The bed is empty when I get up in the morning. I can hear Jax running on the treadmill down the hall when I wobble into the kitchen. It’s pretty early. Just barely 8:30.

Thinking about everything he’s done for me since the accident makes me wish the last few months had been different somehow. Maybe I should’ve told him what happened on his birthday the first time we ran into each other at Ryan’s, or maybe I shouldn’t have avoided him all semester. I feel like I’ve wasted time hiding. From him. From me. In business school. Behind Brady.

I’m ready to just be me.

I’m not stupid enough to think Jax and I can be anything more than friends because it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see I’m not his type of girl, but I want to be a part of his life. I think about the conversation I overheard between him and his sister when he brought over that box of high school stuff. About what he’s been through and the way his family neglects him. He might have tons of money and be popular and sexy, but I swear I see sadness behind his eyes—I’ve seen it there all fall—and part of me wants to do what I can to make it go away.

Using one crutch, I amble toward the stove and decide that all of Jax’s awesomeness warrants some kind of reciprocation, and I’m guessing after a hard workout, he’s going to be starving, so I decide to whip him up some breakfast. He clearly wasn’t intending to be around this weekend because his cupboards are pretty bare, but I finally spot a box of pancake mix and a basket of fruit.

After settling on a stool, I set my crutch nearby as I make a big batch of my mom’s favorite apple pancakes.

When Jax strolls down the hall forty-five minutes later, my decision to sit perched up high is called into question because I nearly tumble off when I see him. He’s wearing a pair of running shorts, and that’s it.

He’s glistening, drenched in sweat, which highlights all the peaks and valleys of his perfectly sculpted body. His hair is going every which way, and he looks like some Calvin Klein model who hopped off a billboard. My memories of him half naked did not do him justice.

I close my mouth and look away.

“I, uh, made you some breakfast. If you’re hungry.”

Breathe. Push air through your lungs and breathe.

Clenching my thighs together, I try to ignore the sudden hammering between my legs. His steps sound behind me until I feel his body next to me.

“You made me pancakes?” He sounds so surprised, I snort.

“Yeah. It was rough. I had to actually stir.”

His laughter fills the room before he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re perfect.”

I don’t get a chance to respond before he says he’s going to jump in the shower and will be out in ten.

It takes me every one of those ten minutes to get a hold of myself. I’m more than glad my panties can’t talk. Because they want Jax. Now.

When he comes out of his bedroom, he’s wearing jeans and another t-shirt, but the water droplets on his neck remind me of what he must have looked like a moment ago in the shower. And dear God, do I want to run my hands over that body.

“I hope you like apples.” I push a plate in his direction as I grab my crutch with one hand and my food with the other.

He looks down at the pancakes, curious.

“I shredded apples into the batter. If you don’t like it, I can make you something else.”

“I’m sure I’ll love them.”

We sit at the table, and his beaming smile dazes me.

As he drizzles syrup over the stack, he licks his lips. “Pancakes are my favorite food.”

I watch him take a bite. As he chews, he moans. “Jesus, Dani, these are good.” He shovels in another big bite. And there’s another moan.

Pancakes shouldn’t make me think about sex, but all this moaning makes me want to crawl up him naked.

He shovels in a few more bites and says, “How about you come over every weekend and make these for me?” His enthusiasm for something so simple makes me melt even more.

“If you ate pancakes every weekend, you’d get tired of them.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

I can’t help the lust-filled smile on my face.

He waves toward his plate with his fork. “Besides my sister, you’re the only girl to ever make me pancakes, and these are better. Hers were always a little burned, but don’t tell her I said that.”

There it is. He thinks of me like his sister. Probably a little sister since I’m the size of a hobbit. Trying not to let my smile falter, I nod. “It’s my mom’s recipe. I can’t take credit.”

I’m not hurt. I’m not. I’m good. We’re friends. I can do this.

Grabbing my fork and knife, I slather on a little butter and then carve a grid into my food before I pour syrup into all the nooks and crannies.

“Whatcha doing there, tiger?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow.

Ah, the disdain for my method rears its ugly head.

“I’m going to ignore your mockery and let you take a bite so you can see there’s a method to my madness.”

He eyes me suspiciously, like I’ve committed sacrilege for not simply drowning my pancakes in a river of syrup.

I spear through three perfect squares and hold it out to him. “Here. Tell me this isn’t better.”

He opens his mouth, and I watch the food disappear between those beautiful lips.

“Oh my God. You’re right. This is amazing.” Jax stares down at his stack, unsure why our food tastes different.

“Cutting the grid allows the syrup and butter to drench all of those hard-to-reach places.” The way I want you to drench all of my hard-to-reach places.

Stop, Dani!

After closing my eyes to clear my head, I slide my plate over to him and take his half-empty one away. “I have a ton more in the kitchen. Take mine.”

He looks at me like I’m an alien, and then he laughs. “You make me pancakes and cut my food into bite-sized pieces.”

Nice, Danielle. Now he sees you as his mom. #Awesome

“Shut up and eat.”

As he scarfs down three servings of pancakes, we chat about yesterday’s games, transitioning seamlessly from football to basketball and then soccer. In a moment of silence, his brow furrows. “How’s your knee?”

“So much better. All that ice yesterday really helped because it hardly feels swollen now. It didn’t hurt that much when I got up, but I put my brace on anyway.”

“That’s good. We’ll ice it again today.” The way his eyes pass over me makes me squirm, and my eyes drop to my plate. He clears his throat. “Dani, I’m really glad you’re feeling better. When I saw you on the pavement, I was so afraid your injuries were more serious.”

I get it. This is Jax making sure I’m feeling better. “I’ll be okay,” I say, suddenly interested in my napkin.

“At the very least, I thought you had a concussion. You were so out of it.”

Biting my lip, I mumble, “I hadn’t eaten, so I was probably light-headed.”

He looks up with a sheepish expression. “Is it terrible that I was hoping you wouldn’t remember the whole ordeal?”

Laughing, I shrug. “I think it would take more than a knock on my head to forget that.”

His head tilts slowly, like he’s deep in thought, as he runs a finger along his hairline. “I don’t know. You’d be surprised.”

“You have a few memories you’d like erased?”

“Mm. Maybe one or two.” His eyebrows lift. “Okay, who are we kidding? Probably a boatload.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Concussions suck. I’m glad you don’t have one.”

“Let me guess. You got one while you were torturing your sister. She knocked you over the head with a brick for being a weenie.”

His laughter rings through the apartment, and the sound carves into me the way a rainbow cuts a swath across the sky. “Ha. That would’ve made sense. I probably deserved a good beating from her for all the crap Daren and I pulled. No, I got one this fall, and the headaches suck. I still get them, and it’s been a while.”

I look at him sideways. “When did you get a concussion?” Wouldn’t Clem have said something if her brother had been injured?

He laughs weakly. “My birthday.”

I try to keep my jaw from dropping open. He was with me on his birthday. I doubt he would’ve been drinking at a club if it had happened earlier in the day. My heart starts to race.

“What… what happened?” Goosebumps line my skin as I wait for his answer.

He shakes his head like he’s embarrassed. Maybe he got hammered that night after all. “My neighbor got locked out of her condo, and her four-year-old daughter was asleep inside. Hannah left something on the stove and was freaking out, so being the genius that I am, I scaled her balcony but slipped as I was crawling over and hit the grill with my head. Had to get four stitches, a tetanus shot and an MRI. It was a great night.”

“That’s a bummer.” I swallow and try to wrap my head around what he just said. Trying to joke, I say, “Bet the MRI made it memorable.”

“Well, that’s the one reprieve I got. The whole night is a blur, but I’m told I had a great time.”

#HolyShit

That’s what happened! It doesn’t explain why he ran off with that model, but at least I can stop making myself crazy by thinking I was too insignificant to register on this guy’s radar after we hooked up.

“You did,” I whisper. He looks at me, and I realize I said that out loud. “I’m sure you did. You were, what, turning twenty-one?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t forget me because he got drunk. He got injured!