I hadn’t thought about it like that before—at least, not in a real way.
But now… Now, my brain can’t stop.
I picture it so clearly—Madison in our home, curled up on the couch, wearing one of my sweatshirts, teasing me about whatever game I just played.
I see her in our kitchen, rolling her eyes when I burn thepancakes, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in her hands.
I see her with my mom, helping with Thanksgiving dinner, laughing as they team up against me.
I see her in our bed, tangled up in my sheets, looking at me like I hung the damn moon.
I can picture her pregnant, belly swollen with our baby. I can vividly imagine Madison as a mom, chasing tiny little ones around the house, playing in the backyard that backs right up to the ocean.
I can see it all.
And God, I want it.
I want her—not just now, not just for a little while, but for good.
I’ve always known that I love her, but now?
Now, I know I want forever.
My thoughts are interrupted by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I fish it out and see a text from Madison telling me to come upstairs.
She will never have to tell me twice. I simply don’t possess the power to say no to Madison Blake.
I shove my phone back into my pocket, clearing my throat as I push off the couch. "Alright, I’m calling it a night."
My mom raises a brow, but there’s a knowing twinkle in her eyes, bright with mischief. "You sure? We could stay up a little longer, talk about wedding venues?—"
I groan, running a hand over my face as my dad chuckles. "Goodnight, Ma."
"Goodnight, sweetheart," she sings, all too pleased with herself.
My uncle mutters something about kids these days, but I don’t bother listening—I’m already heading for the stairs, my feet taking me to her without a second thought.
When I push open my bedroom door, the room is dimly lit, the soft glow from the lamp on my nightstand casting shadows across the walls.
But Madison’s not in bed.
I glance around, frowning slightly. "Mads?"
The bathroom door opens, and my breath catches as Madison steps out. Her hair tumbles in waves down her chest, her bare legs catching the light as she moves.
But it’s not just that.
It’s what she’s wearing.
My jersey.
Andonlymy jersey.
The fabric is loose, the hem skimming high on her thighs as she stands there, giving me a slow, teasing smile.
"Merry Christmas, Montgomery."
Fuck. Me.
