Page 56 of Don't Puck Your Best Friend’s Girl

Moments later, I feel gentle hands gathering my hair back from my face. Cade kneels beside me, concern etched across his features as he holds my hair with one hand, the other rubbing soothing circles on my back.

"I'm never drinking again," I groan when the worst has passed.

A small smile touches his lips. "Sounds like a deal to me."

There's something really sweet about this moment — more intimate, in some ways, than our night together. Letting someone see you at your worst, vulnerable and decidedly unglamorous, requires a different kind of trust than sharing your body.

After brushing my teeth with a spare toothbrush Cade finds in the cabinet (clearly belonging to Chloe, given the pink color), I splash water on my face and try to tame my wild hair into something presentable. The girl in the mirror looks different. My eyes are brighter despite the hangover, a softness to my face that I don't recognize. I wasn't this happy with Byron.

Cade waits patiently while I get dressed, then he guides me out with a hand at the small of my back. The simple contact anchors me, grounds me in this new reality of him and I together.

His apartment is exactly what I'd expect — modern furniture, minimalist decor, everything in its place. It's the home of someone who values order and functionality, who doesn't waste time on unnecessary frills.

"Trevor's visiting his parents for the weekend," Cade explains as he gives me the tour. "Kitchen's through there, but fair warning though, we mostly eat takeout."

I follow him through the living room, taking in details that reveal glimpses of who he is beyond the image he projects. Textbooks neatly stacked on a shelf. A framed photo of him with Sandy from what must be high school, hockey sticks in hand. A small collection of vinyl records beside a turntable.

When we reach his bedroom, I pause in the doorway, taking in the space where he spends his private hours. The large desk covered in organized stacks of papers. The queen-sized bed with navy blue sheets pulled taut at the corners. The absence of personal items, save for a single photo of what appears to be his family on the nightstand.

"That's the same bed," he says suddenly, following my gaze to the neatly made mattress. "The one where Hannah and Sandy fucked for the first time." A grimace twisting his features as he stares at the bed like it's a nightmare. "I just think it every time I walk in here."

The comment should bother me more than it does. Instead, I find myself moving toward him, a newfound boldness guiding my steps. "Well," I say, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, "looks like I'll have to bang that memory right out of your head. Supply you with some new ones."

His eyes darken at my words, but a small smile plays at his lips. "Oh, yeah?" He presses a quick kiss to my forehead. "Tempting but let me get you something for that hangover."

He disappears into the bathroom, returning with two pills and a glass of water. "Take these. Trust me, they work wonders."

The care in this simple gesture touches something inside me. How long has it been since someone looked after me this way? Since someone anticipated my needs before I voiced them?

"I'm going to grab a quick shower," he says, gathering fresh clothes from a drawer. "Make yourself comfortable. There's a charger on the desk if your laptop needs it."

I nod, already moving to set up my computer. The medicine begins to work as I power up my laptop, the pounding in my temples subsiding to a manageable throb. I'm scrolling through email when Cade emerges from the bathroom, and the sight nearly short-circuits my brain.

He stands in the doorway, a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets still clinging to his chest and shoulders. His hair is darker when wet, slicked back from his forehead. The defined muscles of his torso glisten in the morning light, drawing my eye downward to the trail of hair that disappears beneath the towel.

My mouth hangs open, all thoughts of homework temporarily forgotten. The memory of those muscles moving beneath my hands, of that skin pressed against mine, sends heat pooling low in my belly.

"Ordered breakfast," he says, apparently oblivious to my reaction. "Delivery should be here in about twenty minutes." He grabs clothes from his dresser, disappearing back into the bathroom to change.

By the time he returns, fully dressed to my slight disappointment, I've managed to compose myself enough to focus on the screen before me. He settles beside me on the bed, his own laptop balanced on his thighs, our shoulders touching casually.

The food arrives as promised — bagels, coffee, and fruit cups from the café near campus. We sit cross-legged on his bed, laptops pushed aside, eating in companionable silence broken only by occasional comments about the food or questions about each other's assignments.

It's easy. Natural. As if we've been doing this for years instead of hours. I steal glances at his profile as he eats, studying the lines of his face, the way his lips curl when he finds something amusing, the furrow that appears between his brows when he's thinking. It's strange how quickly my anger can transform into something else entirely — how the very presence that once irritated me now brings a sense of peace.

"What?" he asks, catching me staring.

"Nothing," I reply, a smile tugging at my lips. "I just…can't believe this." I gesture between the both of us.

The answering smile he gives me is worth every moment of confusion, every awkward conversation, every painful truth we've navigated to reach this point. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm not angry. Not hating. Not hiding. Not pretending.

Just happy. Simply, completely happy.

Chapter 17

One week into secretly dating Saylor Anderson, and my life has transformed in ways I never saw coming. The lying, the sneaking, the constant compartmentalizing — it should feel terrible, should weigh on me like a mountain of guilt. Sometimes it does. But then she'll smile at me across a crowded room, a private expression meant only for me, and suddenly the weight lifts like it was never there.

I've never been the guy who rearranges his life for a woman. Even with Hannah, I maintained my routines, my independence. But with Saylor, I find myself shifting plans, waking up earlier, staying up later — anything to be around her.

---