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So tonight was already bullshit. But it wasn’t what really had me twisted.
I fucking liked her.
A lot.
Like, a whole lot.
Like, a “maybe you should stay forever” whole fucking lot.
Like, a “I can’t say I love you because I barely know you but I’m pretty sure I do” entire goddamn motherfucking lot.
And now she was standing next to me, smelling like actual, literal heaven, studiously listening to the pastor go on. I probably should have been listening. But I was busy staring at the length of her neck, exposed and offered directly to me, thanks to her bun.
Except I couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t have her. Had to pretend.
Should have known that would backfire.
We shouldn’t tell Cass, I’d insisted. What a fucking dick.
I’d said it was for Cass, and it was—girl was unglued and flapping looser by the day. It wouldn’t have been pretty to tell her I was nailing her best friend, but she’d have been fine. Eventually. I was pretty sure. But then there were all the other things. Jessa’s mother, who hated me on sight, who’d actually said out loud that I’d never see Jessa again. Jessa’s departure, which was looming like a goddamn hurricane, creeping in at five miles an hour.
She didn’t want to stay.
I didn’t deserve to keep her.
She’d never stick around with a guy like me.
God, I had never been so fucking dumb as to fall for a Duchess.
My longing was a hot knife in the heart.
I’d spent all day thinking about what might have happened (Jesus Christ, she smells so good I could eat every inch of her right here in front of God and everybody). Her mom was my first thought—I couldn’t imagine she did anything but warn Jessa off me, potentially with threats. Maybe she’d lose everything, her inheritance and good standing, or whatever else British ladies lost when they married beneath them. (I could wrap that loose lock of hair at her nape around my little finger—wait, married?)
I brushed the thought away, chalking it up to the goings-on around me and the almost empty flask in my coat pocket.
Cass had said something to her, she’d admitted that much. But I couldn’t imagine what she could have possibly said that affected Jessa so much she cried in the bathroom when she talked about it. Sure, I’d been around. But it felt like cruel fucking sabotage that my own flesh would get in the way like this, with the one thing I actually gave a shit about.
Of course, she didn’t know I gave a shit, which was probably part of the problem.
I’d considered just coming out and telling her, blowing the whole thing open. But I trusted Jessa, and she asked me for this. I knew she didn’t want Hank. I knew she didn’t want him the first time I ever saw them together, not for real. I’d gotten a hotter look from her right off the bat than I’d wager Hank had ever received. She had just seen my entire naked body, cock and all, but I wouldn’t call that cheating. Maybe an unfair advantage, but I wouldn’t have admitted it out loud.
I trusted her, I did. I was just mad as fuck about the whole thing, which was my God-given right.
Honestly, Hank was lucky he got out of that bar alive after putting his hands on her like he did. Don’t even get me started on his bitchass mouth.
I really, really wanted a drink, but didn’t think it’d go over big with the pastor to pull out a flask in front of Jesus’s burden and all.
The second we were released for dinner, I took my first breath in twenty minutes, turned on my heel, and hauled ass toward the exit.
But I was stopped by a small hand in the crook of my elbow.
Goddamn. There she was, fresh as a fucking daisy, her eyes all big and sad and shiny. She was wearing the zebra dress. I wanted to take it off her real bad.
She smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
We stood there stupidly for a second. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
