As I lay her gently on the bed, pulling the covers over her sleeping form, I can't help but think about how much I want this to be permanent. Not just Honey in my bed, but Honey in my life. Every day. Every night.
I want her to have a real home here. She deserves that after everything she's been through. The bullying at her dorm, the isolation she's felt since starting college, the shadow of what happened with Jamie still hanging over her.
I slide in beside her, wrapping my arm around her waist, breathing in the scent of her hair.
Tomorrow I'll go to those extra reps with Reese. I'll work on those option plays until they're perfect. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn my spot on that field. I’ll even help Tiff navigate the nightmare with the Nicks.
But right now? With Honey warm and asleep in my arms?
Everything else can wait.
This moment… this is what matters, even if she didn’t hear a word I said.
My phone’s been ringing nonstop.
I don’t check it. I don’t move. I bury my face into the satin sheets that smell like Zach. To be fair, the entire place smells like him. The shower, the bedroom, the kitchen, the hallway. I swear last night was his attempt to mark every surface with me, too.
I knew it.
I knew the house would be wonderful. I knew it would make me rethink everything, because why wouldn’t I just move in with him?
We’ve been together over a year. We both want it, and the ideaof sleeping in his arms every night instead of being stabbed by my terrible mattress is magical. Sure, the sheer amount of sex Zach requires might hinder my actual sleep, but I don’t think that’s necessarily the problem.
The problem is, if I do, could I live with myself? Would I just become another girl chasing after her boyfriend’s dreams instead of creating her own?
The door creaks open. I look up, and there’s Zach. He’s shirtless, damp from the shower, gray sweatpants with no underwear, and a toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth.
Damn.
Who knew Zach could make dental hygiene look like a thirst trap?
I squeeze my thighs together under the sheets, embarrassed at how easily he turns me on.
“Someone keeps calling you.” He raises a brow mid-brush, watching me as though he knows what I’m thinking.
I reach for my phone and check who’s calling.
“Yeah. It’s just my father,” I say, flipping the phone to silent and putting it back down on the table.
Zach freezes, then holds up a finger while he finishes brushing. He walks back to the bathroom; I hear him spit, rinse, then return with a towel slung around his neck.
“Sorry,” he says. “I thought you just said your dad was calling?”
“I did.”
His eyebrows knit together. “Didn’t he stop talking to you after you chose me over the Game of Thrones-style betrothal he lined up with Jamie?”
“He did,” I say, burrowing further down into the bed. “So he might be calling me, but I’m not answering.”
“Don’t you want to knowwhyhe’s calling?”
“I’m not in the mood to give him airtime,” I mutter.
He draws a breath, his jaw tight. He knows better than to wade too deep into my family drama. It’s not just Jamie—it’s Tiff, it’s Ella, it’s the lawsuit Jamie’s family is threatening them with. If my dad really wanted to fix it, he could. Until he does, my voicemail will have to do.
Zach peels the covers off me, exposing my naked body to the cool air. I squeal and curl into myself, trying to stay warm.
“Hey!”