Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but never has one of them ever been fucking a girl even remotely close to Valentine’s Day.

I like pussy. Love it. Just . . . not that much.

But, um, as it turns out, I fucked a woman in Cabo a month ago, then found her a week later essentially at my doorstep, blah blah blah, long story short, now I’m addicted to her pussy, Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, and I’m freaking out because I can’t even ghost her.

Right?

I pull up my phone, heading to Google.

Is it possible to ghost someone I live with?

. . .

No, I can’t. I mean, Google says I can. But that’s just cruel. And sure, I don’t wanna be Lennon’s boyfriend, but I don’t wanna crush her spirit either. I like her spirit.

I’ll just act like it’s any other day. I’ll slap her ass when I wander into the kitchen and find it hanging out of her flimsy jammie shorts. She’ll karate chop my wrist and tell me to fuck off. Then she’ll catch sight of Magic Mike, I’ll smile at the way her eyes widen like she forgets every morning how huge and incredible my cock is, and when she rolls her eyes, I’ll remind her of how she did that in my bed, her bed, or on the living room couch the night before, while moaning my name. We have a routine, and routine is good. Routine is important.

But tomorrow, I won’t fuck her. Definitely not. Not on Valentine’s Day.

“Oh, hey.” Carter taps the table, sipping his chocolate milk when he gets our attention, because that’s the thing about our attention: he wants it for as long as he can possibly have it. “I’m not gonna be reachable tomorrow, so if you need anything from me, make sure it’s tonight.” Another sip of his chocolate milk, pausing to blow bubbles in it before draining it. He sighs, long and theatrical, leaning back in his chair, arms overhead as he stretches. “Yeah, I’m gonna be balls deep in my wife all day long.”

I didn’t know Carter personally before he and Olivia got married, but I’m 99 percent sure one of the reasons behind the wedding was so he could say my wife at any and every opportunity that presented itself.

“Don’t you have a child?” I ask, cutting Adam’s last breakfast sausage in two, stuffing half in my mouth as he frowns. “And doesn’t she need, like . . . attention?”

“Yeah, well, I mean . . .” Carter scratches his head. “Okay, well, Ireland naps twice a day, so I’ll be . . .” He frowns. “Okay, wait. We’re going for breakfast at nine, and then we’re going to Maplewood Farms at ten thirty, and then . . .” He trails off, counting out his fingers. When he looks up at us, his expression is bordering on the edge of distraught.

“What?” Garrett asks.

Adam swirls a bite of pancake in syrup. “Looks like he just remembered you can’t fuck whenever you want when you’re a parent.”

“Carter, buddy, you okay?” Emmett watches with a grin as Carter drags both hands down his face.

“I’m only gonna get to be balls deep in my wife two times for Carter’s Valentine’s Day Extravaganza!”

Why Carter’s Valentine’s Day Extravaganza? Because it’s not just Valentine’s Day; it’s also his birthday. That’s why.

“Oh no,” I murmur, drizzling chocolate syrup over my fruit kebab. “You’re only gonna get to fuck your wife twice in one day.”

“You watch your filthy mouth,” he barks. “You’re gonna spend the day fucking Lennon.”

I snort, stuffing my kebab in my mouth. “No. Nope. Not tomorrow.”

“Why not tomorrow?” Adam asks.

“Yeah,” Garrett murmurs. “You fuck her every other day.”

First of all, I want to clarify that it wasn’t me who told everyone we fucked the other week, or that we’ve been fucking virtually every day since. It was Cara. Well, technically, it was Lennon. She told the Coochie Gang, and even though their group chat subheading is the Chamber of Secrets, everything said there is, in fact, not a secret. Cara opened her big mouth, and two minutes later the guys were blowing up our Puck Sluts group chat.

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.” Emmett licks maple syrup off his fingers before signaling the waitress for another round of chocolate milk. “Jaxon can’t fuck Lennon because then it means he wants to date her.”

“Okay.” I clap my hands on the table. “Does it? It does, right? I knew it. I fucking knew it.” Sitting back in my chair, I throw my hands up. “And that’s why I can’t fuck her tomorrow.” I prop my chin on my fist. “But it won’t hurt her feelings either, right? If I just, like, pretend it’s not Valentine’s Day. Don’t bring it up at all? ’Cause I don’t wanna hurt her or whatever.” I’ve seen her cry more than once, and it feels like someone’s ripping my heart from my chest, that the only remedy is to hand it over to her if it’ll help. “Yeah, hurting her feelings is not something I’m on board with, like, at all.”

The guys exchange a look, but nobody says a word.

“What?”

Another look, and finally, Adam squeezes my shoulder. “Hey, big guy. Is it possible you have a cru⁠—”

“Don’t,” I mutter. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”

“Crush,” Carter whispers. His eyes bounce between the others before coming back to me, and he nods eagerly. “Adam was gonna say crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on Lennon!” It comes out slightly louder than I mean it to, and the four of them share yet another look, brows high. “Don’t look at each other like that! I don’t have a crush on her! Sure, she’s cool. She makes me laugh sometimes, and I don’t hate having a roommate. But-but . . . it’s because I’m having sex. Like, all the time. The best sex. And—you know what? Fuck you guys. I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Aw, come on, man.” Emmett nudges my elbow. “We’re just teasing. You can talk to us.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” I shrug, stirring my chocolate milk with my straw. It’s one of those loopy ones, and this diner stocks them only because Carter once asked the waitress if they had them, then pouted up at her, and when she said no he told her how much he used to love them as a kid. Seventy-seven-year-old Ethel was no match for the Beckett pout, and the next week our chocolate milks arrived with these straws in them. “Nothing to talk about.”

Carter smiles at Ethel when she drops off a second round of chocolate milks, and hands her a wad of cash. “Okay, well, if you wanna talk about it⁠—”

“I don’t.”

“In the future⁠—”

“I won’t.”

His eyes narrow. “Britney’s Bitches are here to help,” he rushes out before I can cut him off.

“I—” I frown. “Britney’s Bitches? Who are Britney’s Bitches?”

The four of them raise their hands. “We are.”

“Uh . . . why?”

“You know.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“It’s Britney, bitch,” Carter says simply, rolling his eyes when I only blink at him. He throws his arms out. “We’re the bitches.”

“Wanna hear our tagline?” Garrett asks.

“I really don’t.”

“‘Oops, I did it again’.”

I clap my palm to my face, dragging it down in excruciatingly slow motion. “Can someone please explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

“It’s where we talk about our girl troubles,” Adam clarifies. “Carter insisted we needed a team name.”

Carter grins proudly. “Team names build team spirit.”

Who the fuck made this guy?

“Okay, let’s pretend that’s normal. You guys don’t have girl troubles. Why do you need a group?”

Emmett snorts a laugh. “You think just ’cause I’m married I don’t have girl troubles? First of all, Cara’s scary as fuck, so I always have girl troubles. Second, we fuck up all the time.”

Adam scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t fuck up all the time.”

“Carter fucks up the most,” Garrett explains. “So we mostly gather to help him figure out how to get back on Ollie’s good side. Like now, they’re arguing about whether to have ponies at Ireland’s birthday party next month.”

Carter rolls his eyes. “One of us thinks our little princess deserves ponies at her first birthday, and the other one of us is unreasonable.”

Garrett ignores him, which is almost always for the best. “We all need help sometimes, and it’s nice to have people to talk to.”

“You know, Jaxon.” Carter sips his milk. “Britney could always use one more bitch.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t have girl problems.”

Garrett winks. “Okay.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh huh,” Emmett hums.

“You know why?”

“No, but we’re sure you’re about to tell us,” Adam murmurs.

“Because I don’t have a girl.”

It’s silent for a whole second before they explode with laughter, and I stand, grabbing my coat.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, so I can’t have girl problems!” I shove my things into my pockets. “I don’t need you, and I don’t need your stupid group!”

“It’s okay if you want a valentine,” Emmett calls after me. “Nothing to be ashamed of! Happens to the best of us!”

A valentine? Ha! I’ve never been more insulted in my life.

“I don’t need a valentine!” I shout over my shoulder, ignoring the looks from the other diner-goers. “I have a cat!”

“Aha!” I clap my hands to my cock, rolling off my bed and onto the floor. “You’re not getting me this morning, fucker!”

Mittens glares at me, ears back, bushy tail standing tall. He crouches, and when he pounces, I roll away and leap to my feet.

“Too fast for you! You’re slowing down, buddy. All those treats Len’s been feeding you.”

Another crouch, this one extra low, tail whipping back and forth, and I follow his dilated gaze to my crotch, now unguarded. Mittens pounces, claws out. I screech, diving into the bathroom, slamming the door, and Lennon’s cackle rings from the abyss.

“Get it, Mitts!”

“It’s not a toy!” I shriek as his chunky body collides with the bathroom door. “It’s a precious, vital limb, and you need to treat it with kindness!”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaxon!” Lennon yells. “It’s a goddamn dick!”

“Well, you sure worship it like it’s a god!” I scream back.

I roll onto my back, listening as my bedroom door opens, as Lennon scoops up Mittens and tells him he’s the bestest boy ever. When I’m finally safe, I empty my bladder, wash my hands, and brush my teeth. My cock’s still hard by the time I’m done, which is a shame. It’s Valentine’s Day, so even though I want to hoist Lennon up on the kitchen counter and have her for breakfast, I can’t.

When I leave the bathroom, my phone pings, and I smile down at the picture of Ireland wearing a headband with two hearts attached to springs. She’s got her thumb shoved in her mouth, grinning at the camera, and is wearing a shirt with a heart on it that says my uncles own my heart.

Olivia

Happy Valentine’s Day, Uncle Jax!

Me

Does Carter know she’s wearing that?

Olivia

I took it yesterday while you guys were at practice. Carter couldn’t handle her wearing it on *his* day.

She sends another picture, Ireland wearing the same headband and dimpled grin. But this time, her pink shirt has a heart with Carter’s face on it, and says my daddy is my valentine.

Olivia

Speaking of, Carter’s walking around the house sighing loudly every ten seconds because it’s 8:30 and you haven’t wished him a happy birthday yet. I don’t like asking for favors, Jaxon, but for the love of God, please put me out of my misery.

I huff a laugh, pulling up his contact.

Me

Happy bday bud. Hope it’s a good one.

His response is instant.

Carter

thx!!!! luv u!!!

???

Me

What?

Carter

i said i luv u

Me

I know. Thanks.

Carter

. . .

For fuck’s sake. My fingers hover over the letters, but for some reason, I can’t do it. Can’t type a fucking four-letter word. So I send him the next-best thing.

Me

*heart emoji*

Carter

it’ll do!

I roll my eyes, and the second I put my phone down, it pings again. It’s Carter, but this time he’s in our group chat.

Carter

jaxon said he loves me!!!

Me

I did fucking not!

Emmett

What’s the context?

Carter

i said i luv u, and he sent me a heart back!

Me

Which is hardly an I love you.

Emmett

I’ve consulted with Cara. Can confirm: Jaxon loves Carter.

Garrett

What the fuck?? Where’s my I love you, Jaxon???

Oh wait. Last week he clapped my shoulder and said “Your haircut looks nice, buddy.” Was that an I love you??

Carter

That’s definitely an I love you!!!

Adam

I think it’s nice you’re getting comfortable displaying your emotions. We love you, buddy.

Emmett

This calls for a group hug. Tomorrow at 7, pre-plane?

I groan, and right before I can toss it on my bed and pretend none of this happened, it pings again. This time, it’s Lennon.

Tidbit

I think it’s really sweet you dug deep and conjured up an “I love you” for Carter’s birthday. You’re not as tough as you like people to think *hug emoji*

Tidbit

Also, please put on clothes before you come out. I’m on a video call.

Me

What if they wanna meet Magic Mike?

Tidbit

Trust me, he doesn’t.

He?

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.

Me

He?

Damn it, I did it.

I don’t wait around for her answer, and I only partly accommodate her, yanking a pair of underwear up my legs. If I have to scare off another man, the best way to do so is by letting him know I have a huge dick. Right?

Throwing open the door, I strut down the hall and into the kitchen. There’s a fancy latte waiting for me on the counter, because Lennon loves the instruction manual I made her. Every time she’s up first, I wake to a new creation.

I swipe the steaming mug off the counter, sipping it as I stroll into the living room. Her gaze comes to me over her shoulder from where she’s curled up on the couch, and she rolls her eyes.

“What?” I glance at my bulging dick in my tight boxer briefs. “I put on underwear.”

“That your roommate?” a deep voice asks from the laptop balanced on her knees, and my feet pick up their pace.

Lennon is mine in the morning. Her sleep-rumpled curls, piled on top of her head, spilling down her neck. Her lazy, quiet smile, and the bright sparkle in her brown eyes after an incredible sleep following the dicking of the century. The baggy cropped T-shirt hanging off her shoulder, the morning sun kissing her copper skin. The drop of coffee that clings to her plush lower lip when she pulls her mug back, and I have to stop myself from swooping in, catching her mouth with mine and stealing that droplet.

I’m not a jealous man, but . . . fuck it, I’m a little jealous.

That’s why I strategically position myself right behind her, stretching obnoxiously. I hike my leg up on the back of the couch in some sort of weird lunge, essentially shoving my crotch in her face and the face of the man on the screen, and I sigh.

“Who we talking to?”

“Are you for fucking real right now?” She gestures at my sweet lunge. “What is this?”

“This?” I slide my palm over my quad, flexing. “Upped my leg day weights. Nice, huh? Yeah, these thighs are pretty powerful if you ask me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure this is exactly what my brother wanted to see this morning.”

I pause in my flexing. “Your brother?”

“My kind of Valentine’s Day,” the voice from the laptop says with a chuckle, and then, “Holy fuck, Len. Is that Jaxon Riley? You’re rooming with Jaxon Riley?”

I lean over Lennon’s shoulder, gripping her laptop screen. I can’t be certain, but the man looks just like the third baseman for the Toronto Jays. “Devin Hayes?”

He grins, and there’s no mistaking it. From the chestnut curls on top of his head, the brown copper skin, lips the exact same heart shape, pulling up into the exact same smile.

I look at Lennon. “Devin Hayes is your brother?”

Her slightly horrified eyes move between us. “Do you two know each other?”

“No, just a fan,” Devin and I say at the same time, and then point at each other. “Eeeh!”

I set my coffee down and throw myself over the back of the couch, crushing Lennon into the arm of it. “Scooch over, tidbit.”

“Tidbit?” Devin asks.

“Oh, yeah. She thought Timbits were called Tidbits. Can you believe that?”

“Tidbits? Len, come on! You were born in Canada! I live here!”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me who your brother was.”

She crosses her arms. “Does it matter?”

“Well, number one,” Devin says, “it immediately ups your cool factor, because—” He gestures at his body. “I mean, come on.”

“He’s not wrong. What are you benching these days? You smashed that ball out of the park back in September. Couldn’t believe it.”

“Oh! In Boston? So fucking close to breaking that record.”

“This season,” I tell him. “I know it.”

Lennon huffs, and I turn to her, sipping my coffee. She’s got her arms pinned across her perfect tits, and if it weren’t Valentine’s Day I’d end this call and offer to fuck that ferocious scowl right off her pretty face.

“What’s with the pout, tidbit?”

She throws her arms in the air, nearly taking out my eye with her elbow. “That’s my brother! And you’re my roommate! You can’t be friends! It messes everything up!”

I look to Devin, silence stretching between the three of us.

And then: “Jaxon, when you playing in Toronto next? I’ll look at my schedule, see if I’m in town, and we can hook up.”

“Oh my God.” Christ, there go her arms again, and I get a face full of her ass when she shoves the laptop onto my lap and stands. She swipes my coffee mug. “You don’t deserve this.” She smiles at us, extra syrupy. “Enjoy your date.”

“Okay, bye.” I stretch out on the couch, scooping Mittens up off the floor when he tries to chase after Lennon. “Oh, hey, Len? Can you get me Mittens’s catnip toy? It’s⁠—”

She snatches my cat up. “You don’t deserve this either.”

I gasp, but it’s the words she mouths to me as she’s walking away that really hurt.

No pussy for you.

“I didn’t want it anyway!” I call after her disappearing ass, about both the cat and the pussy, and yes, I’m fucking lying. “Sorry,” I mumble to Devin. “She’s always yelling at me.”

“Hey, I’m just happy she wasn’t crying when she picked up the call. First Valentine’s Day in . . .” He scratches his chin. “Way too long, that’s all I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Valentine’s is her favorite holiday. Used to decorate the shit out of our house, turn the whole thing red and pink.”

I chuckle, gaze moving around my pink-and-red condo.

“Her first Valentine’s Day with Ryne, she called me crying. He forgot, and instead of apologizing he told her Valentine’s Day was just a day women invented to get men to spend money on them. For fuck’s sake, man, she just wanted some pink tulips. How hard is it to get your girl her favorite flowers once a year?” He shakes his head. “He tossed a fifty-dollar bill at her and told her to go buy her own flowers.”

Anger churns in my gut as I sit up. There’s only one thing I know about Ryne, and it’s that he’s a massive, steaming pile of shit.

“Never did buy them for herself. Said it was the thought that counted, not the present. Didn’t stop her from hoping each year, and inevitably calling me in tears.”

I rub the back of my neck. “And she wasn’t crying today?”

“Nah. She was all smiles this morning. You didn’t get her tulips, did you?”

“No. I mean, I didn’t know they were her favorite . . .”

“Ah, well. Maybe she’s just happier now. Seems it, anyway.”

Does it? I think back on the earliest version of Lennon, the one I met in Cabo. I got so much joy out of bugging her, trying to crack that grumpy façade and earn a smile. She still loves to hurl insults at me when I piss her off, and I still immensely enjoy pissing her off. But does she seem happier?

Footsteps pad down the hallway, and Lennon enters the living room with a breathtaking beam on her face, Mittens tucked under her arm and looking dapper as fuck wearing a red sequin bow tie, a basket full of pink and red in her other arm, her camera hanging from her neck. She holds up three pink-and-red crocheted vests with hearts on them, one of them tiny. “Look what just got delivered! Gran sent us matching Valentine’s vests! We’re gonna have a Valentine’s photoshoot!”

Fuck my life.

Yeah, she’s happier. So much fucking happier than when I found her in Cabo.

The scary part? I’m happier too.

So, like the mature adult I am, after a Valentine’s-themed photoshoot that Gran cackles at over FaceTime, I spend the rest of the day avoiding her. Because my happiness definitely does not have anything to do with her.

And I am definitely not getting my roommate-with-benefits flowers on Valentine’s Day.

And when she goes to the grocery store, I change the sheets on her bed to the new silk ones I bought her, but only because they just came in, and they’re definitely not a gift.

And when she comes home from the store, I immediately leave for the gym, and when she asks me what time I’ll be back, I tell her I don’t know, but then pop my head back in and tell her I’ll be home by five. But it’s definitely not because I want her to know, and just because I’m not rude.

And when I’m driving aimlessly around the city, I definitely don’t wind up in front of a random flower shop, and I definitely don’t go inside and ask if they have pink tulips. And when the man behind the counter tells me they close in two minutes and he doesn’t have time to make up a bouquet, I definitely don’t hand him two hundred dollars and ask if he can make the time.

The thing about me is that the only woman I’ve ever bought flowers for is my gran. I tell myself that’s why I’m standing outside my door at 4:55 p.m., staring at the pink tulips in the pretty, pink, heart-shaped glass vase, transferring them from one hand to the other so I can wipe my sweaty palms on my track pants.

It’s definitely not because I’m nervous.

I crack the door, one slow inch at a time, pulse thundering in my ears as I peek inside. It smells like heaven in here, but it almost always does when Lennon’s cooking, which is exactly what she seems to be doing, AirPods in, bent over a cutting board while she slices something. One of the stools from the island is beside her, Mittens sleeping on top, and he appears to be wearing some sort of T-shirt.

I slip inside, silently setting the vase on the counter, watching Lennon as she works. Her tight curls are pulled high on her head, secured with one of those big claw clips she likes so much. She’s wearing next to nothing, a little red satin set with scalloped lace hems, and Magic Mike wants to know if I was being serious earlier when I said we weren’t having sex on Valentine’s Day.

“Holy tits,” Lennon murmurs suddenly, breathless. “Both holes at once? His cock and the vibrator? Oooh, girl. I’m jealous.” She snaps upright, pausing in her chopping. “Not the clit sucker too. Jesus fuck, Audrey, how are you gonna walk out of here?”

She spins around without warning, extremely large and sharp knife in hand, and shrieks when she sees me.

I should be the one shrieking.

“Jesus Christ, Jaxon.” She places a hand over her heart. “You scared me. I didn’t know you were home.”

My arm rises in slow motion, my finger pointing as laughter bubbles in my chest. “What … what the fuck …”

Lennon’s hand comes up to her face, touching the very thing I’m pointing at.

The swimming goggles she’s wearing.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Laughter explodes from my chest, and I keel over, clutching my stomach. “Why are you wearing goggles?”

She slices the knife through the air, pointing at the cutting board. “It’s the onions! I don’t want the fumes to get in my eyes!” She drops the knife on the counter, whips off the goggles, and shoves at my chest. “Shut up, Jaxon! It stings!”

I laugh harder, pointing at her face. “You-you-you—” I rake my hands down my face, over my wet cheeks. “You have indents around your eyes from the goggles!”

“Oh my God. I hate y—” She doesn’t finish her sentence, stopping when she spins toward the island. I wipe my tears away, swallowing the rest of my laughter as I turn away, busying myself in the fridge. “What are those?”

“Huh?” I glance over my shoulder. “Uh, flowers. You sure those fumes didn’t get in your eyes?”

“They’re tulips,” she murmurs, slowly approaching them, tugging them closer, reaching for the petals but pulling back at the last second, like she’s not sure they’re real. “Pink tulips.”

“They look more fuchsia to me. Magenta, maybe.”

“These are my favorite flowers, Jaxon.”

“Are they?” I pull out the first thing I can get my hands on, which happens to be a jar of solidified bacon grease.

“Did you get these for me?”

“What? Pfft. No. I get flowers every week.”

“Jaxon, I’ve been living here for nearly a month, and never once have you bought flowers.”

I spin around to remind her we’re not dating, for her sake or mine, I don’t know, but it’s a huge mistake. She’s looking at me with gigantic, watery brown eyes, and my stomach sinks. I wanted to be her first happy Valentine’s memory, not another reason she cries.

“Please don’t cry.”

“It’s the onion fumes,” she lies on a whisper. “And the silk sheets that appeared on my bed while I was at the store?”

I shove my finger in her face as she approaches me. “That was not a Valentine gift. It’s good for your hair.”

“I have a silk hair wrap, Jaxon.”

“Lennon, three days ago I couldn’t find your wrap after I tucked you into bed, and the next morning you accused me of stealing it!”

“Your hair was exceptionally silky and frizz-free that morning!”

“Oh, well, fuck me for getting you silk sheets so you don’t accuse me of theft again the next time you forget to wrap your hair!”

She stops in front of me. “Are the flowers for me?”

My heart hammers. “No.”

“Jaxon.”

“No.”

“Jaxon.”

“Yes!” I throw my hands in the air. “Yes, goddammit, they’re for you! There! Are you happy now?”

Her chin trembles, and when those tears tip over her cheeks, she throws her arms around me. “So happy!” She pulls her sopping face from my sweater and yanks my face down, pressing a kiss to both cheeks. “You are such a sensitive boy, Jax. The girls are gonna have a field day over this.”

“What? No, you can’t⁠—”

“Look what I got you!” She scoops up Mittens, showing me his T-shirt-covered belly. His shirt is identical to Ireland’s my daddy is my valentine shirt, except instead of Carter’s face in the heart, it’s mine. Then she sets him down, shoves a sweater at my chest, and claps her hands excitedly. “Put it on!”

Slowly, I pull it over my head. It’s one of those huge hoodies, super oversized, and when I look down, I find the giant front pocket that opens at the top. My jaw drops in slow motion. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Len, is this one of those⁠—”

“Cat sweaters!” she shrieks, picking up Mittens again, shoving him in the pocket of my new favorite hoodie. “Now you can bring him everywhere!”

I do a spin, and Mittens doesn’t even budge, safe and secure in my hoodie. “This is the best gift ever!”

“I know! I’m such a good gift giver.” She fixes her goggles back over her face. “And I’m making Mimi’s famous smothered Salisbury steak with collard greens, macaroni and cheese, and fried cornbread.”

“I fucking love Mimi,” I murmur, following her to the stove to peek at what she’s got going so far.

“Yeah, she’s great.” Lennon turns around, poking me in the chest, and it’s so damn hard to take her seriously with her onion goggles on. “This isn’t a date.”

“Psssh. Obviously fucking not. I don’t date.”

“Don’t think I don’t know you were avoiding me today.”

“Maybe I was sick of you.”

“You’re never sick of me,” she says so confidently, and fuck me, she’s right, goggles and all. “And listen, I enjoy having sex with you.”

“Yeah, you do!”

“A solid six outta ten every night.”

“Like fuck, goggles.”

“But we should skip the sex tonight.”

“Took the words right outta my mouth, tidbit. I don’t want you to get⁠—”

“—attached,” she finishes for me. She circles a hand around my face. “You give clingy vibes.”

I bark a laugh, clapping a hand to her ass as she turns back to the stove. “Yeah, I want you and your goggles all to myself.” I tug on the strap of her top. “Why’d you wear this if you didn’t wanna fuck?”

“To get you worked up. I love saying no to you and watching you get all whiny.”

“You think I can’t resist you in this?”

“I know you can’t resist me in this, fuckboy.”

“Wanna bet?”

She spins to me, pulling off her goggles. Mittens jumps out of my sack and struts down the hall, casting us a narrowed glance over his shoulder, like this entire interaction is making him uncomfortable. “Does losing make you hard or something?”

“I’m not gonna lose, honey. Not to you.”

She smirks, and fuck, I love it when she does. She deserves every ounce of confidence she has. “Hey, can you pass me my AirPods?”

“Good book?”

“So good.” She takes the buds from me and hoists herself onto one of the stools at the island, hiking one leg up, showing me the crotch of her red satin shorts.

And the wet spot in the center.

Lennon lifts her brows, the tip of her thumb between her teeth as she winks at me. “You have no idea how wet it was making me.” Her head tilts. “Jaxon?” She follows my gaze. “Oh, shit. Silly me. Did I forget to wear panties again?”

I definitely don’t have her naked and on the kitchen counter in thirty seconds flat.

And I definitely don’t spend the rest of the night fucking my roommate on Valentine’s Day.

And I most definitely do not come all over her pussy four times before the night is over.

I also come in her mouth, on her tits, and all over her perfect ass.

Oops.

Happy Valentine’s Day.