He lingers for half a second longer, like he doesn't want to leave, before stepping back, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket as he heads down the walkway toward his truck.
I stand there for a second, still trying to breathe, still trying to process that I just kissed my best friend. Everything between us has changed irrevocably.
"OH MY GOD."
Lyla launches at me the second I close the door, grabbing my arms and shaking me dramatically.
"You kissed him, didn't you?" she gasps, her eyes wild with excitement.
I barely have time to react before she screams into a pillow, then snaps back up like she just won the lottery.
"Oh my God, was it good? Tell me everything."
I groan, pressing my fingers to my temples, but I can't stop the smile from spreading across my lips. "Lyla?—"
"YOU TOTALLY DID."
I sigh, finally relenting as I drop onto the couch. "Yeah. I did."
Lyla lets out an excited squeal, flopping onto the cushions beside me, her hands clasped in front of her like she's about to pray. "And? Details. Now."
I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the warmth in my chest as I replay it, the way he touched me, the way he looked at me before he kissed me.
"It was...perfect."
Lyla smacks my arm, grinning. "Finally!"
She pauses, tilting her head. "Sooo...you guys are still just friends, huh?"
I open my mouth?—
And then, I immediately close it, deciding there's no point in lying.
Lyla grins, her voice full of teasing satisfaction.
"Yeah. Just friends, my ass."
25
JAXON
The last few weeks have felt like a dream I don’t ever want to wake up from.
Madison is mine—not just in the way she looks at me now, softer and less guarded, but in the way she lets me be around her. The way she folds into my space like it was made just for her. The way she doesn’t hesitate anymore when I pull her closer.
And I pull her close every chance I get.
We’ve fallen into this easy rhythm—late-night study sessions where I spend half the time staring at her instead of actually helping, cooking dinner together in my kitchen, where she complains about chopping onions, stealing kisses between bites of pasta like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She comes over, kicks her shoes off at my door like she’s done it a million times, tucks her feet under herself on my couch, and settles into my side without a second thought.
And I’m gone for it.
We’ve fallen asleep together more times than I can count, sometimes on her couch, other times on mine—her curled into my chest, my arm around her, the TV playing something neither of us is paying attention to.
Waking up with her still there? With the scent of her shampoo in my hoodie and the weight of her pressed against me?
Yeah. That’s the kind of shit I could get used to.
