“Rumi.”
I say her name again, loving the way it feels on my lips.
Almost as much as I love feeling her lips on mine.
The thought of Rumi ever being a bad idea seems so laughable now—this moment with her, opening up to her, just further proved that my feelings for her are developing into something worth exploring. Sure, maybe this kiss will make this friendship between us harder, maybe I’m jumping the gun in assuming she even wants to be more than friends with someone as fucked up as me.
But what I do know, deep in my soul, is I would do anything to make myself worthy of her and Evee. I want to be a man she can depend on, someone who will care for and cherish her the way she deserves.
The person she can trust to protect them and keep them safe—something I’m not too sure she’s ever had before.
While I want to be better for myself, I want to be better for Rumi and Evee too. I want to be a man I can be proud of.
A man Bennett would be proud of.
With one hand on Rumi’s cheek and the other wrapped around her waist, I hold her close—and I’m already dreadinghaving to let go, knowing how her skin feels beneath my palm. I can see all the questions in her blue eyes as she looks into mine, the same questions that I have but have no intention of asking right now.
What does this mean?
Where do we go from here?
How soon can we do it again?
I smile to myself at the last one ready to lean in and close the distance between us, needing to kiss her like I need air to breathe.
“Jack!”
I freeze, my lips only mere centimeters away from hers when the voice says my name again.
Moments like this make me wish I was an only fucking child.
I let go of Rumi’s cheek, watching as that familiar blush appears, my heart stuttering at the way she bites her lip, hiding a smile as we both turn over our shoulders to see my sister and Ava, with a sleeping Evee strapped to her chest, standing just outside the front door of Hey Honey’s.
Part of me feels like a teenager caught with his pants around his ankles.
But then I remember I’m 36 years old, and if I want to kiss my friend against the trunk of her car, that’s sure as fuck what I’m going to do.
It’s taking everything in me not to throw her in her backseat, away from prying eyes, so I can kiss her over and over again. On her lips, her neck, her chest, everywhere and anywhere she’ll let me.
With the image of Rumi, laid out and flushed in the backseat of her car—or even better, my bed—now at the forefront in my brain, my answer to my sister comes out much louder than anticipated. “What?” I bark as Rumi pushes herself off from where she was leaning on her car, interlacing her hands behindher back as she walks over to Emerson and Ava. I hear a little giggle come from her as I do the same, following close behind her.
“We wanted to see what you were up to next weekend?” my sister asks. I don’t miss the raised brow as she looks between Rumi and me, and I’m sure Rumi notices Ava do the same.
“I’m off Friday but work Saturday.” I don’t bother asking why, knowing she’s going to tell me anyway, images of Rumi under me, on top of me, her sweet skin against my palms, her soft lips against mine fading to the back of my mind. I don’t even attempt to not pull her close to me, grabbing one of the hands locked behind her back, using it to bring her close to my side, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist.
Now that I know what it’s like to have her in my arms, I have a hard time believing I’ll be able to fight the urge to touch her whenever she’s near.
“Great.” Emerson’s eyes, along with Ava’s, slightly widen at my public display of affection, and for a second I’m worried I crossed a line—one I’m not sure Rumi was ready to even approach. But then I feel Rumi sink into my side as Emerson continues, my worries melting away. “The drive-in theater is doing a showing of your favorite book-to-movie adaptations.”
She waits for me to say something, but I just wait for her to continue.
“You really are a man of many words,” Ava mutters, but it’s loud enough for me to hear. “Let me guess, not one for small talk either?” she says a little louder.
“Waste of time,” I answer.
“Anyway,” Emerson interjects, stretching out the world. “Ava and I thought it would be fun for us all to go.”
Ava nods, but I don’t have time to ask her what movie she’s talking about—having no idea what cozy mystery I’ve read recently has been turned into a movie—because Rumi asks, “Allof us?” I squeeze my hand around her waist, fighting a smile at the way her voice raises an octave.
