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"Five feet, huh? Where does it all go? You have trouble even fitting-"
I stand up from the bed frantically and pretend to not be listening. Jax chuckles when he notices how red my face is at what he said. He never fails to keep me on my toes, that's for sure.
He leaps up and wraps his arms around my waist and hoists me up so that I'm pressed against his torso.
"You just insulted me," I tease. "I don't think you have these kinds of privileges right now." I give him a shy smirk and he walks us over to his nightstand.
He sets me down, leaving me unanswered as he pulls open the top drawer and I expect for him to pull out a condom wrapper but instead, he pulls out an empty glass root beer bottle.
"What's that for?" I eye him curiously as he turns to face me with the bottle in his hand.
"A do over," he says as he pulls me down to sit on the ground with him.
Jax is still shirtless, his abs are solid as fuck from working on cars all day; in fact, all of his muscles are intricately defined and his dirtied jeans hugs him in all the right places.
I follow him to the floor, and we sit across from each other. I cross my legs and watch him as he sets the bottle between us. My breaths come short from excitement and his are very calculated. I feel butterflies invade me, just as they did that night and I grow impatient because I know where this leads us, and I'm so fucking ready.
Jax doesn't say another word. He watches me as I look between him and the glass bottle; he's obviously waiting for me to reach out to spin it.
I take a deep breath and do just that.
I twist the bottle in my hand and it spins around and around and around. It seems like it spins forever as I feel Jax's eyes glued to me while my own steady on the bottle.
Finally, it slows down from its dizzying trip in circles, and I gasp when it lands directly on Jax. The smirk on his face is undeniably the sexiest thing he wears—besides these filthy, torn up jeans he's got on right now—and I look into his eyes right as he reaches his hand out for mine.
Time ticks slower as we both stand from our positions, and he still doesn't speak as he walks us to his closet.
It's a lot bigger than the one we caught ourselves in the first time, which I'm thankful for because I don't know if I'd be able to breathe. But regardless, we enter the small room, and he shuts the door behind us.
Silence falls between us, he hasn't taken his eyes off me. I can see that he wants me to make the first move, just like I tried to the first time. He's allowing me to rewrite this exact moment to play out the way that I imagined all those years ago. Whether I want to truly rewrite it or not is up to me.
I step forward, closing the space between us as I touch his toes with mine. I reach my hands up in an attempt to wrap them around his neck and he lets me. I know we've been together so many times these past few months, but this moment feels sacred and special and brand fucking new.
He allows me to pull myself in as he rests his hands on my waist, leaning down just a fraction so that we share the same breath right before I pull in to connect our lips.
The kiss is electric but coated in a velvet promise. Soft but loud in the way that we feel what this means to the both of us. I feel myself fall deeper in love when he displays his passion for me in the form of a husky groan and the deepening grip he has on my skin.
Everything about this moment bleeds with the story of us. From the day we lost each other and battled through the pain. To the moment we found our paths leading us right back here where we both belong.
He calls me his little moon, because it made him feel closer to me when he was away.
Little does he know, I think he's the one who hung it for me.
