Page 12

CHAPTER 12

MONROE

I pop the fresh toast out of the oven, splitting the four pieces onto two plates as I shuffle back to Paxton’s stove. I check on my poached eggs before moving to the side to finish smashing the avocado. The bacon is already done, and after slathering the toast with the green spread, I place the eggs on top of it, drizzling some chili oil and hot honey on it before setting the plates on the table in Paxton’s dining room.

It's been a month since we've come back from the Maldives, and we've fallen into this beautiful domestic rhythm that I can’t deny how much I enjoy. Being at home with him in the off-season, living in his space, and being able to hang out with my best friend 24/7 is every bit the dream it sounds like. Add to it the physical chemistry that crackles between us? It almost scares me with how perfect everything is.

The space he set up for me to work on my clients has made my life ten times easier, and I've been able to fit in more clients than normal without having to add additional time for travel. He supports me in every way that matters, and maybe that's why we work so well together—we genuinely care for and encourage the other's dreams.

Is that the key to a good relationship?

Is that what I've been missing every time I say I’m not a serious relationship girl?

Is what Paxton and I have—this passionate and fun and comfortable and safe thing—something like my parents have? The relationship that seems like a fairy tale I thought no one else could ever live up to?

The thought has crossed my mind more than once these past weeks, especially in the first week we returned from vacation. I’d been afraid everything would change because we were back in reality, but the only thing that changed was the setting.

I practically lived in Paxton’s room now, sleeping there every night snuggled up against him. It’s the sort of safe security I’ve never experienced before, and I know that has a lot to do with the fact that I trust Paxton with every single piece of me.

And as the weeks have passed with us behaving like a couple, the more I can’t help but look to the future. I know there’s no going back to normal—no variation where we can go back to just being friends. That ship has sailed. Practically sank that first night we deluded ourselves into thinking we could be intimate without anything changing between us.

Everything has changed.

I have changed.

And even though I’m not quite certain exactly how or what I’m going to do about it, I can feel it on a molecular level.

Thankfully, as usual, Paxton never presses the issue. Never tries to force labels or tie me down in a way that would set off all my panic triggers. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and these past few weeks with him have been some of the best of my life.

I don’t have to figure everything out right this second . I don’t have to map out my entire life because of this change, and I love him all the more for giving me that assurance without even asking.

Not for the first time, I feel a little unworthy of his compassion and kindness toward me. I do my best to shove that insecurity aside, knowing full-well I do my best to treat him just as well as he treats me. Still, it’s hard to wonder how I got so lucky to have someone as amazing as him in my life.

I finish setting the breakfast table just as Paxton rounds the corner. He pauses two steps in, eyes wide at the surprise I made for him.

My shoulders immediately drop, taking in his athletic clothes, his gear bag slung over one shoulder, and his keys in his other hand.

“I didn't know you were making breakfast,” he says.

I immediately wave him off, motioning toward the door. “It was a spur-of-the-moment surprise,” I hurry to say. “I didn't know you had plans. Not that you need to run your plans by me.” I’m rambling now, feeling slightly ridiculous about the elaborate lengths I went to in order to make his favorite breakfast. Of course, I should’ve checked with him first. “Don't worry about this. I'll trash it after I eat. No big deal.”

“I was going to grab a workout with the guys before our pick-up game this afternoon,” he says, sliding his gear bag off his shoulder and letting it drop to the floor. He tosses his keys on top of it before taking a seat in front of the plate I made him. “This looks amazing,” he says, taking a huge bite. “Oh, my freaking favorite .” He says around the mouthful.

I can't help but smile as I look down at him, unable to resist his charm.

“Stop,” I say at the end of a laugh, reaching for his plate, but he gently bats my hand away, sliding it out of reach. “Pax, this is so not the breakfast you’re supposed to eat before a workout. You'll be sick.”

“Stop trying to take my plate,” he says, shooing me away again playfully as he shovels another huge bite into his mouth. “You made this for me. I'm eating it,” he says, taking another bite for emphasis.

My heart swells in my chest, warmth radiating with each beat as I give up the fight and take a seat next to him, nibbling my own food.

“I feel terrible,” I say after my first bite. “Your stomach is going to be so full.”

Paxton takes a sip of the orange juice I set out earlier, shaking his head. “I'll take it easy during the workout,” he says with a shrug, pointing at his half-eaten plate in delight. “I’m not missing a breakfast like this. You can count on that,” he says, taking another bite. “Thanks for making my favorite,” he says after a few moments.

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” I admit, wondering why the hell I feel a flush creeping beneath my skin. This is Paxton for fuck’s sake. It's not like this is the first breakfast I've ever made him. Far from it.

But there was something about the way I woke up this morning, stretching out contently in my bed, Paxton asleep next to me, a pleasant soreness between my thighs and a loose body from being worshipped the night before. I’d looked down at him, and I saw something stretching out before me, a path that felt like it had the ability to change everything . And I just wanted to thank him, spoil him, do anything to show him how much I appreciated him in every aspect of the phrase.

“You're always nice to me,” he says with a sly smile. “Except for when we play Uno . You always kick my ass at that game.”

A laugh rips from my lips, loud and raw and hard to reel in. “We haven't played that game in years,” I finally say.

“Beatings that brutal aren't easily forgotten,” he counters, finishing the last bite on his plate before leaning back against his chair with a contented sigh. “You keep treating me like this and I'm going to find a way to convince you to stay here forever,” he says, almost like an afterthought, and then his rich brown eyes widen slightly, panic radiating there as he looks at me.

I tense up, unable to stop the automatic reaction from rippling throughout my body.

But it feels different when he says it.

“That goes both ways,” I hurry to say, smiling at him and laughing forcefully as if it's a joke when it's anything but. Paxton has treated me better than anyone on the planet for longer than I can remember, and these last weeks with him have been next to blissful.

But nothing that great lasts forever, right?

“I'm starting to like your bed just a little too much,” I add, trying to switch the sincerity in my words to something more teasing and playful, something safer and not so committed.

The tension eases out of Paxton’s shoulders, and he grins at me. “I like my bed better with you in it too,” he says, the tone of his voice dipping into that lower register that sends warm tendrils skittering over my skin.

I bite back a smile, pushing away from the table and reaching for his empty plate, but he beats me to it, taking them to the sink and rinsing them off before popping them in the dishwasher. He then grabs the skillet I used, moving to wash it.

“Paxton, I made the mess,” I protest. “I'll clean it up. You go get your workout in. It's okay.”

“You cooked,” he says. “I'll clean up. And the guys will get started without me. I'm sure Baylor’s already been there for an hour now,” he adds while he finishes wiping down the counters.

He washes his hands, drying them on a towel before turning to face me. His eyes trail the length of my body, and I don't know how he’s capable of it, but somehow, he makes me feel like I'm wearing the most luxurious lingerie and not a pair of Bangor sweats and a white tank top that has avocado stains on it.

“Knowing Baylor, he’s probably been there for two,” I counter, but there’s a tenseness in my tone that even I can't hide.

Paxton spans the distance between us, bracing a hand on either side of the counter, caging me in in the most delightful and dominating way. He dips down to smooth his lips over mine, and a warm shiver travels the length of my body. I arch into him, needing more contact as I deepen the kiss, sighing between his lips as he folds his arms around me to bring our bodies flush.

Every thought empties from my mind, narrowing to the sensation of his lips against mine. I didn't know kisses like this existed, and even though he's kissed me plenty of times, I’m still shaken every single time.

His hands fall to my hips, gently squeezing there as his tongue rubs against mine, the two of us gripping each other as if we're the only things we can hold on to.

His hand travels lower down my thigh, and he bends slightly, hooking his hand behind my knee to draw my leg around his hip. I gasp at the contact, heat blazing through me?—

My alarm chimes from where my phone sits on the counter next to us, the shrill sound breaking the two of us out of our kiss.

I cringe, my body buzzing with need as I silence the alarm and look up at him apologetically. “I have a client coming in fifteen minutes,” I say. “I still need to get my room set up and my table ready.”

Paxton quickly kisses me again. “Well, what I want to do with you will take much longer than fifteen minutes,” he says like it's the most natural thing in the world. He kisses me again, then gently sets me right, and takes a small step back.

His eyes trail the length of my body one more time as he nods.

“I’ll be thinking about you all day,” he says, grabbing his gear bag and keys as he heads toward the front door. “If you're done with your clients by two, I know Blakely and Reese are coming to the pick-up game.”

“They're going to pick me up,” I say, still slightly flushed. How can he look so good in simple gym clothes, standing there looking at me like I'm his favorite snack?

His smile is what takes my breath away, all pride and excitement just from me coming to watch him play a pick-up game. Not like I haven’t already been to every single game before, but now? It's like me showing up for him is different somehow. And I can't deny how much I love putting that smile on his face.

“Perfect,” he says. “Always play better when you're there watching me.”

I laugh, butterflies flapping in my stomach. “I always watch you,” I say as I head toward the door.

“Must be the reason I'm so good.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, a confident grin over those full lips before he leans down and kisses me one last time. “See you in a little while,” he says before he heads out the door, almost like he has to physically force himself to take the steps away from me.

I shut the door behind him, completely understanding the feeling.

Which doesn't make sense at all, seeing as how we’ve been practically inseparable since coming home. You’d think we'd be tired of each other by now, but I guess that's what happens when you blur lines with your best friend.

I hurry up to my designated massage room, sliding new sheets onto my table and turning on the warmer in preparation for my client. I go through the routine motions, all the while doing my best to not to think of how good this new normal feels, and how I'm terrified of losing it.