Love To Hate You | 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚜 ❈

Twenty Nine

Jack flopped on his bed, exhausted from the events of the weekend and winning his game tonight. I giggled at him as he let his body crumble dramatically to the mattress, his legs flailing in the air before sinking into his sheets. I stood by his bedroom door, awkwardly taking in the room I hadn't been in what felt like forever.

Of course, nothing had changed, there were still dirty clothes by the hamper that he'd thrown and missed, still school books scattered by his bed and still band posters and hockey photos hanging on his walls. His sheets were the same black as they always were and his pillows just as comfy and inviting as I knew them to be. Jack rolled to his back, tilting his chin down to look at me before chuckling.

"You're so cute," he mumbled, before opening his arms out wide, flopping back to his bed. "C'mere."

I shuffled towards his bed silently, chewing on my bottom lip as my mind ran at a million miles an hour, thoughts of kissing Jack on his bed replaying over and over and making me want to run away and hide forever.

I crawled into bed beside him, my jeans feeling entirely too restricting and my t-shirt needing to come off. I needed to be comfy, I wouldn't relax when I was stuck in normal clothes. Jack looked down at me as I lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling with furrowed brows.

"You need different clothes, don't you?" He asked, smirking cockily.

I gazed up at him. "How'd you know?"

He only shrugged. "You can't sleep in tight stuff, you need to wear oversized and comfy."

"I told you that the night you dropped me home from Willowvale rink," I grinned shyly, blushing as I scrunched my nose.

He copied my actions, before brushing his nose against my own before jumping out of bed and taking two large strides towards his dresser. He pulled out a random t-shirt, tossing it at my head before slipping happily back to his bed, sitting and staring right at me.

I glared at him. "Turn around?"

He frowned, pouting like a child before turning to face away from me with a huff. I ripped off my shirt, throwing Jack's much larger one over my head, and tossing my off to the side of his bedroom somewhere, before jumping out of my jeans and throwing them away also. I realised quickly that Jack hadn't given me pants, and blushed, hard.

"Uh, Jack," I mumbled, standing by the edge of his bed with pink dusted cheeks and wide eyed. He turned to me, coy as ever. "I don't have pants on."

"Thank God," he teased, sitting on the side of his bed and pulling me to him by my waist. I stood between his legs, looking down at him shyly while he gazed up at me, enraptured. "Let me love you."

I smiled, tiny and nervous, but still a smile, and followed Jack as he fell back into the pile of pillows, allowing him to pull me to his chest, my legs tangling between his and my hand on his heart. He placed one hand in my hair, playing with the ends absentmindedly while his other hand glided over the bare skin of my hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"If anyone told me I'd be lying on my bed cuddling Lyla Jones after I fought her ex boyfriend a year ago, I'd probably laugh in their face," he breathed, chuckling at himself.

I smiled, gazing up at him. "It is a strange turn of events," I admitted. "I barely remember the time I spent hating you."

Jack turned to me, brushing his nose against the skin of my cheek. I giggled at the feeling. "I never hated you, Lyla," he told me. "I was just angry that you weren't mine."

"What?" I asked, rolling on my side to see him better.

He was perfect.

From the freckles on his skin that you only saw up close to the pink of his lips and the blue of his eyes. Jack Hughes was a kaleidoscope of perfection that I never wanted to stop looking at.