Page 47 of Love You Like This

“These are yours.” He holds them out to me.

“Why do you have these?”

“You must have left them in my room when we were kids. I found them when I was unpacking my stuff in New York.”

“And you just kept them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” I take them from his hands.

“So you’d have something to wear when I finally got you out on the beach with me again obviously.” He pulls two hoodies out. One is concert merch with a photo of him playing screen printed on it. The one he keeps is plain.

“Maybe I want the plain one,” I say.

“I’m not wearing a shirt with my face on it.”

“Why do you have it, then?”

“Jade.” He tilts his head and looks down at me. “The same reason I kept those.” He points at the folded pants in my hand.

“To see your face on the women you bring home?”

“There’s only one woman I want to see wearing my face.” He smirks. “And I want it known that there’s a really dirty joke I could make right now, but I’m holding myself back.”

I roll my eyes and grab the sweatshirt from him. “Where can I change?”

He points over my shoulder. “Bathroom is over there. I’ll wait in the living room.”

I’m genuinely baffled by everything that’s happened tonight. If he’s felt like this for so long, why hasn’t he pushed for more? What’s different now?

I frown in the mirror as I notice his clothes just left right in the middle of the floor. Some things never change. After pulling the sweatpants on, I bend down to put his clothes in the hamper that’s literally a foot away. But then I straighten because he’s a grown man and can put his own dirty laundry away.

His back is to me as I come back out into the living room. He catches me approaching in the reflection from the glass and turns. Heat fills his eyes as he looks me up and down.

“They still fit.”

“Kind of. They’re definitely tighter than they were when I was eighteen.” I run a hand down my leg. “Speaking of being teenagers, I see you’re still a slob leaving your clothes wherever they fall.”

His answering grin is as annoying as it is sexy.

No.

Not sexy, just annoying. Aggravating. Irritating. Exasperating.

But regardless of how many synonyms my brain throws out, I can’t stop my own lips from twitching in response.

“I hate you,” I say with no heat as I walk past him through the door he holds open for me.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

There’s a path of stone steps along the side of his house leading down to the beach. I wait at the bottom for him to choose a direction to walk. He chooses to go in the opposite direction of Stone’s house.

“I don’t walk past Stone and Hazel’s place anymore. I was out one night and caught them fucking against the window.” He does an exaggerated shiver. “I’m still scarred.”

“Pretty sure you and Stone have shared women before.” I can’t keep my vitriol from leaking into my words.

“That was different.” His voice takes on a somber note. “We were always high and drunk when we’d do that.”