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“You’re thinking evil thoughts about me, princess,” my neighbor drawls, leaning against his door frame and folding his arms. “I can always tell. You get this little scrunch in your nose.”
Fuck. The longing swells in my chest, same as it always does: a giant wave crashing through my insides, leaving splintered wreckage in its wake. She’s so goddamn beautiful.
Nope. No, thank you. I have exactly one shred of dignity left, and I’m gonna protect that little thing.
I watch as Dawson chews a mouthful of popcorn, his big body sprawled over my sofa like he owns it. He wriggles to get comfortable, letting out a pleased sigh, and I swear he’s like a stray cat scoping out the new home he’s about to invade.
We catch hands; thump shoulders. Sarge doesn’t crack a smile—but then again, he never does. Does he even know how? Does his face work that way?
“Couldn’t you have assigned her someone else?” “Yup.” Jax smirks, so damn pleased with himself.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to touch you,” Dawson says, each word bitten out like it pains him. “It’s the opposite problem. I wanted it too much. I thought that grabbing each other like that… being pressed together… I might lose my head.”
“Lighten up, jackass,” I mutter to myself, weaving between the sofa and the coffee table to stare out over the city lights. Could switch a lamp on, I suppose, but that wouldn’t go with my tortured idiot vibe.
Her breath catches, and then it’s like the air changes in the room. We go from warmth and teasing and laughter to something else. Something heavier. Something dark and delicious.
If he ever lets me smother him to death by mistake, I’ll kill him.
The primalness of it. The feeling of being claimed. The cosmic bargain we’re sealing together.
“Come on. Let’s leave Sarge to it. If he finds out that we’ve witnessed him experiencing an emotion, he’ll kill us both and hide our bodies under the mat pile.”
