Page 48

“Will you stop?” Jake chuckles. “If it’s good enough for my mate, it’s good enough for me.”

I suck in a breath. It’s been a week since he claimed me, and I still get a little thrill every time he calls me his mate or I catch sight of his mark in the mirror. I’ve wanted Jake since high school — maybe even longer — and part of me can’t believe this is real.

The scent of old building wafts out to greet us as I push the door open. The apartment is dark, but a sliver of light from the street below trickles in from a gap in the curtains.

I flip on a lamp, and my insides squirm. Every piece of furniture was a Craigslist find, apart from the dresser I rescued from the curb. There’s a battered laminate table from the eighties with two chairs, a faded green loveseat, and a slightly scratched TV stand. I don’t actually own a TV yet, but that’s the next thing on my list to purchase.

Idohave a free-standing ballet barre against the wall, which is currently acting as a drying rack for my leotards. The apartment didn’t come with a washer and dryer, which means schlepping to the laundry mat every other week and hand-washing in between.

Jake takes his time surveying the apartment, taking in the tiny kitchenette and the art I scrounged from Goodwill.

“Where’s the bed?” he asks, turning to me with a devilish gleam in his eyes. “I was told theydohave beds in Boston, which is the only reason I agreed to move here.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I rub the back of my neck. This is the part I’ve been dreading the most.

“Ah.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, stalling. “That’s the benefit of only having three hundred and fifty square feet to work with. Everything has to be super high-tech.”

Jake’s brows crinkle in confusion. “I don’t think they’ve made any major innovations to beds since humans slept on fur hides. A bed is just a horizontal surface for sleeping and fucking.”

“What about the modern innerspring mattress?” I tease. “Or the waterbed? Memory foam?”

“Are you telling me you have a waterbed out on the fire escape?”

“No,” I say, a quiver of mirth rattling in my chest. “But sometimes, beds are horizontal, and sometimes . . .” I cross to the little table and scoot it across the floor. I do the same with the two battered chairs, clearing a space in the middle of the apartment.

I open the little double doors that look just like a closet and give the metal handle a hard tug.

Jake watches in astonishment as the old Murphy bed folds out from the wall. The thing is a double — not even a queen. It snaps into place with a lot of squeaking and creaking, and I hurriedly straighten the rumpled covers.

“Sometimes they’re vertical,” I finish.

A broad grin stretches across Jake’s face. “That’s hilarious.” He flops down on the mattress and gives it a bounce. The bed squeaks so loudly it’s comical. “This should be fun.”

I grimace. “It’s a little small.”

“Small is good,” says Jake, pulling me into his lap so that I’m straddling his hips. His hands cup my ass throughmy jeans, and I feel the hard length of him press against my core.

“You think we can . . . make it work?” I ask, squinting at him through one eye as I cringe. “Because if you’ve changed your mind or want to get a bigger place —”

“Sweetheart, for you, I could make abarstoolwork.”

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Besides . . .” He glances around my tiny apartment, and his eyes crinkle in a contented smile. “I like your place. Correction:ourplace.”

Our place.

Just the thought makes my heart squeeze.

Gazing down at the beautiful man beneath me, I can’t quite believe he’s mine. I run a finger down his face, delighting in the contrast between the smooth skin of his cheeks and the faint stubble along his jaw.

Then Jake’s fingers find the back of my neck, and he crushes his mouth to mine. His kiss is hard and demanding and possessive, and yet I feel the tenderness behind it. Jake shifts beneath me, gripping me under the hips, and lays me down on the squishy mattress.

His mouth travels from my lips to my collarbone, not stopping at the neckline of my shirt. As he shifts his weight, the old bed creaks loudly, and I burst into a fit of giggles.

“It’ll work,” Jake murmurs, grinning against my breast. “I just hope our neighbors have earplugs.”

EPILOGUE