Chapter 7: The Morning After the Storm
Sunlight cut through the blinds in thin, angry stripes.
Maya opened her eyes to a ceiling she didn't recognize. Cracked plaster. A water stain shaped like Florida. She blinked once, twice, and the night came flooding back in fragments—the party, the hallway, the wall against her back, Jaxon's mouth on her neck.
Her body ached.
Not the dull ache of too much studying or the sharp pain of a twisted ankle. This was different. This was a bone-deep soreness that radiated from between her legs and settled into her hips, her thighs, the small of her back. She shifted under the sheets and felt the sting of scratches she didn't remember getting.
The sheets smelled like him. Motor oil and cedar and something underneath that was just skin. Just Jaxon.
She turned her head. The other side of the bed was empty. The pillow still held the impression of his head, and she caught herself reaching for it before she yanked her hand back.
What the hell was she doing?
Maya sat up slowly. The room spun for a second, then steadied. She looked down at herself—naked except for the sheet tangled around her waist, and marked in ways she couldn't hide. Bruises on her hips in the shape of fingerprints. A red scrape on her cheek from where the wall had caught her. Her thighs were sticky, and when she pressed them together, she felt the evidence of everything they'd done.
She needed to leave.
She needed to find her clothes and call an Uber and get back to her dorm before Priya woke up and started asking questions Maya didn't have answers to.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet hit the cold floor, and she winced. Her dress was somewhere. Her underwear was somewhere. Her dignity was probably still pressed against that wall in the guest bedroom.
"Going somewhere?"
Maya froze.
Jaxon stood in the doorway. He was wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else, his hair still mussed from sleep, and he was holding two cups of coffee. Steam curled from the rims.
She didn't know how long he'd been standing there. Long enough to see her try to sneak out. Long enough to catch her in the act.
"I was—" She stopped. What was she supposed to say? That she was looking for the bathroom? That she was just stretching? That she was trying to figure out how to disappear without having to look him in the eye?
"You were leaving," he said.
It wasn't a question.
He walked into the room. Set the coffee cups on the nightstand. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, far enough away that he wasn't touching her, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his skin.
"You were going to leave without saying goodbye."
Maya pulled the sheet up to her chest. A pointless gesture—he'd seen everything last night, tasted everything, had his mouth and hands and cock in places she was supposed to reserve for men with futures and 401(k)s and parents who stayed married.
"I didn't want to wake you," she said.
"Bullshit."
"Excuse me?"
"You didn't want to have to talk to me." He picked up one of the cups and handed it to her. "You didn't want to deal with the morning after. You wanted to slip out while I was still asleep so you could pretend last night never happened."
She took the coffee because her hands needed something to do. The cup was warm against her palms. Black, no sugar. Exactly how she took it.
"You don't know what I wanted," she said.
"I know you, Maya."
"No, you don't."
"I know you better than you think." He took a sip of his own coffee. "I know you're scared. I know you're sitting there trying to figure out how to spin this into something that doesn't threaten your five-year plan. I know you're already calculating how many days you need to avoid me before things go back to normal."
She hated that he was right.
"I don't do this," she said.
"Do what?"
"Mornings after. I don't—" She gestured vaguely at the bed, at him, at the whole situation. "This isn't something I do."
"I figured."
"That's not—" She stopped. Took a breath. Tried again. "I've never had a morning after like this. I've never woken up in someone's bed and not known what to say. I've never—"
She stopped again.
"Never what?"
Maya stared at the coffee. At the dark surface of it. At her own reflection, warped and unfamiliar.
"I've never wanted to stay," she said quietly.
The words hung in the air. She hadn't planned to say them. Hadn't even known they were true until they were out of her mouth.
Jaxon was quiet for a long moment. Then he set his cup down and reached for his jacket, which was draped over the back of a chair in the corner. He dug around in the pocket for a second, and when he turned back, he was holding something.
Her planner.
Crumpled. Slightly bent. The cover had a coffee stain on it that hadn't been there before.
"You forgot this," he said. "At the party. It fell out of your bag when I—" He paused. "When we left."
Maya stared at it.
Her whole life was in that planner. Every assignment, every deadline, every study session color-coded and catalogued. Her MCAT prep schedule. Her med school application timeline. The future she'd been building since she was fourteen years old and realized that the only way out of her hometown was through.
She took it from him. The pages were dog-eared. There was a crease down the middle of the week where he'd probably shoved it in his pocket without thinking.
"You found it," she said.
"It was on the floor. Figured you'd want it back."
She opened it. Flipped through the pages. Tuesday was marked with a lab report due date. Wednesday had a note about office hours. Thursday was blank except for a single word: JAXON.
She'd written it there two weeks ago. Before the party. Before last night. Before any of this.
She'd written his name in her planner like he was something that belonged in her schedule.
"Look," Jaxon said. "I'm not trying to trap you."
She looked up.
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking this was a mistake. You're thinking you need to cut and run before things get complicated. You're thinking I'm going to turn into some clingy asshole who expects you to text me every hour and meet my friends and be my girlfriend."
"Aren't you?"
"I don't know what I am." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've never done this either. I've never had someone stay. I've never wanted someone to stay. But you—" He stopped. Shook his head. "You make me want things I don't know how to want."
She didn't know what to say to that.
"So here's what I'm going to do." He stood up. Walked to the window. Stood with his back to her, looking out at the parking lot below. "I'm going to give you an out."
"What?"
"An out. A way to leave. If that's what you want."
She stared at him. At the line of his shoulders. At the tattoos snaking down his arms. At the way the sunlight caught the scar through his eyebrow.
"I don't understand," she said.
"You can walk out that door. You can go back to your dorm and your planner and your future-proof life. You can pretend last night never happened. I won't text you. I won't show up at your library. I won't scare off any more guys who try to buy you coffee."
"You say that like it's easy."
"It's not." He turned. His face was unreadable. "But I'm not going to beg you to stay. I'm not going to make you feel like you owe me something. If you want out, take it."
The coffee was getting cold in her hands. She set it on the nightstand next to his.
"And if I don't want out?" she asked.
"Then you stay."
"For how long?"
"As long as you want."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got." He walked back to the bed. Sat down. This time, he was closer. Close enough that she could smell the coffee on his breath. "I don't have a five-year plan, Maya. I don't have a color-coded calendar. I don't know what happens tomorrow or next week or next year. All I know is that right now, in this moment, I want you here."
She should say no.
She should take the out. She should get dressed and call an Uber and go back to her life. She should forget about the way he'd looked at her last night. She should forget about the way he'd said her name when he came.
But she didn't want to forget.
"I don't know how to do this," she said again.
"Me neither."
"I'm going to mess it up."
"Probably."
"I'm going to push you away. I'm going to get scared. I'm going to make a spreadsheet about our relationship and color-code it by emotional risk."
Jaxon laughed. A real laugh. It softened the hard lines of his face and made him look younger. Made him look like someone who might actually be worth the risk.
"I'd expect nothing less," he said.
"This isn't funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It's not—"
He kissed her.
Not hard. Not demanding. Just soft. Gentle. Like he was asking a question he already knew the answer to.
When he pulled back, her eyes were wet.
"I don't cry," she said.
"I know."
"I never cry."
"I know."
"This is—"
"Shut up."
He pulled her into his chest. Wrapped his arms around her. Held her like she was something precious. Like she was something worth holding onto.
And for the first time, Maya let herself believe it might be true.
They stayed like that for a long time.
The coffee went cold. The sun moved across the floor. Somewhere outside, a car alarm went off and then stopped. The world kept turning, and Maya stayed exactly where she was.
"I have a lab report due Tuesday," she said eventually.
"I know."
"And a symposium abstract I haven't started."
"I know."
"And I'm supposed to meet my advisor on Thursday."
"I know."
She pulled back. Looked at him.
"How do you know all this?"
"I pay attention." He shrugged. "You talk in your sleep."
"I do not."
"Figure of speech." He grinned. "You left your planner open on my kitchen table for three days. I read it."
"You read my planner?"
"Cover to cover."
"That's—"
"Invasive? Creepy? A violation of your privacy?"
"All of the above."
"Well." He shrugged again. "Now you know what I'm capable of."
She should have been angry. But she wasn't. She was something else. Something that felt dangerously close to fond.
"You're impossible," she said.
"I know."
"Stop saying that."
"Stop being right about everything."
She shoved his shoulder. He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. Kissed her knuckles. One by one.
"I have to go," she said.
"I know."
"I have to—"
"You have to go." He let go of her hand. "I'm not stopping you."
She stood up. Found her dress on the floor. Her underwear. Her bra. She dressed in silence, and he watched her, and she let him. There was no point in hiding anymore.
At the door, she stopped.
"Jaxon."
"Yeah?"
"What happens now?"
He was still sitting on the bed. Still shirtless. Still looking at her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
"Now you go do your lab report. And your symposium abstract. And your meeting with your advisor."
"And then?"
"And then you come back." He stood up. Walked to her. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Or you don't. It's up to you."
"That's not—"
"I know." He kissed her forehead. "But it's the best I can do."
She left.
The hallway was quiet. The stairwell smelled like stale beer and laundry detergent. She walked down three flights and out the front door, and the morning air hit her like a slap.
She got halfway to the bus stop before she realized she was still holding her planner.
The pages were wrinkled. The cover was stained. But it was there. He'd given it back.
She'd left something else in that apartment, something she couldn't name, but she'd walked out with her future intact.
For now.
That was enough.
Maya unlocked her phone. Opened the planner. Flipped to Thursday.
JAXON.
She took a pen out of her bag. Drew a line through the word. Wrote something else underneath.
Maybe.
It wasn't a plan. It wasn't a promise. It was just a word. A maybe.
But it was the first thing she'd written in months that didn't feel like a trap.
She smiled. Just a little. Just for a second.
Then she shoved the planner back in her bag and kept walking.
The bus was coming.
The bus was coming.
She could see it three blocks down, headlights cutting through the gray morning like something out of a dream she was still trying to wake up from. The planner was heavy in her bag, the weight of it pulling at her shoulder, and she was still thinking about his hands on her skin when she heard the sound of an engine.
Not the bus. Something lower. Meaner. Familiar.
She turned.
The Ducati slid up to the curb like a black knife through butter. Jaxon killed the engine and flipped up his visor, his hair a disaster, his jaw set. He was still wearing the gray sweatpants. No shirt. Just a leather jacket thrown over his bare chest like he'd left the apartment in a hurry.
"You forgot your coffee," he said.
Maya stared at him.
"That's not—" She stopped. Blinked. "You rode here without a shirt?"
"It's in my jacket."
"That's not—" She stopped again. "That doesn't make sense."
"Neither does you leaving without a real goodbye."
The bus was getting closer. She could hear it now. The rumble of it. The inevitability.
Jaxon reached behind him and pulled something from his saddlebag. A to-go cup. Still warm. He held it out to her.
"Black," he said. "No sugar. Just in case you wanted to stay a few more minutes."
She took it.
The bus pulled up. The doors hissed open. The driver—a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair and a look of profound boredom—glanced at Maya, then at Jaxon, then at the Ducati.
"You getting on?" she asked.
Maya looked at the bus. At the warm pocket of her planner, full of deadlines and color codes and a future that made sense. Then she looked at Jaxon. At the man who'd given her an out and then chased her down anyway.
"No," she said.
The driver shrugged. The doors closed. The bus pulled away, and Maya stood on the curb with a cup of coffee in her hand and her heart doing something stupid in her chest.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"Probably."
"You could have texted."
"You weren't answering."
"That's because I was trying to leave."
"I know." He swung his leg over the bike. Stood up. Took the coffee from her hands and set it on the seat. "But you didn't."
She hated how close he was standing. How easy it would be to close the distance. How her body remembered exactly what his felt like against hers.
"I have a lab report," she said.
"I know."
"I have—"
"An abstract. And an advisor meeting. I know." He reached out. Touched her chin. Tilted her face up to his. "None of that is a reason to get on a bus going the wrong direction."
"The wrong direction?"
"You live on campus. The bus goes downtown." He raised an eyebrow. "Where exactly were you going?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
She didn't have an answer.
"Get on," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"Get on the bike." He picked up the coffee, handed it back to her. "I'll take you home."
"I don't—"
"Maya." His voice was quiet. Steady. "Get on the bike."
She got on the bike.
The ride was short. Her arms around his waist. Her cheek against his back. The engine vibrating through her bones. He smelled like leather and wind and something underneath that was just him.
They didn't talk. There was nothing to say.
He pulled up to her dorm building and killed the engine. The morning was still gray. The campus was still quiet. A few students stumbled past with coffee cups and dead eyes, the walking dead of an 8 a.m. lecture.
Maya got off the bike. Her legs were unsteady. Her hair was a mess. She was still holding the coffee cup, empty now, and she didn't know what to do with it.
"Thanks," she said.
"You're welcome."
She stood there.
He stood there.
The silence stretched.
"I should go inside," she said.
"Okay."
"I have to—"
"I know." He didn't move. "Go."
She turned. Walked toward the door. Got halfway before she stopped.
This was the out. The one he'd promised. She could walk inside and close the door and pretend last night never happened. She could go back to her planner and her deadlines and the safe, stable, future-proof life she'd built for herself.
She could do all of that.
But her feet wouldn't move.
She turned around.
"You're not coming?" she asked.
Jaxon stared at her. His face was carefully blank. But something flickered in his eyes. Something that looked like hope.
"You want me to come in?"
"I—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
He got off the bike.
She didn't wait. She walked to the door, pulled it open, and held it. An invitation. A question. A maybe.
He walked past her into the building. Their shoulders brushed in the doorway.
Neither of them said a word.
Her dorm was on the third floor. It was small—two twin beds, two desks, a cramped bathroom they had to share with the room next door. Priya's side was chaos: clothes everywhere, fairy lights, a poster of some band Maya had never heard of. Her side was neat: books stacked by subject, pens organized by color, a small succulent that was somehow still alive despite Maya's best efforts to neglect it.
She closed the door behind him.
The lock clicked.
They stood in the cramped space, surrounded by Priya's mess and Maya's order, and the air was thick with everything they weren't saying.
"I don't know how to do this," she said.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
He stepped closer. One step. Then another.
"Then we figure it out."
"How?"
"I don't know." Another step. He was close now. Close enough to touch. "But I'm not leaving until you tell me to."
She should tell him to leave.
She should tell him this was a mistake. That last night was a one-time thing. That she had a plan—a good, solid, sensible plan—and he didn't fit into it.
But when she opened her mouth, what came out was: "I don't want you to leave."
He kissed her.
This time, it wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was hunger—the kind that had been building since she'd walked out of his apartment, since she'd stood on that bus stop, since she'd gotten on his bike instead of going downtown.
He backed her into the door. Her bag hit the floor. The coffee cup followed. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her hips, her ass—and she was pulling at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, needing to feel skin.
Her shirt was a problem. He solved it by yanking it over her head. Her bra was a problem. He solved it with his teeth.
"Jaxon—"
"Shut up."
"I—"
"Shut up and let me touch you."
She shut up.
He touched her.
His mouth found her neck. Her collarbone. The spot behind her ear that made her knees buckle. His hands found the button of her jeans, and then the jeans were gone, and then his sweatpants were gone, and then he was lifting her and she was wrapping her legs around his waist and he was walking her to the bed.
Priya's bed. Hers. She didn't care. She couldn't think past the feel of him.
He laid her down. Looked at her. Really looked. She was still bruised from last night. Still marked. Still sore in ways that should have made her push him away.
Instead, she pulled him closer.
"You sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure."
He wasn't gentle this time.
He pushed into her with one hard thrust, and she gasped, her back arching off the mattress. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his back, anywhere she could reach. He didn't stop. Didn't slow down. Just fucked her like he'd been thinking about it all night, like walking away from her this morning had been the hardest thing he'd ever done.
The bed creaked. The headboard hit the wall. Maya bit her lip to keep from screaming, but a moan escaped anyway, and Jaxon covered her mouth with his hand.
"Priya," he said. "Right?"
"Shut up," she gasped.
"Just saying."
She grabbed his wrist, pulled his hand away, and kissed him. Hard. Hard enough to shut him up. Hard enough to say everything she couldn't.
He broke the kiss. Pulled back. Looked down at her with those dark eyes.
"Say it," he said.
"Say what?"
"Say you want me here."
"I—"
"Say it."
She grabbed his face. Pulled him down until their foreheads touched.
"I want you here," she whispered.
He kissed her.
And then he moved. Really moved. Fast and deep and exactly right. Maya's vision blurred at the edges. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel—the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he said her name like it was the only word that mattered.
When she came, it was with his hand over her mouth and his teeth on her shoulder.
When he came, it was with his face buried in her neck and her name on his lips.
They stayed tangled for a long time.
The room was quiet except for their breathing. The sweat cooling on their skin. The sound of someone in the hallway arguing about something mundane.
"That was—" Maya started.
"Yeah," Jaxon said.
"I don't—"
"Yeah."
She laughed. Just a little. Just a breath.
He pulled out. Rolled onto his side. Stared at the ceiling.
"You have a poster of that band?" He pointed at Priya's wall.
"It's Priya's."
"Thank god."
"They're not that bad."
"They're terrible."
"You don't know that."
"I've heard them."
"Where?"
"Priya's side of the room. Last night. She was playing them while you were in the library."
Maya turned her head. Looked at him.
"You were here?"
"Earlier. Before the party." He shrugged. "I came looking for you. You weren't here. Priya let me in. Said you were at the archives."
"Priya let you in?"
"Priya likes me."
"Priya has terrible taste."
"Priya has excellent taste."
Maya laughed again. Realer this time.
"I have to—" She gestured vaguely at her own body. At the sticky evidence of what they'd just done.
"Bathroom's that way." He nodded at the door.
She got up. Walked naked across the room. Felt his eyes on her the whole way.
When she came back, he was still there. Still naked. Still looking at her like she was something worth looking at.
"Stay," she said.
He blinked.
"What?"
"Stay." She climbed back into bed. Into his arms. "I have a lab report due Tuesday. And an abstract. And an advisor meeting on Thursday. But right now—"
She stopped.
"Right now?" he prompted.
"Right now, I want you to stay."
He pulled her close. Her head on his chest. His heartbeat steady under her ear.
"Okay," he said.
She closed her eyes.
They fell asleep like that. Tangled. Sweaty. Stupid. Whole.
The sun was high when the door opened.
Maya didn't hear it at first. She was somewhere between sleep and awake, her face pressed against Jaxon's shoulder, her leg thrown over his. She was warm. Comfortable. She didn't want to move.
Then she heard the gasp.
Her eyes flew open.
Priya stood in the doorway. Her keys were still in her hand. Her mouth was hanging open. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates.
"What the actual—"
Maya sat up. Grabbed the sheet. Covered herself.
"Priya—"
"There's a man in your bed."
"I know."
"There's a naked man in your bed."
"I know."
"There's a naked man with tattoos in your bed and he looks exactly like the guy who threated to break Derek's nose at that party and OH MY GOD MAYA."
Maya hit Jaxon.
Her fist connected with his shoulder before she could think. He woke up with a grunt, his eyes flying open, his hand instinctively reaching for something that wasn't there.
"What the—" He looked at Maya. Then at Priya. Then back at Maya. "Did you just hit me?"
"Get up."
"If you wanted to fuck again, you could have just asked. You don't have to hit me."
"Jaxon—"
"I'm just saying. A simple 'wake up' would have—"
"PRIYA IS RIGHT THERE."
He turned his head. Looked at Priya. Looked at her for a long, slow moment.
"Good morning," he said.
Priya's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Morning," she squeaked.
Jaxon threw the covers off. Stood up. Completely naked. Completely unbothered.
Maya wanted to die.
He found his sweatpants on the floor. Pulled them on. Found his jacket on the floor. Pulled that on too. Then he turned to Maya, who was still frozen in bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin.
He leaned down. Kissed her. Deep. Slow. The kind of kiss that said last night was real and don't forget it.
"I'll see you later," he said.
Then he walked past Priya. Nodded. Smiled.
"Priya."
"Jaxon," she said faintly.
He opened the door. Stepped out. Closed the door behind him.
The silence that followed was loud.
Priya turned to Maya. Her eyes were still wide. Her mouth was still open. But something else was creeping in. Something that looked like delight.
"So," Priya said. "That's the guy."
Maya buried her face in the pillow.
"That's the guy," she mumbled.
"The one you said you hated."
"I do hate him."
"You just let him fuck you in our dorm room."
"I—"
"You let him fuck you in our dorm room and then you hit him and he made a joke and then he kissed you and now he's gone and you're—" Priya paused. "You're smiling."
"I'm not smiling."
"You're smiling into a pillow."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Maya rolled over. Stared at the ceiling. The same ceiling she'd woken up to this morning. The same ceiling she'd stared at when he was inside her.
"I'm in trouble," she said.
"Yeah," Priya agreed. "You are."
Maya closed her eyes.
But she was still smiling.
And somewhere across campus, Jaxon Cole was walking home in yesterday's clothes with her taste still on his lips.