Raegan

I crack my eyes open, letting them adjust to the light as my vision comes in focus. My head pounds against my skull, and I lift my hand to my temple, applying pressure to subdue the ache. I yank the covers over my head, sinking into my bed, not wanting to let any more sunlight reach my eyes.

What happened last night?

All I can remember is Jax showing up at the club. Alcohol. There was definitely alcohol, and I’m pretty sure I drank too much, considering how nauseous I feel. I clench my arm around my midsection as I curl into myself, vomit threatening to come up my throat.

I feel Stella jump on the bed. She steps on my legs to maneuver herself around before putting all her weight on my side. I groan in protest, and she whimpers, trying to snuggle closer to me, like she can help ease the pain.

If only.

Knocking sounds at my door, seeming as loud as a jackhammer, and I want nothing more than to hurl my pillow at whoever is making so much noise.

“Raegan.” Jax’s voice falls over me.

I let out another groan. His footsteps move through the room, and I swear, the sound of a pin dropping would sound like a gun going off next to my ear.

I wonder why he’s here, but I don’t ask, my mind too muddled to comprehend anything he will say.

He places something on the nightstand as the bed sinks, causing me to roll toward him. A moan moves up my throat at the motion, feeling like I’m on a waterbed.

His hand snakes under the comforter and finds my forehead. His thumb strokes my heated skin, and I relax under his touch.

“I brought water and painkillers,” he whispers. “Come out to take them, and then I promise, you can hide from the daylight.”

I grunt in answer, keeping my eyes shut tightly as I peek my head out from under the covers.

“Open,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking my bottom lip.

I do as he said, and he places two pills on my tongue.

“Water.” He guides my hand to the glass, and I grasp it, lifting it to my mouth and taking a long gulp.

My mouth feels like a desert, so I drink the entire glass before he takes it back, placing it on the nightstand.

I quickly hide under the covers as his body shifts next to me. Before I comprehend what’s happening, he’s sliding next to my body, his right hand wrapping around my hip.

“Go to sleep, Red.”

I let myself succumb to sleep, forgetting all about how hungover I feel as Jax holds me close, protecting me from the outside world.

I wake up for the second time, alone, except I know I didn’t fall asleep that way.

My head is no longer throbbing, and I can tolerate the sunlight filtering in my room. I throw my hands above my head, letting them fall to my pillow, as my hair fans out around me. I stare at the popcorn ceiling and contemplate how many little bumps I can count before I give up, but I don’t.

Instead, I try to remember what I got myself into last night. There was terrible dancing and then hot, blow-my-mind dancing. And then there was kissing. God, his kisses get better each time our lips meet.

Stella stirs next to me, stretching her tiny body, before she props herself on my chest.

I rub my hand down her back, stroking her fur as she watches me.

“Stella, why do I do stupid things?” I sigh. “I can’t stay away from him, no matter how hard I try. Do you think this is life’s way of playing a joke on me?”

Her ears perk up.

“I mean, maybe I’m fated to fall for the same guy over and over. The charmers who dazzle me with their looks before sweeping me off my feet with words that would make any girl melt into a puddle. Then, they drop me like a stack of bricks, laughing as I crumble to the floor.”

She licks my hand, comforting me. I think about all the ways I’ve been repeating my mistakes, wrapped up in a guy who I don’t know any better than a stranger walking down the street.

I flip the comforter off me, burying Stella in the covers, and she barks until I fish her out and place her on the floor.

I notice I’m wearing the same clothes from last night, which would explain why I reek of alcohol, but that could just be my rancid breath.

I drag my feet, walking out of my room and heading down the stairs. I stop when my bare feet hit the landing. A gorgeous guy with rumpled brown hair is sitting on the couch with my laptop resting on his knees and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, thinking my mind is playing tricks on me, but he’s still there. His focus is trained on the screen, so he doesn’t notice me gawking at him like a complete lunatic.

Stella runs past me and jumps on the couch, landing in Jax’s lap. She sits on his hand, keeping him from typing on the keyboard, and I bite my lip, stifling a laugh, as I watch him try to move her out of his way. He relents, giving her his full attention.

“Is your mom still asleep?” he asks her as he scratches her belly.

She gnaws on his hand with her tiny teeth, holding him in place with her paws so she can chew on him.

I step up to the couch, clearing my throat, and his head turns in my direction.

“When did you get there?” he asks with a playful smile as his eyes shift between me and Stella.

“About twenty seconds before she attacked you.” I nod in my dog’s direction, watching as she rolls around on the couch, attacking Jax’s arm.

I move around the living room and plop on the couch opposite him, covering my still-jean-clad legs with the blanket lying on the couch.

“What are you doing here?” I play with a loose strand on the blanket, keeping my hand occupied.

He shuts the computer with his free hand and sets it on the coffee table. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. You crashed pretty hard before we even made it out of the club.”

I scrunch my face, trying to remember what happened after the soul-searing kiss he planted on my lips on the dance floor. I come up empty. “And Arya?”

“She went to work a few hours ago.”

Oh, right. I should have known that. It is Tuesday after all. At least, I think it is.

“What were you doing?” I point at the discarded computer.

He runs a hand over his face. “Working on our project. I figured I could get some work done while you were recovering.” He smirks, leaning back into the couch.

I wince, hating that I made him work alone while I nursed a hangover from hell.

Stella lies on his lap, curling into a ball and closing her eyes.

What am I going to do with her?

“You could have waited for me.”

He shrugs. “I wasn’t doing anything else.” He pets Stella’s head, and I swear I see her smile. “I actually think it’s almost done, believe it or not.”

“No way,” I say, skeptical at his admission.

We only worked on it together for one day. It’s not possible for it to be almost finished.

“Yeah.” He taps the side of his head. “I’m a genius.”

I laugh at that.

“Don’t believe me?”

“Not a chance.” I stretch my legs out on the couch, turning my body to face him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know. I’m more than good looks.” He wags his eyebrows as he throws his arms on the back of the couch on either side of his head.

“Then, tell me something, Jax Andrews.” I cross my arms. “Who are you really?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was Superman? Average man by day and superhero by night?”

Stella shifts on his lap, letting out a low whimper.

“Only if you believe that I’m a secret warrior, capable of kicking any guy’s ass, no matter how big he is,” I counter.

He beams, showing off his perfect teeth, as his gray eyes crinkle in the corners. “I totally believe that. Remind me never to piss you off.”

His phone beeps from the arm of the couch, and he picks it up, staring at the screen.

His hand grips his phone, the other hand fisting on his thigh. His shoulders tighten as he shoves his phone in his pocket, staring out ahead of him, seeming to get lost in his own world.

I uncross my arms, and my brows dip together. “Are you okay?”

He looks at me, his face void of emotion. He nods, but his gray eyes cloud with worry and what looks like disappointment. He scrubs a hand down his face and gives me a forced smile, nothing like what I witnessed last night. His smiles and laughter made me feel light and happy.

The night before comes rushing back to me in one giant flood, sweeping over me before I have a chance to realize what’s happening.

Bodies touching, hands searching, and lips meeting over and over again. My intense desire to drown in him as he escapes in me. Grinding and moaning in a vacant hallway in a busy club.

My cheeks heat from the memory, embarrassment coating me, as I recall the way I mauled him.

But he kept me at bay, not acting on my advances.

I blow out a breath, thankful he didn’t oblige me last night. I guess that means he really isn’t like Travis. Because I would bet anything Travis would have screwed me in the hallway, not caring who walked by.

I bite my lip, willing the burning on my cheeks to subside, as I remember the way Jax tasted, like fresh mint.

I push my humiliation aside, focusing on the mysterious guy sitting on my couch. “Do, uh”—I wave my hand at the laptop—“you want to keep working?”

“No.” He removes Stella from his lap and gets to his feet. He straightens his shirt before running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I should go.”

I throw the blanket off me and head to the front door. “Well, okay.” I shift on my feet. “I’ll see you in class?”

He nods as I open the door, baffled as to how our playful demeanor changed to tense in less than five seconds.

He walks out the door without glancing back in my direction, and I hold the door open, watching until he fades from view and all I’m staring at is an empty driveway.

I wonder, Am I really going to let this happen? Will I let myself drown in Jax when he’s drowning all on his own?

As soon as Arya got home, I hightailed it out of the house, snatching my keys out of her hand before she could put them down. I spent the whole day playing what-if and nearly drove myself insane.

I decided I needed to leave and go to the one place I always felt safe. Home.

I need to stop worrying and thinking. I need to clear my head.

I close the car door behind me, tossing my keys in my purse as I step inside the house I grew up in.

I won’t lie. It doesn’t smell like a bakery or a restaurant with the aroma of food filling the house. My mom’s not a cook—she never has been—and my dad can only cook meat. My entire childhood, we lived off whatever meat Dad felt like grilling and canned vegetables Mom couldn’t ruin.

I can’t complain though. I was always fed, and there was never a shortage of laughter.

“I’m home!” I yell, dropping my purse on the carpet next to Dad’s recliner and sliding off my tennis shoes.

“Hey, sweetie,” Mom says, slipping around the corner, covered in food. Her long blonde hair is pinned back with the same plain silver barrette she has worn for years. She’s never been a flashy woman, wearing tons of jewelry or makeup. She keeps everything simple, which is perfectly her.

I laugh under my breath as she hugs me tight. “Cooking again?”

Just because she can’t cook doesn’t mean she doesn’t try. I can’t fault her for wanting to learn, but her food never comes out tasting like anything other than bland, or it’s completely raw.

“Yes, but I just know it’s horrible. How about we order pizza for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” I answer as we amble into the kitchen that looks like a food fight broke out in it.

Flour coats the kitchen counter, and several carved-out avocados rest next to the stove. Three cutting boards lay on the kitchen island along with an array of knives, and five slices of lemon have been dropped on the floor.

How did she make this much of a mess all on her own?

“Why don’t you order, and I’ll start cleaning up?” I mash my lips together, holding back my laughter.

Swiping her phone off the counter, she dials the pizza place that she surely has on speed dial, and I get to work on the mountain of dishes scattered around the kitchen.

I walk across the kitchen to the sink, but I freeze when moisture seeps through one of my socks, something mushy and cold oozing in between my toes. I cringe, wondering what I stepped in, as I slip off my socks and throw them to the side. I wipe my foot clean with a paper towel.

“Sorry about that, sweetie.” Mom winces, placing her phone on the dining room table.

“It’s fine, Mom.” I throw the paper towel away and grab the sponge off the counter to clean the unidentified goo off the floor. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s on his way home from work,” she responds, gathering all the dirty dishes and placing them by the sink.

My dad has always worked too much. I’d say he’s a workaholic, but he never missed a dance recital or school play when I was growing up. He was there for every important event in my life, so I forgave him for those nights he had to work late. He would always make up for it with his bear hugs.

I grab the lone pan from the stove, grimacing at it. “What were you trying to make?” I ask as green and brown slime drips off the pan and onto my hand.

“Chicken with a lemon-avocado sauce.” She pushes up the sleeves of her shirt before turning on the sink faucet.

“Please, never make it again.”

We both laugh as she clangs dishes together, placing them in the sink that’s filling with soapy water.

“How’s school going?”

“It’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What about Travis? Is he still bothering you?” she asks, concern lacing her voice.

When I told my parents Travis and I broke up, I could hear the relief in their voices. As much as they hated Travis, they knew I was hurting over losing him, so they didn’t express their opinions on the matter.

“Nope. He’s finally taken the hint, and I got Stella back,” I say triumphantly, squaring my shoulders with a satisfied smile.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so happy,” she squeals. “I know how much you missed her. Probably as much as we miss having you around the house.”

“I miss you guys, too.”

I grab the disinfecting wipes out from under the kitchen sink and start scrubbing the counters. Mom rinses the soapy water off the dishes and puts them in the dishwasher.

I asked her once why she washed the dishes before she put them in the dishwasher. She told me she didn’t have a dishwasher when she was younger and had to hand wash everything. Now she can’t break the habit.

“Did someone order pizza?” Dad hollers from the front door. He strides into the kitchen, appraising the mess, and all he does is chuckle under his breath. “I see why you needed pizza.” He sets the two boxes of pizza down on the counter before embracing me with one of his famous bear hugs. “What do you say we eat and clean this mess up later?”

Gathering around the kitchen island, we eat pizza straight from the box, not bothering with plates. We laugh, reminiscing about my childhood. Mom sniffles, remembering when I broke my arm after falling off the monkey bars at school, and Dad howls, recalling the terrible fashion sense I had in elementary school.

This, all of us laughing, is everything. I couldn’t ask for two better people to call parents.