I brush back a strand of hair and lift her chin. My gaze traces up her beautiful, innocent face, pausing at her soft pink lips before settling on her gentle eyes. My heart soars at the simple acceptance I find in them. My breath catches in my throat. I trace the curve of her full bottom lip with my thumb, my pulse quickening as desire surges through me. I want to be her hero. I kiss her fiercely, with everything I am. With everything she believes I could be.

This girl shatters me.

She gives me hope that the world isn’t exclusively pain and shit.

* * * *

This time when I wake up with Elizabeth curled up underneath me, I shamelessly cuddle the shit out of her. I squeeze her into my chest and nuzzle against her neck until her grumpy morning voice chastises me.

“It’s too early. Go back to sleeeeeeep,” she whines.

“Too late. I’m up. And I’m hungry.” I hop out of bed, toss off the covers and give her naked ass a quick slap.

“Aaauuustiiiiin,” she cries.

“Damn, you are whiny in the mornings! Come on, Goose. Get up. I’m going to teach you how to make breakfast.”

After fifteen minutes of cajoling and another fifteen of making out and groping while trying to get dressed, I finally get Elizabeth Wilde right where I want her. In my kitchen.

“Crack two eggs into a bowl and whisk them together,” I instruct from behind her, lazily holding her hips.

“Like this?” she asks, tapping the egg on the side of the bowl.

“A little harder,” I sing into her ear as I brush my lips against her neck.

“Austin…” she murmurs as she twists slightly to have her lips meet mine.

“Aren’t you two domestic as fuck,” Drew groans, making his way into the kitchen.

Startled, Elizabeth gasps, jumps a foot in the air and crushes the egg in her hand. I pull away from her and lean against the far counter. Elizabeth rushes to the sink, dripping yolk across the floor. I cross my arms and glare at Drew. Three’s a crowd, dick.

Swallowing a mouthful of milk straight from the carton, he elbows me and asks, “This going to be a regular thing then?”

I gaze at Elizabeth, scrubbing her hands like she’s preparing for brain surgery. I take her in, head to toe. Her hair is a fucking mess. She’s wearing my jersey, wrinkled from being tossed on the floor last night. The pair of gym shorts she borrowed are rolled over half a dozen times and still fall to mid-calf. One sock is pulled up to her knee and the other is slumped at her ankle. They’re black with strings of white ones and zeros. She’s a beautiful disaster. Yeah, I could get used to this being a regular thing.