29. Dylan

Chapter 29

Dylan

W hen I get home from my meeting with the dean and the coaches, the house feels unusually still—too quiet for three guys who should be here. I step into the backyard and find them passed out, sprawled like warriors after a night of conquest. Ford is face-down on the grass, Jacob is half-twisted in a hammock, and Matthew is slumped against a lawn chair, his mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

I fold my arms, biting back a laugh. "Idiots," I mutter.

The night air is cool, so I head inside to grab some blankets. One by one, I cover them—Jacob first, because he's closest to the sliding door. I drape the blanket over him, tucking the edge under his chin like a mom with her kid. He stirs for a second, muttering something about food before slipping back into his booze-induced slumber.

Next is Matthew. I pull the blanket over him carefully, smoothing it over his legs. Even passed out, he looks good, and for a moment, I allow myself the luxury of appreciating the way his dark lashes rest against his cheeks. But no way am I waking him up—he deserves this.

Lastly, I approach Ford. The blanket barely covers his massive frame, but it'll have to do. His hair is a wild mess, sticking up like he's been electrocuted, and the faint smell of beer lingers around him. I shake my head, amused.

"Sleep tight, boys." I giggle.

With that, I head inside, ready to unwind.

In the bathroom, I fill the tub with steaming water, toss in a lavender-scented bath bomb, and watch it fizz and melt into swirling purples and blues. As the water rises, I strip out of my clothes and step in, sinking down until the warmth wraps around me like a warm winter coat.

The house is eerily silent, and it feels strange to have the place to myself. No banter or teasing, no one calling me into the next room for some ridiculous reason. Just me, the water, and the occasional soft creak of the pipes.

I grab my book from the bath tray—something light and romantic, a guilty pleasure—and settle into the stillness. I let the words wash over me, but my mind drifts to the meeting with the dean. I can still feel the weight of it on my shoulders—being the only girl on the lacrosse team isn't just pressure; it's a spotlight, and not always the kind I want.

Once the bath water cools, I reluctantly step out, drying off and slipping into my favorite oversized t-shirt. My bed feels way too big without the guys, but I burrow under the covers anyway, letting the book rest open on my chest. I try to read, but sleep pulls me under before I know it.

The scent of bacon hits me the second I open my eyes, cutting through the haze of sleep. I stretch, groaning as my joints pop, and shuffle out of bed.

In the kitchen, Matthew and Jacob are working in perfect tandem—Matthew at the stove flipping bacon, and Jacob beside him whisking eggs like a pro. They glance up as I enter, their smiles easy and familiar.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Matthew greets, flashing that grin that always makes me warm inside.

"Where's Ford?" I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Jacob snickers. "Still out in the yard."

I roll my eyes. "Of course he is."

"Don't bother waking him—he'll come in eventually," Matthew adds, though he's grinning like he knows I'll do it anyway.

Ignoring them, I head toward the backyard, sliding the door open. Ford is right where I left him, snuggled under the blanket, looking completely content.

I crouch beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. "Ford. Wake up."

He groans, face scrunching as he stirs. "Five more minutes…"

"Nope." I plop down on his lap, straddling him, still in my pajamas, the cool morning air making me shiver a little. He cracks one eye open, and a slow grin spreads across his face.

"Hey, Kitty." His voice is thick with sleep, raspy and low.

I lean in to kiss him, and he pulls me close, one hand sliding down to grab a handful of my ass. I laugh against his mouth, swatting his hand away.

"You taste like stale beer," I say, wrinkling my nose.

He chuckles, unbothered. "And you taste like trouble."

I give him another light kiss before pulling back. "Come on, lazy. You need a shower."

Ford grins lazily, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "Only if you come with me."

I smile and stand up, pulling him inside with me. As I tug Ford toward the bathroom, Jacob's voice echoes from the kitchen, "Make it quick—breakfast is almost ready!"

The bathroom fills with steam and the sound of running water as Ford and I strip down, leaving our clothes in a pile on the floor.

He steps into the shower first, holding out a hand to help me in. The warm water cascades over us, and I sigh as it hits my skin, washing away the remnants of sleep. Ford stands behind me, his big hands resting lightly on my hips as we both adjust to the soothing heat.

We don't rush—there's no urgency between us, only a quiet tenderness. I grab the shampoo, squirting some into my hand before turning to lather his hair. His eyes flutter closed as I work my fingers through the messy strands, and for a moment, he leans into the touch, like he could melt under my touch.

"Feels good," he murmurs, voice low and soft.

"Yeah?" I ask, smiling as I rinse the suds from his hair.

He hums, and I press a kiss to his shoulder, feeling the muscles shift beneath my lips. Ford takes the bottle from me next, pouring some into his palm.

"Your turn."

I tilt my head back as he gently massages the shampoo into my scalp, his strong fingers moving with a surprising amount of care. It's not sexual—just... intimate. And it feels good in a way that makes my chest ache a little.

After rinsing, we move on to body wash. Ford's hands glide over my skin with lazy strokes, tracing the curve of my waist, and the slope of my shoulders. His touch is worshipful, like he's memorizing every inch of me.

"You're too good at this," I say softly, and he grins.

"Just taking care of my girl."

I roll my eyes but don't protest. When he's done, I take my time washing him, running the washcloth over his broad chest, down his arms, and along the planes of his back. Every touch feels grounding, like we're reconnecting in the simplest, most honest way.

When we finish, we stand under the spray for a while longer, letting the water rinse away the last traces of soap and sleep. Ford leans his forehead against mine, his hands resting on my lower back.

"Thanks for this," I whisper, and he smiles, brushing a kiss against my temple.

"Anytime, Kitty."

We step out of the shower and dry off, our movements easy and familiar. It's not the first time we've done this, and it won't be the last, but each time feels like a small gift—a reminder of the simple ways we care for each other.

Back in the kitchen, Jacob and Matthew are waiting, breakfast is ready, and coffee is brewing. Ford slings an arm around my shoulders as we settle in at the table, and I can't help but smile.

These quiet moments—the lazy mornings, the easy banter, the shared showers—they're what makes everything else worth it. And as we dig into breakfast, surrounded by the people who mean the most to me, I know without a doubt that this is exactly where I'm meant to be.