Page 39 of Stay with Me

“Yeah.”

He expelled a long breath. “He’s a good boy. He’ll protect you.”

I frowned, not just because of Clyde’s words, but because Jax was in the bedroom, picking up the stuff Greasy Guy had thrown around, which included a couple of pairs of undies. “Uh, Uncle Clyde ... I got to go.”

“I mean it, baby girl, he’ll do good by you,” Clyde went on, and his words caused the flutter to return to my chest, more powerful than before. “You hear me?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I hear you.”

“Good. Call me in the morning. Okay?”

“Will do.” I hung up and slowly entered the bedroom, my heart skipping around in my chest. I stopped just inside the door. “Jax, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He righted the mattress. “I doubt this was your idea of rearranging a room.”

“No, but I can take care of it. You don’t—”

“I am helping, so don’t argue with me about it.” He bent down and grabbed a sheet, tossing it toward me. “And I’m staying the night.”

The sheet hit the floor. “What?”

“I’m staying with you.” He went about fitting the other sheet to the mattress. “I can take the couch.” His thick lashes lifted, and his eyes were back to the warm brown. “Or I can stay in here ...”

I had no words.

He took the other sheet from where it lay in a pile, and I just stood there as he finished the bed and went back to picking up the strewn-about clothes. As he grabbed a handful of colorful, silky items, I snapped out of it.

I stormed over, snatching my undies out of his hand. “You’re not staying here.”

“Then you’re coming to stay with me.”

A minute went by before I could even process that. “I am not staying with you.”

“And then I’m staying with you.” He started grabbing what was left of my clothes on the floor as I shoved my undies in a drawer. “This house isn’t safe, obviously, especially when you’re opening the door to random thugs—”

“I’m not going to open the door again!” I shouted.

Pausing while closing a dresser drawer, he straightened, and as he did so, his lips tipped up at one corner. “What are you wearing?”

“What?” I glanced down at myself. The shirt was black, with a built-in bra, thank God, because I didn’t want to be all boobalicious, and the sleep shorts were a soft pink. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing.” Grinning, he closed the drawer. “Like the socks. It’s cute. You’re cute.”

The socks were a blue and pink plaid, and they were cute. “Thanks,” I muttered, distracted by the pleasant buzz invading my thoughts. Which was bad. Very bad. Like very, very bad, because there didn’t need to be any buzzing of anything. I bitch-smacked the buzz into next week. “You’re not staying—”

“Then you’re coming to my place? Awesome.”

My temples began to pound. “I’m not going to your place.”

Jax moved to the foot of the bed, near the mountain of pillows. That was one thing about Mom that never changed. She always had at least five pillows on a bed, and the pillows were never more than a month old. “Are you always so argumentative?”

I squinted at him. “Are you always so bossy?”

He cast a grin in my direction. “Honey, you haven’t seen bossy yet.”

“Yay ...” I blessed him with some unenthused jazz fingers.

Smirking, he grabbed two pillows, and then rounded the bed. His long-legged pace carried him right to me, and he stopped only a few inches from my face. “You can tell me not to stay here all you want. Yell. Wiggle your fingers at me. Whatever. It’s not going to change anything because I seriously doubt you can make me leave this house. You get what I’m saying?”

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