remember how swollen it had been. The split had barely healed when Jam had opened it again with one careless action or the other. Her thumb brushed over it, and his eyes clouded with pain.
“Does it still hurt?” she wondered, and Jam ground his teeth. She could see it in the way his jaw was working, and she knew it by the way his fingertips were digging into her hips.
“Just the memory of it does,” he answered cryptically.
“Wasn’t it a football injury? Or was it something else?” Aly could remember the cut, but had no recollection of how he had gotten it. His expression darkened, and she was sure he mumbled ‘or something else’ under his breath, but when she asked him to repeat, he just shook his head, raising his own hand to bring it to her face.
“I’m no longer the pretty boy you used to know, am I?”
“No,” she agreed, cupping his cheek as Jam’s eyes left her face. “You’re no longer a boy. As I said earlier, you’re a damn handsome man.”
“That’s just because you can’t see my scars,” he told her and then leaned in to kiss her forehead ever so gently. People said a forehead kiss expressed longing, and after this touch of his lips to her skin, she knew it was true. He was holding himself back, and she had no idea why.
For a moment, she thought about asking him to show her what he meant, but they had agreed to skip all the questions. Something about him appeared almost self-conscious.
“Tell me your biggest regret,” she pleaded, and for a moment, it seemed as if Jam would protest, but then he bit his cheek.
“I regret most not having gotten you pregnant back then,” he replied, and Aly laughed.
“You’re such a romantic,” she fussed, and he grinned even more.
“What can I say? I was meant to be Casanova, but then the role was already taken.” She nodded, still laughing.
“You just regret not being my first,” she then accused, and he sobered considerably.
“I regret not being your anything.” She knew she was staring at him open-mouthed, and the humor came back to his eyes as he playfully touched the tip of her nose. “What’s yours?”
Only half an hour ago, she would have said it was leaving Greg behind, or not forcing Jam to see Alessandro earlier, but now her answer was a different one.
“Not getting pregnant by you back then,” she answered because it was the truth. She had taken Alessandro with her because she had wanted Jam’s kid so bad and never saw a chance for it. Nothing had changed about the fact she wanted his children. It was crazy. Who in the hell fell in love with ‘the one’ before ever reaching puberty? No one—that was who.
Jam pulled her close, kissing her softly. He handled her as if she was the most delicate thing ever. “Thanks for being here,” Aly whispered as she leaned into him, listening to his heartbeat. The quick rhythm mirrored her own.
“Thanks for having me,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.
Jam knew Aly had fallen asleep, and as much as he wanted to stay, he couldn’t risk her waking up before him. “Hey,” he said, shifting her so he could watch her face. She just snuggled closer, though, making him smile.
“Not yet,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he wanted to know, and she didn’t even bother to open her eyes.
“Upstairs. Not the one with the rockets,” she explained, and he lifted her off the couch and carried her upstairs. He opened the first door and found it chaotic and covered in rockets. Even the bed was painted with them.
“Not rockets,” she said another time, and he realized she was watching him now. He chuckled, kissing her cheek before moving out of the room again and on to the next door. “Nope,” Aly mumbled, cuddling into his arms again. So it was the last one on the right that belonged to her, and once he opened it, he realized why. It was the smallest room and her bed barely fit, yet there was a balcony. She
“Does it still hurt?” she wondered, and Jam ground his teeth. She could see it in the way his jaw was working, and she knew it by the way his fingertips were digging into her hips.
“Just the memory of it does,” he answered cryptically.
“Wasn’t it a football injury? Or was it something else?” Aly could remember the cut, but had no recollection of how he had gotten it. His expression darkened, and she was sure he mumbled ‘or something else’ under his breath, but when she asked him to repeat, he just shook his head, raising his own hand to bring it to her face.
“I’m no longer the pretty boy you used to know, am I?”
“No,” she agreed, cupping his cheek as Jam’s eyes left her face. “You’re no longer a boy. As I said earlier, you’re a damn handsome man.”
“That’s just because you can’t see my scars,” he told her and then leaned in to kiss her forehead ever so gently. People said a forehead kiss expressed longing, and after this touch of his lips to her skin, she knew it was true. He was holding himself back, and she had no idea why.
For a moment, she thought about asking him to show her what he meant, but they had agreed to skip all the questions. Something about him appeared almost self-conscious.
“Tell me your biggest regret,” she pleaded, and for a moment, it seemed as if Jam would protest, but then he bit his cheek.
“I regret most not having gotten you pregnant back then,” he replied, and Aly laughed.
“You’re such a romantic,” she fussed, and he grinned even more.
“What can I say? I was meant to be Casanova, but then the role was already taken.” She nodded, still laughing.
“You just regret not being my first,” she then accused, and he sobered considerably.
“I regret not being your anything.” She knew she was staring at him open-mouthed, and the humor came back to his eyes as he playfully touched the tip of her nose. “What’s yours?”
Only half an hour ago, she would have said it was leaving Greg behind, or not forcing Jam to see Alessandro earlier, but now her answer was a different one.
“Not getting pregnant by you back then,” she answered because it was the truth. She had taken Alessandro with her because she had wanted Jam’s kid so bad and never saw a chance for it. Nothing had changed about the fact she wanted his children. It was crazy. Who in the hell fell in love with ‘the one’ before ever reaching puberty? No one—that was who.
Jam pulled her close, kissing her softly. He handled her as if she was the most delicate thing ever. “Thanks for being here,” Aly whispered as she leaned into him, listening to his heartbeat. The quick rhythm mirrored her own.
“Thanks for having me,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.
Jam knew Aly had fallen asleep, and as much as he wanted to stay, he couldn’t risk her waking up before him. “Hey,” he said, shifting her so he could watch her face. She just snuggled closer, though, making him smile.
“Not yet,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he wanted to know, and she didn’t even bother to open her eyes.
“Upstairs. Not the one with the rockets,” she explained, and he lifted her off the couch and carried her upstairs. He opened the first door and found it chaotic and covered in rockets. Even the bed was painted with them.
“Not rockets,” she said another time, and he realized she was watching him now. He chuckled, kissing her cheek before moving out of the room again and on to the next door. “Nope,” Aly mumbled, cuddling into his arms again. So it was the last one on the right that belonged to her, and once he opened it, he realized why. It was the smallest room and her bed barely fit, yet there was a balcony. She
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