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His room is similar to the rest of the house with framed photos on the walls that Hunter probably took, but he has tons of bookshelves lined with all sorts of books. He also has the curtains drawn shut, but he left the closet light on, like me, as if he’s afraid of the dark.
When I near the bed, I can make him out, asleep on his back. The blankets are only pulled up to his waist. He’s not wearing a shirt, and I try not to stare, but my eyes wander to his chest.
He’s lean and toned, not overly muscular, and a few tattoos cover his flesh, including a willow tree that runs up his side. It’s a pretty tattoo, detailed, with birds soaring above the branches. What I don’t get is the vertical lines running underneath it. They don’t seem to go with the tree, but maybe I’m not looking at it right.
I lean in and angle my head to my side. Then my heart clenches. Those lines look familiar, not because I’ve seen them before but because I have some on my wrists.
Jax cuts himself. I know the sign—I’m a cutter, too.
Poor Jax. Poor beautiful, soulful Jax. Hunter told me he was in pain over the girl that they lost. Is that why he cuts? Is it something else? A combination of things?
Poor, sweet Jax.
I reach out and brush my fingers along the side of his face. I’m not even sure why I do it. I just feel this urge to touch him, to take away his pain.
The moment my flesh kisses him, his eyelids flutter open, and his gaze finds mine. Confusion floods his pupils, along with sleepiness.
“Am I dreaming?” he whispers, blinking a few times.
I shake my head from side to side as I lower my hand from his cheek. “No … I’m supposed to come up here and wake you up for breakfast.”
He wets his lips with his tongue then reaches up and plays with a strand of my hair. “It kind of feels like I’m dreaming. Are you sure I’m not?”
I snort a laugh. “Yeah, I promise you’re not.”
“Oh.” He sighs then rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What time is it?”
“Like close to five-thirty.”
When he lowers his hands from his face, he slowly sits up and stresses, “Shit, that’s early.”
“Sorry.” I tug on the hem of my shirt as his gaze drifts to my legs. “Hunter told me you weren’t a morning person, but you’d handle being woken up better if I were the one to do it.”
He meets my eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He’s definitely right.” With his lips pressed together, he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair out of my eyes. “I hate early mornings, but if you ever feel like coming and waking me up again like this, feel free.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He hesitates. “As super weird as this is going to sound, can I hug you?”
“Really?”
“As long as it isn’t too weird, then yeah.” He sweeps his fingers through the dark strands of his hair, leaving them sticking up in all sorts of directions, but in the sexiest way ever. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I was just having this dream about you, and I was about to give you a hug when I woke up.”
“You were dreaming about me?” Jax, mysterious, gorgeous Jax, who I’ve kissed, was dreaming about me?
He hesitantly nods, brushing strands of his inky black hair out of his face. “I think it was because you were on my mind last night when I fell asleep.”
I crinkle my nose. “Because of the whole raven thing?”
He wavers. “Partly.”
I wonder if that other part is because we kissed last night. I’m not about to ask, though. I’m not about to bring that up when no one else has.
Still, if he wants to hug me, then I’m not about to argue. It may be foreign to me, but I think I might like the hugging thing. At least with him and Hunter.
“You can hug me,” I say, feeling nervous for some dumbass reason.
His brows rise slightly, but then he relaxes, scoots to the edge of the bed, lowers his feet to the floor, and reaches for me. His hands find my waist, and I expect him to stand up and hug me, so I’m surprised when he pulls me toward him until I’m nestled between his legs. If he hugs me now, his face will end up where my breasts are, which seems awkward. But he doesn’t do that. No, he lifts me up and sets me in his lap so I’m straddling him. That’d be awkward enough, but I’m also wearing no pants, and he’s sporting a pair of thin pajama bottoms, so we’re touching. A lot. In some intimate places. Jax doesn’t appear to notice as he slips his hand around my waist, moving his palms up my back.
