and threat.
I lifted my chin. “If this involves hiking, I’m breaking up with you before the waffles.”
“It doesn’t involve hiking.”
“Horseback riding?”
“No.”
“Public poetry?”
His face twisted. “I’m wounded you’d ask.”
“Men in love become dangerous with metaphors.”
“I’m not reciting poetry on a first date.”
“A first date after a year of fucking in secret—” He rolled his eyes at secret. “Seven months of fighting and rage sex after I defended my honor. Admit it, it sounds ridiculous at this point.”
“Fair clarification.” His mouth brushed mine again. “Still no poetry.”
“That’s probably best for everyone involved.”
“We do need to shower.”
“Separately?”
He looked at me like I’d insulted his family.
I sighed dramatically. “Fine. For water conservation.”
“For the environment,” he agreed.
The shower took longer than it should have for two people who were supposedly in a hurry, and if my neighbors hadn’t been awake before, they were definitely aware of our reconciliation by the time Easton pressed me against the tile, one hand braced above my head, and fucked me until he had my name falling out of his mouth like something he knew better than to say carelessly.
We got clean eventually, though my definition of clean became questionable when I ended up laughing into his shoulder while he tried to rinse conditioner from my braids with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb.
“You are terrible at this,” I told him.
“I am being gentle.”
“You are being slow.”
“Your hair has instructions.”
“My hair has common sense. You have fear.”
“I respect the hair culture.”
I turned under the spray to look at him. Water ran over his face and down his chest, and for one quiet second, the playfulness loosened into something softer. His hands settled on my waist, his thumbs moving once over wet skin.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head, then kissed my forehead. “I like being here in the morning.”
My throat tightened.
I poked his ribs. “That was almost emotionally fluent.”
“I’m taking lessons.”
“From who?”
“My mom and your terrifying face.”
“Excellent instructors.”
We got dressed with the kind of speed that involved him losing one sock, me yelling about mascara, him finding my lip gloss in the blankets, and both of us pretending we weren’t smiling like idiots every time we passed each other in the hallway.
He wore his clothes from last night, which I had luckily washed and dried after the first round of carnal delights.
I wore leggings, boots, and a cropped sweater Charm had once called casually lethal.
Easton stopped in the living room when I came out. His gaze moved over me slowly enough to warm my skin.
I pointed at him. “We’re late.”
“I’m appreciating.”
“You’re staring.”
“Those overlap.”
I walked past him and grabbed my purse. “Try to appreciate with your feet moving.”
He caught my hand before I reached the door and tugged me back against him. “One more thing.”
“Easton.”
He kissed me until my complaint forgot where it was going, then pulled back with a pleased little smile. “Now we can go.”
“You are smug.”
“You kissed me back.”
“I was ambushed.”
“You participated.”
“I’ll argue the nuance later.”
Waffle House was already loud when we walked in, because nothing said public reconciliation like hash browns, fluorescent lights, and a table full of hockey players pretending not to stare at our joined hands.