Page 29 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)
JACK
T he credits for Rear Window rolled across the screen, casting a bluish glow across the darkened living room.
I glanced down at Mia’s hand, still entwined with mine.
Her fingers were small and soft against my rougher skin, fitting perfectly between mine as if they belonged there.
I hadn’t meant to take her hand, hadn’t planned it.
But somewhere between Grace Kelly climbing through that window and James Stewart realizing the danger she was in, my hand had moved of its own accord.
And she hadn’t pulled away.
“My turn to pick,” Mia announced, her voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. She twisted slightly to look up at me, her gray eyes bright with enthusiasm. “And I choose Legally Blonde.”
“Put it on, then.”
As she scrolled through the options, I found myself watching her rather than the screen. The soft glow of the television illuminated her profile—the curve of her cheek, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her lower lip. Christ, she was gorgeous.
It didn’t matter, at all, how much I told myself this wasn’t part of our arrangement. Movie night in my home, holding hands in the dark with no audience to perform for. It was happening and there was no way I had the strength to stop it.
Pickles had sprawled across both our laps now, his head resting on Mia’s thigh while his body stretched over to mine. I scratched behind his ears absently, and he let out a contented sigh.
“Your dog is the best,” Mia murmured, her fingers joining mine in petting him. “How did you end up with him?”
“Rescue,” I replied, remembering the day I’d first seen him at the shelter, skinny and frightened but with intelligent eyes that followed my every move. “Previous owner died. No one wanted a half trained Doberman puppy.”
“Their loss,” Mia said softly, running her hand along Pickles’ sleek head. “He’s perfect.”
The movie started, pulling Mia’s attention to the screen. We settled back into the couch, shoulders touching, hands separated now but still near enough that I could sense the warmth of her skin.
Forty minutes into the film, I felt a gentle weight press against my shoulder. Mia’s head had dropped to rest against me, her breathing deep and even. I glanced down to find her eyes closed, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, lips slightly parted in sleep.
I stilled, afraid to move and disturb her. I should wake her. Send her home.
But as she shifted slightly in her sleep, nestling closer to my side, I couldn’t bring myself to disturb her. Just a little longer, I told myself. I’d let her rest just a little longer.
The movie played on while I watched Mia sleep, memorizing the rhythm of her breathing, the small, almost imperceptible movements of her eyes beneath her lids as she dreamed. Pickles had rearranged himself to curl protectively around her feet, as if understanding that she needed the extra comfort.
When the credits began to roll, instead of waking Mia, I carefully reached for the remote and selected another film from the queue, turning the volume down low enough not to disturb her.
The rational part of my brain screamed that this was a mistake, but I silenced it. Just one more hour, I promised myself.
At some point, I must have drifted off as well. because when I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in the pale gray light of pre-dawn. The TV screen was dark and silent. Somehow during the night, we’d shifted position.
I was stretched out along the length of the couch with Mia curled against my chest, her head tucked beneath my chin, one hand resting over my heart. My arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her securely against me.
Pickles had relocated to his bed in the corner.
I was still hovering in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness when Mia shifted against me. Her hand began to move. Slow, sleepy caresses that drifted lower across my stomach, her fingers tracing the muscles beneath my shirt.
My breath caught as her leg slid between mine, her body pressing closer. Still asleep, her movements guided by some subconscious desire, she nuzzled her face against my neck, her lips brushing my skin, sending fire racing through my veins. My dick twitched and I had to bite back a groan.
I should stop this. I knew I should. But her touch felt so good, so right, and my sleep-addled brain couldn’t form a coherent objection. I found myself responding, my hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair.
Her hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, warm against my bare skin, tracing the ridges of my abs before sliding down.
Her touch grew bolder, her hand drifting lower, fingertips teasing the trail of hair below my navel before slipping beneath the waistband of my sweatpants.
When her fingers wrapped around my already hard cock, I couldn’t suppress the low groan that escaped me, my hips instinctively arching into her touch.
The sound seemed to break through her dream state. Her body suddenly stiffened against mine, her hand freezing in place as awareness dawned. Her eyes flew open, meeting mine, shock and mortification flooding her expression as she realized exactly what part of me she was gripping.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, jerking back so quickly she nearly fell off the couch. I reached out to steady her, but she was already scrambling to her feet, her cheeks flaming red in the dim morning light.
“Mia,” I started, pushing myself up onto my elbows.
“I am so sorry,” she blurted, backing away from the couch, her eyes wide. “I was asleep and I didn’t realize and oh my god I was totally groping you, wasn’t I? I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s okay.” My voice was still rough with sleep and something else entirely. “Really, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. It’s so not fine.” She was gathering her things now, movements frantic as she shoved her feet into those ridiculous pink slippers. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep here in the first place and then to wake up like that and oh god, Jack, I’m so embarrassed.”
“Mia, please,” I stood up, trying to calm her, but she just backed further away. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She was already heading for the door. “I have to go. I’m so sorry. This was... I just... I have to go.”
Before I could stop her, she had grabbed her coat and was fumbling with the front door lock. Pickles trotted over, looking up at her with confused concern, but even his presence wasn’t enough to slow her retreat.
“I’ll call you later,” I managed to say, just before she slipped out the door with a muttered goodbye that I barely caught.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me standing alone in my living room, hard as a rock, wanting her with an intensity that shocked me.
Pickles whined softly at the door as the sound of Mia’s car starting echoed through the quiet.
“Yeah, buddy,” I sighed, “That didn’t quite go as planned.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face. It was time to accept reality. My feelings for Mia were becoming something real, something powerful, something I’d never felt in my life. Fuck.