Instead we’re in my bed, and Jack’s wearing his jeans and T-shirt, with his big body practically wrapped around mine. Jesus, he looks bad. His eyelids are rimmed with red, like he hasn’t slept in days. Or shaved in days. Or eaten much. He looks fucking good…but like he’s ridden some rough damn road. My throat thick, I touch his face. His eyes fly open like he wasn’t sleeping, but just waiting for me to wake. His dark gaze locks right on mine, brimming with so much emotion it seems to spill over and fill me up, tightening my chest. “Lily fucking Burns,” he says hoarsely. “I love you. I love your laugh, and the way you throw shit on the floor, and how you always fall asleep right at the end of a goddamn show so I have to tell you what happened. I love how fucking hard you fight, and how hard you fuck. And I love—” I yank his mouth down to mine shut him up, because I’m about to start bawling, and maybe he loves that, too, but I can’t right now.
