Page 4 of Count On Me

“Can’t we just put Netflix on and chill?” She’s so fucking innocent she doesn’t even realise what she just said. And I can’tshake the image of her netflixing and chilling with me while she writhes under me in pleasure.

“So you want to Netflix and chill with me, Eddie?” I tease. I can tell when the realisation sets in, catching sight of a red blush that creeps over her cheeks and down her neck. It spreads out over the part of her chest exposed in her tank top, and I’d cut my right foot off to see how far down her body it goes. I can still play soccer with one foot, right?

She hangs her head and looks at me from the corner of her eye. “I’m just trying to distract you so I don’t have to tell you about the reason for my little freak out. It’s just watching TV. Nothing else. Not thatyou’dwant to dothatwithmeanyway.”

She looks back down and tugs her top away from her stomach, clearly insecure with herself again, and I can’t help but touch her. I reach out and place two fingers under her chin, raising her head up so she has to look at me. Her eyes are filled with sadness and I want more than anything to kiss her. Truly show her what a distraction feels like. But I don’t. I can’t.

“You can’t tell me what I’d want, Edie. You’re not inside my head. Netflix and chill withyouwould probably breakmydamn heart. Hawaii.” She frowns, knowing I’d only pull out our special code word—Hawaii—because I’m telling the absolute truth.

Before she can speak, the doorbell rings and I jump up to answer it knowing I was just saved by the bell. Or the pizza delivery guy, anyway.

5

EDIE

Jax throws the tiny piece of crust that’s left of his extra large pizza into the box and I shake my head in wonder. “Where does it all go? You just polished off a whole pizza and there isn’t an ounce of fat on you!”

“I’m a growing boy.” He grins at me, and the flutters in my stomach start to dance again. “I have a fast metabolism, babe. So now that we’ve finished the food, you gonna tell me what happened today?”

The flutters stop and dread replaces them. “Do I have to?” I’m whining, I know it. Maybe he’ll just drop it. “It’s done now,” I add, trying to shrug it off, but he raises an eyebrow at me slowly and sets his mouth in a thin line. I sigh in defeat. “Fine. I tried to flirt with a guy at uni today and failed epically. I stuttered and spluttered, went bright red and bolted for the bathroom before he could utter a word. Then when I snuck back to try to get my bag, I heard him describing me to his friend. And let’s just say it wasn’t complimentary.” I grab a pillow and hug it close to my body and pick at the thread.

“What did he say?” Jax’s quiet but concerned voice filters through the silence and I close my eyes as I answer him, not wanting him to see the pain flash through them.

“He called me a chunky ginger bird.”

He stiffens next to me, his hand clenching into a fist, and I think he growls. He’s always been so protective of me. And even though it hurts to hear people talk about me like that, I don’t want it to ruin the time I have to spend with Jax.

“It’s not a big deal.” I shrug and shift on the sofa, reaching over to the coffee table for the remote control. “Let's put a film on and forget about it.”

That’s something I do well. Deflection is my superpower.

I developed before all of my friends at school and have always been well endowed in the boobs, hips and arse department. And while some women see it as something to own and flaunt, I’ve always been self-conscious of my curves. Angie describes me as having an hourglass figure, but I just see it as too much.

Lost in memories of taunts and giggles from boys growing up, I don’t realise the boy—well, man—sitting next to me has moved until I feel his hands on me. He scoops me up from the sofa, plonks me on his lap and cradles me in his arms like a baby. I nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck and sigh as his body swamps me. I don’t always feel small and delicate, but when Jax hugs me, it's exactly how he makes me feel. Precious. Like I fit perfectly in his arms and my place in this world is to be beside him.

Holding me tightly, he places a gentle kiss on the top of my head, then rests his chin on my crown and tells me, “Please don’t let some inexperienced little pencildick knock your confidence, Edie. Trustmewhen I tell you you’re beautiful. Your body is perfect. Look at how it fits with mine. A woman is supposed to have curves. And yours are fuckin’ bangin’.”

I giggle into his neck and squeeze him tighter. My lips brush against his skin as I fight the urge to flick my tongue out to taste him. “Why can’t all guys be like you, Jaxson Brady?”

“Because the world’s not ready for more than one of me, babe.”

I can feel his muscles bunch together when he talks and I squirm a little, feeling entirely too aroused by it. As I shift my legs slightly, I feel something hard hit them. Is that? Oh, shit. Is he turned on right now? I subtly move again, just a little, and, yep, he definitely has a happy chappy in his shorts.

Knowing it’s because of me—sitting in his lap, his arms around me and his erection poking me in the leg—warms my insides in the most delicious way. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything before. I want his hand to slowly glide up my thigh, over my waist, and brush over my breasts. I want to feel his hands all over me. His mouth laying claim to any exposed skin it can find until I cry out his name. I want his lips to capture mine. His teeth to graze over my lip as our tongues dance and twine together. I need to feel his skin on mine, his weight on top of me. His fingers delving into places that no other man has ever been.

My breathing is erratic and my nipples are straining against my thin pyjama cami. The dampness in my thong causes me to squirm again, and this time a groan escapes his lips. I bring my head up and find his eyes scouring over me. They drop to my chest and my nipples get harder as he looks at them. My breath catches in my throat and he brings his gaze up to my lips. I wet them and he groans again as he tracks the movement of my tongue. And when I place my hand on his chest, right above his heart, I can feel the pounding of it through his shirt.

He wants me as much as I want him.

I lower my lashes and look at him through them and he growls, a low hum from his throat as he moves his head closer tomine. He wets his lips and I want that pink tip of his tongue on me. Tasting me. Devouring me. Our lips are centimetres apart and I can feel his breath on my face. I close my eyes, waiting to feel his mouth on mine.

A screeching ring interrupts us and I jump from his lap. Panting like I’ve run a marathon, I frantically search the room for the source of the sound. It takes me entirely too long to realise the noise is my phone ringing.

My entire body, so languid and calm mere moments ago, goes stiff, my shoulders clinging to my ears as I giggle-screech, “I’ll answer the phone.”

He laughs at the high pitch of my voice and tells me he’ll tidy the pizza boxes. Grabbing blindly for my phone, I watch as he stands up and can’t help but look at his tented shorts. A blaze of embarrassment flashes over my face. Shit, I did that to him. Maybe he does think I’m beautiful after all.

I snatch my phone from the table and see “Mum” flashing on the screen. Mum, the ultimate cockblocker. Taking a deep breath, I turn around and answer.

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