Page 19 of The Last Love Story (Baker Girls #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JADE

My fucking air conditioner just cock blocked me.

One of the selling points of this place was the central air for both apartments.

What no one mentioned was that the damn thing breaks down regularly.

It passed all the tests the home inspector did, but a week after moving in three years ago, it broke down.

It broke down one other time that summer, and since then, it breaks down multiple times each summer.

It’s always some little fix. I half wonder if they’re using disposable parts when they fix these things, but I’m desperate for AC, so I don’t question anything.

The second summer I lived here, I put a small unit in my bedroom window and paid for one for the unit below me as well. I can work out of my bedroom, eat my meals in my bedroom, and generally survive in my bedroom. Most importantly, I can be cold while I sleep. If I’m not, I don’t sleep at all.

“What was that?” Justin asks .

“The bane of my existence,” I groan. Off his confused look, I continue. “The air conditioner just went out.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Only during the summer.”

He gives me a flat look, then realization hits. “That’s why you have an air conditioner in your room too.”

“Yep. I’ll call the repair place.”

He waves a hand, then plucks their card off the fridge. “I’ve got it. Take your smoothie and go get your AC running, so you won’t be overheated. I can make the call.”

“Are you sure?”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Let your husband handle this.”

I stare at him for a beat. “I suppose I can let you be the man of the house.”

He nods toward the hallway. “Go on.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He stares at me until I finally leave the room, and I have to admit, there’s something nice about having someone else to help handle all the little things.

I can’t stop thinking about Justin. We ordered takeout for dinner so we wouldn’t have to heat the kitchen, then we sat on the back porch for a bit, relaxing, since there was a nice breeze.

It’s obvious he’s more equipped than I am to handle the heat, but all I can think right now is that he’s out in the stupidly hot living room, while I’m in here enjoying all the cool air.

He’s used to it , I tell myself.

He grew up in Georgia.

Maybe he likes sleeping warm .

Or maybe he’s on the couch tossing and turning and can’t sleep at all.

It should only be one night because they’re coming to fix it tomorrow. I have a pre-op appointment, then need to go get some easy to put on clothes and a few other things I need before my surgery on Friday. Justin jumped in and said I still need to do all that, and he’d wait here all day.

I look at the empty space next to me and close my eyes.

I’m the worst wife ever.

Forcing my eyes open again, I throw the covers off and climb out of bed, telling myself I’m doing this for the right reasons—so my husband won’t melt—and not the wrong ones. Like wondering what it would be like to sleep next to him. Or cuddle with him. Or— nope. Not going there.

When I walk out to the living room, Justin is lying on his back on the couch, no blankets on, an arm tossed over his face, and chest glistening with sweat.

“Justin,” I loudly whisper, trying not to wake him up too aggressively.

He jolts awake. “Huh? What’s going on?” He blinks at me a couple of times, then lurches forward. “Are you okay?”

He’s sleeping out here overheated, and he’s worried about me?

“Are you? You look like you’re sweating to death.”

He looks down, then waves a hand. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Jade—”

“Come on.”

His brows dart up. “What?”

“Come on. Come sleep in my room.”

He looks at me like he’s not sure he should. Then that annoying charming smirk appears. “I knew we’d end up sharing a bed eventually, but I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

I pin him with a look. A sassy one that makes his smile grow. “I’m sorry I don’t want my husband to melt into a puddle. Especially since we just got married. They’d probably accuse me of murder.”

He laughs as he climbs off the couch, then grabs my arm, looking at me sincerely. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. My bed is huge. My room is cold. Come get some decent sleep instead of sweating all night.”

He stares at me for a beat longer. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. And don’t worry. I don’t bite. Unless you ask me to.” I give him a flirtatious smile to put him at ease, then head back down the hall.

When we get to my room, he pauses inside the doorway and lets out a long breath of relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer?”

I shake my head. “I usually end up in the middle, but most of my stuff is in the nightstand on the right, so you can take the left side.”

“Got it.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, then he gestures to the bed as if I’ve forgotten what we’re supposed to be doing.

I didn’t forget. I’m a little distracted. Because it’s suddenly dawning on me he’s only wearing sleep shorts, and I’m wearing a loose tee with boy short undies. And we’re going to sleep next to each other all night.

I can’t breathe.

But when Justin raises his eyebrows, I give him a smile that hopefully doesn’t make me look psychotic and climb into bed. Lying flat on my back with my arms at my sides.

This is fine.

“Thank you,” Justin says again.

“No problem.”

“Well, uh, goodnight.”

“Night,” I chirp.

I swear I hear a stifled laugh, but I close my eyes tight, breathe deep, and try to drift off without moving an inch.

Justin has a big cock.

And it’s… staring at me.

I lift the sheets again and look down at it, all hard and right there.

Oh god, I’m a perv.

If a guy in one of my romance books did this, it would not be okay.

Although you typically can’t see a girl being turned on. But creepily staring wouldn’t be okay.

Consent is a thing.

That’s it.

I’m about to push the covers off and covertly roll out of bed when Justin stirs.

What do I do?

Look at the ceiling? Pretend to be asleep? Act casual, like there isn’t a tent over his crotch that a whole ass group of Boy Scouts could camp under?

Thankfully, he rolls away from me.

I slowly exhale, trying to keep it from being audible, then dramatically yawn and stretch.

Justin inhales deeply, then looks over his shoulder at me. “Mornin’.”

“Morning.” And my voice is an octave too high. Great.

“How’d you sleep?”

That dissipates the awkwardness for a moment. “Good. How about you?”

“Also good. Much better than if I’d been tossing and turning on the couch all night.”

“Good. I’m glad.” I’m calmer now, but my voice is still coming out breathy.

He’s still right there .

With his probably-still-hard cock.

And he smells good.

I’m not okay. Send help. Or a vibrator. A Justin-free space where I can use my vibrator.

“Okay if I go shower?” he asks.

I glance at him. Did the universe hear my plea?

“Yeah, of course. I’m just going to… lounge for a bit. Maybe get a little work in before I have to leave.”

He nods. “Thanks.”

Then he’s climbing out of bed, and though I shouldn’t look, I can’t tear my eyes away, wondering if I can get another glimpse of him, but he keeps his body angled away from me. On purpose?

The second the lock on the bathroom door clicks, I dive for my bedside table and pull out my favorite vibrator. It’s quiet, but powerful. Exactly what I need to get the job done.

The shower turns on, and I breathe out a sigh of relief and switch my vibrator on. The second it touches my clit, I’m fighting back my moans. I’m too keyed up. I need the release.

My mind drifts back to what I saw this morning, then I imagine his hand around that hard muscle as he holds it in front of my mouth. I close my eyes and imagine swirling my tongue over his tip and the guttural moan he’d make.

I bite my lip, but can’t hold back a whimper.

My fingers clench the sheets. I’m so close.

Then my mouth falls open as I imagine taking him deep, choking on him— fuck.

Whiny moans slip out of me as my orgasm ripples through me, first in soft waves and then hard pulses.

I go limp against the bed, heart pounding.

Of all the things I thought might be difficult about living with Justin, how horny I’d be for him didn’t even cross my mind. If the tension keeps running this high, I’ll be lucky to survive the week without spontaneously combusting—or spontaneously orgasming—in front of him.