More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) by Jay McLean Read Free Book Online

your birthday…”
    I take my time trying to form an appropriate response. I take too long.
    “So?” he asks.
    “So… I can’t.”
    He sighs. Long and loud and with obvious disappointment. Not at my answer, but at me. It should hurt. It should make me feel something, but it doesn’t. Maybe because I’ve done nothing but disappoint people for the past year and a half.
    “I’m actually sleeping okay,” he admits out of nowhere. “My brother moved some shit around in my old room and put a mattress on the floor. I don’t come here to sleep, although it helps. I come here because you don’t ask questions and being at home… I guess I get scared that my dad or brother are going to ask me something I don’t want to answer and it becomes a bigger deal than it is. They were both Marines so it’s like… the thing that connects us all together. My brother and I don’t have much else in common. In fact, I don’t think we really know each other at all. So I’m here hiding out because I don’t want to risk it.”
    I take another sip. Write another sentence.
    I hate that he’s here.
    I like that he’s here.
    He continues, “None of my friends know I’m home. I haven’t told them. So, I guess you’re the only person I have right now—which is dumb—because up until a week ago, I didn’t even really know you. So I’m sorry if I’m asking the wrong questions. Pushing the wrong buttons. Because I completely get why you’re pissed—”
    “I’m not pissed,” I cut in, my voice barely a whisper. His words hit me hard—right in the feels—I totally get it. “I’m not used to having anyone around,” I continue. “And it’s been a while since I’ve had to talk to anyone besides my mom so—”
    “Does your mom know you drink?” he interrupts.
    I scoff and bring the bottle to my lips. “Who do you think supplies me with it?”
    “You do realize how fucked up that is, right?”
    “Says the guy sleeping in his neighbor’s bed because he can’t deal with reality.”
    “We’re such a fucking mess,” he says, and I can hear the humor in his voice.
    “That’s because you’re pushing the wrong buttons,” I joke.
    “It’s like the worst form of slow dance.”
    “A horrible act of foreplay,” I add. Then choke on my own breath.
    He laughs. “Foreplay, Hudson? Really? Are you planning on this leading to sex? Because it’s been a while and I’m down for whatever.”
    “Shut up.” I throw a cushion at him. I was going to throw the bottle of wine but I like it too much.
    “Quit throwing shit at me.”
    “Quit making me want to.”
    “So what do we do now? Make out?”
    “Shut up!” I tell him, but I’m laughing.
    I add another note to my stream of thoughts.
    He makes me laugh.
    He chuckles with me, low and deep.
    “Dylan?”
    “Yeah, Riley?”
    “The lunch thing…”
    “Mm?”
    “I’m not really up for leaving the house…” I admit.
    “I can bring us something back?”
    “And the cake…”
    “How many candles?”
    Butterflies.
    For the next ten minutes, he tosses and turns in bed while I try to concentrate on anything but him. Then he huffs out a breath and says, “I skipped breakfast. I could eat now. You?”
    “Okay.”
    He rushes to his feet and opens the blinds fully. “You got a preference?” he asks, turning to me with a smile on his face—a smile that matches mine.
    “Bacon.”
    “Just bacon?”
    I laugh. “Anything with bacon.”
    “And the cake?” he asks, grabbing his phone, keys and wallet from my nightstand.
    “Anything. Just don’t forget the candles.”
    He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”
    I stay in my spot and watch him slip on his shoes, trying to hide my excitement.
    His eyes stay on mine as he starts to leave. Stopping at my doorway, he says, “Riley?”
    My grin gets wider.
    “Please don’t pass out while I’m gone.” He eyes the bottle in my hand.
    I shake my head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
    With a chuckle, he mumbles, “Wow. You must really