Page 13 of Jack Frost
Chapter Seven
Bright orange and pink paint the insides of my eyelids. They flutter open, the scent of coffee and mint filling my nose. I feel warm and happy and content and satisfied.
But a split-second later?
Crap. I’m still at Jack’s house. This was so not part of the plan.
I spring straight up in bed -hisbed.
Looking around the room and glancing out into the hallway, I make sure that I’m alone before throwing the covers off me and darting across the room to grab my dress from the floor.
Where is my phone? Did Sammy get home okay? Is my car still here, or am I going to have to do a New Year’s Day walk of shame a half mile home in my heels?
I slip the dress over my head and pull it down over my butt.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Jack calls out, coming into the room with a tray of hot coffee and oatmeal with fresh strawberries sliced in.
“Oh. Hi.” I freeze like a deer in headlights. I want to dart out of here, but Jack just standing there with no shirt on, a Santa hat, and breakfast, is making me want to stay.
“Hi,” he repeats, putting the tray down on the edge of the bed. “I’m happy to see you, but not in that dress.” He walks toward me, his perfect muscles and face looking even better in the light of day. “Forgive me. It’s a lovely dress. But your bare skin is so much fucking better.”
I clear my throat. “Jack,” I say, “this is very nice. But do you really want me to stay? I mean, I didn’t even mean to stay over. I’m sorry for that.”
“Ha!” he says, walking over to the tray and grabbing one of the coffee cups, handing it to me. “I’m glad you stayed. I wanted you to stay. Sammy’s in the basement on my guest couch, so don’t worry about her. I thought, if you wanted, you and I could hang out today. Maybe go to a movie.” He slips his hands into his back pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Maybe stay in.”
My heart leaps into my throat. There’s nothing more I want than to hang out with him today. But that wasn’t part of the plan. And I never thought he would want anything more than just one night.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I cross my arms in front of my chest, bringing the mug to my lips. It’s hot and milky and sweet, and just the way I like it.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll stay. But I was only supposed to let loose and go crazy one day a year. You know that.”
“Perfect,” he says. “It’s a new year now. This can be your one day.”
I laugh. He’s absolutely right.
“Happy New Year’s, baby.” He splits the distance between us and leans down to give me a sweet kiss. “How about you make an exception to your tradition and spend more than one day with me?”
An insane grin moves across my face. He’s right. It’s a new year.
It’s time for a new tradition.