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"Ah, c'mon Jake, you can't still be sore about the Great Water Balloon Siege of '09." I chuckle, lobbing a cushion at him to punctuate the tease, hoping it'll anchor me back to the present – back to the safety of old, uncomplicated times.
"Hey, that was strategic warfare!" Jake retorts, catching the cushion and tossing it back with a laugh that fills the room with warmth. "You're just lucky I didn't have my arsenal from college days."
"Sure, sure," I say, grinning despite the turmoil inside me. "Your Nerf collection really screams 'military genius.'"
Jake leans back, his hearty guffaws spreading across the room like wildfire, but even as I join in on the laughter, there's a part of me that isn't here, not really. It's caught up in a pair of deep brown eyes that seem to see right through me, drawing me in like gravity.
"Bro, focus. You're zoning out again!" Jake nudges me with his elbow, pulling me back from the brink of my Molly-induced trance.
"Sorry, man. Just... jet lag," I lie smoothly, or at least I hope it's smooth. My gaze flicks over to her, to Molly, and she's watching us with that knowing smile, like she sees straight past my bullshit excuses.
"Hey, how about that time we almost set the garage on fire?" I cut him off, desperate to steer this ship away from dangerous waters.
Jake launches into the story, animated and lively, and I try, God, do I try, to stay engaged. But every time Molly laughs, every time her hand brushes her hair back, I feel this electric jolt, this pull that's stronger than any riptide I've ever faced.
The evening stretches out before us, an endless sea of moments where I swim against the current of my own desire. I try to keep my eyes on Jake, on the safe harbor of our friendship, but they betray me, drifting over to Molly like she's the North Star guiding me home.
"Alright, I think I'm gonna turn in for the night," Molly eventually says, standing up and stretching gracefully, each movement poetry that writes itself onto the canvas of my mind. "It's been great catching up, Tanner."
"Yeah, likewise," I manage to get out, my voice rough like sandpaper as I watch her ascend the stairs, each step a siren song that chips away at my resolve.
"Damn," I mutter under my breath once she's out of earshot, running a hand through my hair.
"Everything alright?" Jake asks, eyes sharp with concern.
"Couldn't be better," I lie again, forcing a grin that feels more like a grimace. I stand up, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm beat, too. Catch you in the morning?"
"Sure thing," he replies, oblivious to the storm raging inside me—the tempest of want and the heavy clouds of guilt.
I retreat to the guest room, feeling anything but tired. As I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, I know sleep won't come easy tonight. Not with Molly's laughter echoing in my ears, not with her image burned into the backs of my eyelids.
Fuck, I'm in deep.
CHAPTER TWO
Molly
The air is thick with the scent of fresh produce as I meticulously inspect the apples, searching for that flawless one. The tangy smell of citrus from the nearby stand mingles in, promising refreshment and zest. My fingers are cool to the touch, brushing against the smooth skin of the fruits, but my mind's a million miles away.
Then, he walks in—the subject of my straying thoughts.
Tanner's presence shifts the atmosphere, like a storm rolling over calm seas. His footsteps are silent, but his aura screams across the room. And damn, does he wear those jeans well. He's not just a man. He's a walking call to attention, his very stance a testament to discipline and strength honed by years of military precision.
His gaze sweeps through the aisles like he's on a mission—which, knowing him, he probably is. His shopping list clutched in one hand, his focus is unyielding until his deep blue eyes land on me.
And there it is, the faintest upturn of his lips, that knowing smile that somehow manages to be both cocky and endearing.
Oh hell, my heart doesn't just skip a beat—it freaking somersaults. The warmth that floods my body is immediate and intense, like I've been doused with hot cocoa on a snowy day. I'm suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of myself, like I'm standing under a spotlight rather than the fluorescent lights of the grocery store.
Crap, I've been caught staring. Time to look busy. Real busy.
"Focus, Molly," I mutter under my breath, my cheeks burning with a blush that could rival any ripe tomato here. My fingers fumble for an apple, any apple, as if choosing the right one could shield me from his penetrating gaze.
"Perfect apple" becomes my mantra, but who am I kidding? The only perfection I'm really thinking about has got nothing to do with fruit and everything to do with the man who just walked into my orbit once again. Tanner, with his chiseled jawline that could cut glass and those biceps that suggest he could carry the world on his shoulders—or at least all of my groceries.
I snatch an apple, pretending it's the treasure I've been questing for, while my senses tingle with awareness of his approach. It's ridiculous, this game of cat and mouse we're playing among the avocados and bananas. But God, I don't want it to stop.
