Bide (The Sun Valley Series Book 2)

Chirping birds, the smell of coffee and a slight pinch in my knuckles wake me up the morning after Nick’s disastrous birthday.

Well, that and a string of loud, colorful curses.

My muscles pop as I stretch out, my forehead creasing as I find the spot beside me empty, a warm pillow where Luna should be. Cracking open an eye, I’m greeted by the sight of her naked except for a pair of my sweats halfway up her legs, hissing rapidly into her phone, words unintelligible but irritation evident. I choke on a laugh when she trips over her own feet, only just managing to catch herself before she goes tumbling to the floor.

Luna whips around, scowling something fierce, mumbling something before hanging up. As she chucks her phone aside, she loses her grip on the sweats and they slip down her thighs, momentarily flashing me. “Going commando?”

Her scowl deepens as she fists the loose material in her hands, depriving me of all that smooth, tan flesh. “Someone ripped my panties again.”

Damn right I did. After everything that went on last night, we were both way too wound up to fall asleep, her with guilt, me with anger. So we took out a bit of that pent-up energy on each other; I’ve got the scratch marks on my chest and she’s got the shape of my hand imprinted on her ass to prove it.

A yawn blurs my vision as I prop myself up on one elbow. “Why the hell aren’t you in bed?”

“I have class.”

Scoffing, I reach over and grab a handful of her sweats, dragging her towards me. “I don’t like waking up alone.”

“You’re not alone.” She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m literally right here.”

When she tries to wriggle away, I drop my head in her lap and secure my arms around her waist. She sighs but her hands go to my hair and comb through the knots, slender fingers deftly twisting a few strands into a braid. I let her; if she’s messing with my hair it means she’s not trying to mess with that damn ring currently turning my pinky finger an interesting shade of green.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Pen, reminding me how late I am for class,” she grumbles, tugging my new braid pointedly.

“If you’re already late, you might as well stay.”

“Nice try.” Soft laughter and softer lips brush my cheek. “I have to go.”

“Skip it and get your ass back in bed.”

She pauses for a second, contemplating, I can tell, and I bury my face in her lap so she can’t see my smug smile. When I trace the dimples on her lower back, tickling lightly the way she likes it, she sighs contentedly and flops on top of me. “You’re cuddly in the morning.”

Ordinarily? No.

With her? Fuck yeah, I am.

Especially after last night. Damn right I’m reluctant to let her go. If I don’t occupy my hands with her, I’m pretty sure they’ll end up somewhere else.

Like slamming into Dylan Wells’ grimy fucking face.

Grunting, I shift onto my side, attempting to drag her down with me. With a whine of protest, Luna manages to evade, wriggling out of my grip and darting for the door.

‘I have to go,” she calls over her shoulder as she steals a t-shirt and slips on the sliders she’s taken to leaving here, simultaneously tying the sweats currently swallowing her slender waist as tightly as she can. “Attendance is part of my grade.”

Well, shit. Can’t really argue with that. Sighing, I roll out of bed, scratching the itchy scratches on my chest as I amble towards her.

“What’re you doing?”

I glance up from yanking a pair of sweats up my legs to find Luna frowning at me. Well, kind of frowning at me, kind of eyeing my cock with too much interest for the limited time we have. “Walking you to class.”

Her frown cracks instantly, melting into something softer that she ducks her head to hide, using a sheet of messy hair as a shield, and as much as I want to smile at the effect such a simple gesture has on her, it also makes my chest ache a little too. It’s the bare minimum, Common decency, really, yet it surprises her.

That kind of reaction happens a lot more than it should. Our first date, the batting cages, every date after that. I bought her flowers last week, just because, and when she opened the door to find me standing there with a bouquet, she just blinked in confusion and asked if they were for Amelia.

God, I want to punch whoever ruined such simple fucking intimacy for her.

Tugging on a t-shirt, I just watch her fumble around for a second. Taking her meds, twisting the front of her borrowed t-shirt into a knot so it exposes a tiny sliver of midriff, braiding her hair back from her face so it matches mine.

I like every version of Luna but I think this one is the best. Rumpled, disheveled, a touch sleep-deprived. Wearing my clothes. Blue eyes soft and sleepy. Bare-faced except for a few remnants of eyeliner she didn’t quite manage to scrub off last night. Cheeks puffy, one a little flushed from sleeping on it all night. Beautiful as always. This Luna is relaxed and comfortable, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a side of her she lets many people see.

Maybe that’s why I love it so much.

And when she slides on her glasses, it reminds me that she is, in fact, a human being with the eyesight of a mole and not some otherworldly goddess who somehow stumbled into my bed.

Sidling up to her, I lift the glasses from her face just enough so I can swipe away the black smudged beneath her eyes. “Why don’t you wear these all the time?”

Luna snorts. “A boy told me once that I look like a porn star with them on. Because, you know, apparently blonde hair, big boobs, and glasses scream porn even on a fifteen-year-old.”

Nausea settles deep in my belly at her words, at how casually she says them.

Fifteen. Barely older than my youngest sister. My fists clench at my side, and the face I’ve been imagining punching all morning suddenly morphs into a faceless, nameless highschooler.

Luna balls my t-shirt between her fists, tutting in mock disapproval. “Stop imagining punching a child.”

‘Wouldn’t be a child anymore now, would he?”

“No,” she agrees with an eye roll. “He’s probably getting drunk in an STD-riddled frat house. Or watching busty, blonde, visually impaired porn.”

God, I can’t comprehend how she lets all the shit said about her, said to her, go. How she stands there, cracking jokes and smiling like they don’t affect her. If someone said that about Kate or Amelia, she’d land herself in jail defending them. But when it comes to herself? She’s so nonchalant it kills me.

Pink lips twist into a pout as she gives me a little chiding shake. “It’s okay. It was just some horny teenager.”

I grunt.

“I’ll start wearing them if that makes you feel better.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “You should wear them because you’re gonna walk straight in front of a bus one day if you don’t.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You almost walked into a lamppost yesterday.”

“I did not!”

“Yeah, you didn’t, because I saved your pretty ass.”

Luna suffocates a laugh, pretending to scowl at me and failing miserably. I trace the smile she tries to hide with my thumb, grateful for its appearance, however reluctant. I didn’t see much of that last night.

It’s as though we both have the same thought, both remember last night, both acknowledge the lingering elephant in the room, at the same time. Face dropping, Luna clutches my t-shirt a little tighter, thumbs tracing the neckline.

I bend to brush my lips against her knuckles. “You feeling okay today?”

“I’m good,” she lies, smile strained. “I just really want to speak to Amelia.”

“You wanna check if she’s awake before we leave?”

Luna answers my question by making a beeline for the door, almost ripping it off the hinges in her haste to creep across the hall. She inches towards Nick’s room, balancing on the balls of her feet as she stealthily nudges the ajar door further open, both of us wincing when it creaks ever so slightly.

The sight that greets us draws a soft ‘aw’ noise out of Luna, her bottom lip poking out in a pout, wide eyes glancing between me and the bed. Nick and Amelia lie passed out in his bed, curled up beside each other, heads so close they’re sharing a pillow, one of Nick’s hands resting on the slender, pale thigh draped over his lower half, the other loosely tangled with hers.

Nick. Cuddling.

Jesus.

It takes a physical effort to restrain myself from taking a picture to tease him with later, or to whip out whenever he denies the fact he’s head over heels for the girl. Stopping Luna is even harder; her twitchy fingers are halfway to the phone in her pocket when I stop her. “Don’t meddle.”

A harsh glare and an elbow to the ribs are what I receive for that intervention. “I’m not going to meddle,” she insists, her second lie of the morning. “But this needs to happen. Look at them.”

Gripping the back of her t-shirt, I drag her away from the door before she loses her internal battle and goes full paparazzi. “Come on, trouble.”

“Spoilsport.”

Nick is right.

Lurking outside a lecture hall, a steaming hot chocolate in one hand and a herbal tea that tastes like grass in the other, waiting for my girl who isn’t technically my girl, I guess I am pretty pathetic.

Rolling my shoulders as much as the fucking boulder of a bag weighing me down will let me—Luna didn’t want to bring her overnight bag to class, so I brought it for her—I blow a strand of hair escaping from my braid out of my eye. I got reamed by the boys when they spotted it this morning; Ben chased me out the door singing the Pippi Longstocking theme song while Cass called me Elsa. Luna flipped them both off, told them to kiss our asses, and reminded them which one of us had a hot, naked blonde in their bed last night.

So modest, my Luna.

When the lecture hall door finally swings open and I catch sight of a tired blonde drowning in oversized clothes, I suddenly forget about the ache in my shoulder, the hair in my eye, and the minor burns scalding my palms. Luna doesn’t spot me straight away, too wrapped up in talking to her professor, and even from a distance, the conversation looks awkward and strained.

Frowning, I start towards her but the sudden influx of students pouring into the hallway hinders me. As does the appearance of a different crop of blonde hair.

A girl I vaguely recognize blocks my view of Luna. Smirking eyes, a shade darker than Luna’s and a little more green-tinged, scan me slowly from head to toe, making me feel like a mannequin on display.

I clear my throat uncomfortably. “Hi?”

Light laughter escapes the mystery blonde. She waves her hand in the air dismissively, the faintest blush creeping up her neck. “Sorry, that was creepy. You’re Jackson, right?”

When I nod, she holds out her hand. “I’m Pen. Luna’s friend.”

Ah. The infamous Pen.

I shuffle the stuff in my grip so I can shake her hand, but my smile is pinched, my focus elsewhere, straying over her head. “She’s fine.” Pen floats into my eyeline again, smirking. “My dad’s just a hardass.”

“Your dad?”

“Professor Jacobs. He’s just chewing her out for being late.” A sly expression overcomes her features. “I’m assuming that was your fault?”

I shrug, scratching my head as a little bit of guilt sinks in; I didn’t think she’d actually cop shit for being late.

“And I’m assuming you’re the reason she looks like that?”

That makes me crack a genuine smile. She really does look ridiculous. The epitome of a walk of shame, minus the shame because she wears the look with pride.

Pen must take my smile as an invitation to chat, because she chatters on and on for what feels like forever but is realistically barely five minutes. I shift awkwardly in place, reshuffling the styrofoam cups in my hands again just because it gives me something to do. It’s not that I don’t like her; I don’t know her. I just want to get Luna and get the hell out of here.

A wave of relief hits me when my girl finally strides over, eyeing the beverages in my hands hopefully. “One of those for me?”

“Both.”

Her beam is mega-watt as she plucks the hot chocolate from my grip. “Excellent answer.” My newly freed hand goes straight to her hip, clinging for dear life and yanking her closer so I can drop a kiss to her temple. She leans into me easily, a low moan escaping her as she chugs half her drink in one go. “I love you.”

All three of us freeze.

A slow, steady blush creeps up Luna’s neck as her blurted confession sinks in, eyes wide with something akin to horror as she turns to me. “I did not mean it like that.”

Pen’s laughter echoes around the hallway, her expression the complete opposite to Luna’s; she looks about ready to crack open a bucket of popcorn.

“You didn’t?” I can’t help but tease.

“Stop it.”

“Come on, sweetheart, you’re breaking my heart.” I get shoved so hard I almost drop her second beverage. Catching her by the elbow, I can’t help but kiss the pout off her lips through my laughter. A little rougher than intended, her little slip of the tongue spurring me on, the idea of her loving me igniting something in me that I table for later before it becomes overwhelming.

“Alright, alright. Break it up before I vomit. Or cry.”

Luna breaks away from me to thump Pen, who yelps before thumping her right back. As I chuckle at their bickering, I feel the burning sensation of someone staring at us, making me glance up. Pen’s dad, Luna’s professor, is watching us with narrowed eyes. I offer him a smile, but it fades when he doesn’t return it. Mouth set in a straight line, his gaze flits from Luna to Pen, and his expression hardens even more.

Weird.

The sound of Pen calling a goodbye draws my attention away from the professor just in time to see her racing away from us, presumably off to another class. Luna’s cheeks are still tinged red, her chest rising and falling with awkward laughter. Smiling, I sling an arm over her shoulders. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“You gonna propose to me if I bring you to a drive-thru?” The book in her hand meets my stomach with a thump, drawing a pained huff out of me. “You’re violent today.”

“You’re annoying today,” she retorts with an exaggerated sneer.

It’s in this moment that I pinpoint why I love seeing flustered, flushed, messy Luna. She’s usually always so poised and in control and… I don’t know, above me? Not in a bad way. Just that she always seems like she’s miles ahead, like she knows what she’s doing, what to say, how to act. Or, at least, in the months I was gathering up the courage to actually talk to her, she always seemed like that. And I like that side of her, but I like this side too.

It makes me feel a little less out of my depth.