Page 82 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“Good question,” I said.

Talia recovered first. Her eyes dropped to the giant yarn ball still tucked under my arm and she pointed at it. “What… is that?”

“A yarn ball,” I said.

“Oh my God,” Mira breathed, eyes wide. “He made you a cat toy.”

Jackson’s mouth twitched. “I worked very hard making it.”

“I can tell,” Talia said, fighting a grin. “It has feathers.”

I gestured between them. “Jackson, these are my roommates. Mira. Talia.”

Mira gave a little wave, still openly staring. “Hi. We’ve heard absolutely nothing about you.”

“Nothing at all,” Talia added, far too innocently. “We definitely haven’t been analyzing you in the group chat for the past three weeks.”

I shot them a look. “I’m not even in that chat.”

“Exactly,” Mira said sweetly.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You two are impossible.”

They both looked entirely too pleased with themselves.

We grabbed plates and ate standing at the counter. Mira and Talia mostly behaved themselves, though they kept shooting Jackson curious glances between bites.

Afterward, we headed to my room. I set the oversized yarn ball on the shelf above my desk, then climbed onto the bed with him. We curled up together with my laptop and put on a reality show about people fighting over a beach house. Jackson stared at the screen like he couldn’t believe people actually behaved that way.

“How do you watch this,” he muttered.

“It’s so ridiculous it shuts my brain off,” I said.

We stayed like that for a while, half watching, half dozing against each other, until the episode ended and the quiet of the house settled in.

Later, we stood side by side at the bathroom sink brushing our teeth in companionable silence. I changed into a camisole and sleep shorts while he stripped down to his boxers. When we finally climbed into bed he pulled me against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, hooked his chin over my head, and let out a slow breath.

“This feels right,” he murmured into my hair.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I trusted how good it felt. Sleep eventually pulled me under anyway.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I was lost in the best kind of dream about Jackson. My hips rolled lazily against the mattress, thighs pressed tight together, heat pooling low in my belly.

A low, rough voice brushed against my ear. “What are you dreaming about?”

His scent surrounded me, warm and unmistakably real.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t even sure I could. I hovered somewhere between sleep and waking, body still humming.

At some point we had shifted in our sleep. I was on my side now, Jackson curled behind me, his big body molded to mine. One arm was tucked under my head, the other draped heavily across my waist, his hand resting low on my hip.

His grip tightened possessively. “It better be about me.”

I didn’t open my eyes. I only pressed back against him. He sucked in a sharp breath. Through the thin fabric between us I could feel how hard he already was.

His hand tightened on my hip, pulling me closer until there was no space left.

I shifted again, slower this time. Deliberate. My legs pressed together as I angled my hips back, seeking more of that pressure.