Page 115 of Jump on Three

I should have known he would say that. “So you think. Can’t we just see each other in the morning?”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No, but…”

“Then stay. Or we can go to your room if that’s more comfortable. I would not like to be without you tonight.”

I thought about it for a moment. I was saying no because this was new and I assumed he couldn’t handle my routine, but Ivan had proven he could be trusted with my idiosyncrasies and quirks. If he ran after tonight, at least I’d know he hadn’t been the one for me.

And I really hoped he was the one.

“Have you ever danced before bed?” I asked.

“No. I haven’t done that before.”

“Then you should get ready. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

Evelyn

I woke early, but I had no desire to get up and face what lay beyond this bed. Not when Ivan was sprawled on his back, taking up three-quarters of my queen-size mattress.

He’d slept beside me all night, and now, at six a.m., golden light beamed through the cracks in my blinds, illuminating part of his face, his arm and shoulder, his stomach.

He was beautiful, always, but relaxed in sleep, the sun striping him. He was devastating.

I love you.

I still hadn’t processed him saying that. What was love anyway? Was it signals from the brain? A chemical reaction? Some ephemeral idea we’d all agreed, as a society, was a real and precious thing? Did anyone truly know?

Last night, we’d danced in my room to an ambient EDM playlist Ivan had chosen. Although it was more mellow than I was used to for that time of night, I’d swayed my body and released the endorphins that had been building since the library.

Ivan had joined me at first, then he’d silently changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth in the bathroom. When he came out in nothing more than low-slung black pants and climbed into my bed, my need to move had suddenly disappeared.

Looking at him now, I considered the possibility that this pit in my stomach and burning need to be near him and understood by him was love. It wasn’t the love I felt for Delilah, which had been present before either of us had taken our first breaths. Our love had always existed.

This was brand new and still fully forming.

But I was pretty damn sure it was love.

How could it not be?

Last night, Ivan had witnessed me go through my rituals to calm down before bed. It wasn’t just dancing. Once I was in bed, I rubbed my feet together until they felt right, and only then did I turn off the light. That was when I rubbed each finger together.

He’d kissed my lips, and I’d had to start all over, but I hadn’t been mad. This was Ivan, and I, quite possibly, almost assuredly, loved him.

He must have really loved me too, because he’d remained by my side through all of it—and without cuddles, because being touched while I slept was out of the question.

He’d stayed on his side of the mattress, and I’d stayed on mine until I’d been nearly asleep and my hand had sought his. Two linked fingers had led me to the conclusion that this man owned my heart, free and clear.

If love was the word for that, then yes, I loved him.

I rolled to my side, propping my head up to sweep my eyes over his face, neck, chest, abdomen. There might be a time when I got used to seeing him, but I wasn’t anywhere near it.

His eyes flipped open, immediately alert, scanning me. The burst of butterflies awakening in my stomach made me giggle lightly.

“Hi, Ivan.”