Chapter Twelve
Violet
"Okay," I say, sitting cross-legged on his bed with my laptop open, trying to ignore how good it feels to be in his space again.
"Based on your schedule for the next two weeks, we have exactly four windows of protected time where you're not committed to team obligations, interviews, or academic requirements. "
"Four windows," Jason repeats, lying on his side next to me, and I can feel him watching me instead of looking at the screen. "That sounds like we're planning a military operation."
"We are planning a military operation," I say, forcing myself to focus on the calendar display instead of how the afternoon light is hitting his face. "Operation: Don't Let Success Ruin Everything Good."
Jason laughs, and the sound makes warmth spread through my chest. "Did you actually name our relationship strategy?"
"All good projects need clear naming conventions," I reply, though I'm starting to lose focus on the optimization timeline because Jason has moved closer, and I can smell his cologne and feel the heat from his body. "And this is definitely a project worth managing properly."
"So what does protected time look like?" he asks, scooting even closer so he can see my screen, and now his shoulder is touching mine and I'm having trouble remembering why scheduling seemed so important.
"Designated periods where your phone goes on silent, you don't check social media, and we focus exclusively on each other," I explain, very aware of how his proximity is affecting my ability to think systematically. "No interruptions, no obligations, no Madison-related drama."
"I like the sound of that," Jason says, and there's something in his voice that makes me look up from the laptop.
He's watching me with this expression that's soft and intense at the same time, like I'm doing something incredible instead of just creating organizational systems. It's the same way he looked at me after his big game, like I matter more than all the attention and recognition he's been getting.
"The key is protecting these windows like they're non-negotiable," I continue, though my voice comes out slightly breathless. "No matter what else comes up, these times are reserved for relationship maintenance."
"Relationship maintenance," Jason repeats, grinning in a way that makes my stomach do fluttery things. "You make it sound like I need regular tune-ups."
"Everyone needs regular tune-ups," I say, finally closing the laptop because I'm finding it impossible to concentrate on calendars when he's looking at me like that.
"What else is in this master plan?" Jason asks, but he's not really asking about the plan anymore. He's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the room that matters.
"Communication," I say weakly, very aware that we've moved past discussing strategies and into something else entirely. "
"Violet," Jason says softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"I love watching your brain work," he says, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone. "I love that you approached this like an engineering problem and came up with actual solutions. But right now, I don't want to think about any of it."
"What do you want to think about?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I know the answer from the way he's looking at me.
"You," he says simply. "Just you, and how incredible you are, and how much I've missed having time to really appreciate that."
My heart starts beating faster, because there's something different in his voice.
"Jason," I start, but he leans forward and kisses me before I can finish the thought.
It starts gentle, like all our kisses have been, but when I respond by threading my fingers through his hair, something shifts.
The kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, and I realize that all the careful scheduling in the world can't account for this feeling—this overwhelming need to be closer to him.
When we break apart, I can see the same want in his eyes that I'm feeling.
"The first protected window starts now," I say, and I'm not talking about the calendar anymore.
"What exactly does relationship maintenance involve?" Jason asks, settling back against his pillows and pulling me down beside him.
"Depends on what kind of maintenance is needed," I say, curling into his side and marveling at how perfectly I fit against him. "Sometimes it's just making sure all the components are working in harmony," I say, placing my hand on his chest and feeling his heartbeat speed up under my palm.
We lie there for a while, and I realize this is the first time in days that I'm not thinking about external pressures.
I'm just thinking about Jason—the way he smells like soap and something distinctly him, the way his hand feels tracing patterns on my back, and the way he makes me feel like the most important thing in his world despite everything else competing for his attention.
"Can I tell you something?" I say eventually, my voice quiet against his shoulder.
"Anything."
"I was scared," I admit. "When all this started happening, when everyone suddenly wanted your attention, I was scared that you'd realize you could do better than the equipment manager who makes spreadsheets about everything."
Jason pulls back so he can look at my face, and the expression in his eyes is so fierce and gentle at the same time that it makes my chest tight.
"Violet, that's insane," he says firmly. "You realize that, right?"
"Is it? Because you went from being overlooked to being the guy everyone wants to be around, and I'm still just... me."
"You're not 'just' anything," Jason says, rolling onto his side so we're facing each other. "You're the person who believed in me before anyone else did."
The sincerity in his voice, the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious, makes my eyes water slightly.
"I love that about you," he continues, reaching up to trace the line of my jaw. “Don't ever think I could do better than that, because better than you doesn't exist."
"Jason," I whisper, and then I'm kissing him again, trying to communicate everything I'm feeling through the contact.
This time, when we break apart, we stay close, and I can feel something fundamental shifting between us.
"What happens next?" I ask softly, though I think I know the answer.
"That depends," Jason says carefully, his hand coming up to cup my face. "What do you want to happen next?"
It's such a Jason question—making sure I'm certain, making sure this is what I want instead of what I think should happen. The consideration behind it, the way he's putting my comfort and choice first, makes me fall for him even more.
"I want to stop overthinking," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "I want to stop analyzing and I want to just... be with you. Really be with you."
Something in Jason's expression shifts, becomes more intense, more focused.
"Are you sure?" he asks, and I can hear how much he wants this but also how much he wants to make sure I'm ready.
"I'm sure," I say, and I am. "I want this, Jason. I want you."
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I can feel the careful control he's been maintaining start to slip. His hands move to the hem of my sweat shirt, and he pauses, looking at me questioningly.
"Yes," I breathe, and he helps me pull it over my head.
For a moment, he just looks at me, and I fight the urge to cover myself or make some joke to break the intensity.
"You're gorgeous," he says quietly, like he's in awe, and the way he's looking at me makes me feel beautiful, not self-conscious.
When he leans down to kiss my collarbone, I make a sound I didn't know I was capable of, and I feel him smile against my skin.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice rough, and I love that he's checking, making sure I'm with him every step of the way.
"More than okay," I manage, and then his mouth is on mine again and I stop thinking about anything except the way he feels and tastes and the growing heat between us.
Jason leans in slowly, like he’s giving me one last chance to change my mind.
But I don’t. I can’t. The moment his lips meet mine, everything else slips away.
His kiss is warm and coaxing, unhurried at first, like he’s savoring the taste of me.
Our tongues find each other, moving in sync, and the soft press of his mouth turns demanding.
He cups my face in both hands, holding me like I’m the most important thing he’s ever touched.
He tastes like mint and something sweeter—something that makes my body ache for more. When he breaks the kiss, his mouth drifts down to my throat, his tongue tracing a slow, maddening path over my skin. I feel the sparks everywhere, tiny electric pulses racing across my body.
"You taste like honey," he murmurs against my neck, his voice roughened with desire.
I reach behind me and unclasp my bra. The cool air kisses my bare skin before his hands do—large and warm. He cups my breasts like he’s been dying to touch me, and the moment his palms connect, I arch into him, a soft moan spilling out before I can stop it.
He bends and draws one of my nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it, lips tugging just enough to make my thighs clench.
As he lavishes attention on one breast, his other hand massages the other with slow, steady circles.
I can barely breathe. I don't want to move. I want to be touched like this forever.
“You’re so warm,” he whispers, “and so damn soft.”
I lean back on my elbows, trembling slightly, and shimmy out of my sweatpants, leaving me in nothing but a thin scrap of cotton. Jason stills. His gaze darkens as it roams over me, pausing at the place between my thighs.
“I want you, Violet. I want all of you.”
His voice is low and rough, threaded with hunger. My breath catches. With a slow exhale, I peel my panties down and toss them aside. I’m bare, exposed, but not afraid—not with the way he’s looking at me. Like he can’t believe I’m real.