“Great.” I thudded my head back against my best friend’s chest. “She can see me one more time before I die of embarrassment.”
“No one’s dying.” Jamie typed something one-handedbefore slipping his phone into his front pocket. Then he grabbed both of my upper arms, pulling me off him, scanning my expression. The decision was clear in his eyes; he’d made up his mind. “Least of all you.”
Then he reached around me to flick the bedroom light off, leaving only the nightstand lamp on to illuminate the room.
“What are you doing?” I asked, watching as Jamie approached the dresser and moved a few of the knickknacks to the sides of it, creating an empty space in the middle. “Redecorating? Right now, while your best friend is mid-spiral?”
Jamie caught my hand and drew me over to him. He was so tall that I had to crane my neck back. His eyes were bright, as if the light he’d turned off had soaked up into his brown irises. For the briefest moment, we both stood staring at each other. My best friend’s thoughts were closed off, leaving me in the dark.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked him, stiffening.
“I’m looking at you the way I’ve always looked at you.” Jamie drew in a sharp breath, and let it out slowly. “The whole reason you didn’t want to fake date me is because you’re worried about how convincing I’d be, right?”
I winced. “Jamie, I just meant?—”
Jamie’s hands closed around my waist.
I hadn’t realized howlargehis hands were until they were on my body, ten fingers pressing into my hips, steady and shockingly certain. I jumped at the contact, but before my brain could really wrap around how Jamie wastouching me—in a veryun-Jamie-like fashion—the floor disappeared beneath my feet.
Jamie lifted me without effort, and in one smooth motion, he slid me on top of the guest room’s dresser.
I grasped his narrow shoulders on instinct, gasping. “What are youdoing?”
“I’m being convincing,” he muttered under his breath, nudging my knees just enough to step between them. He pressed his palms flat to the dresser on either side of my hips, comingclose. So close that when he blinked, I could see his lashes brush the lens of his glasses. “You don’t want me to be Mr. Darcy.”
My head spun. “W-What?”
“I heard what you said to Nellie. That you need a Mr. Darcy type.” Jamie tilted his head ever so slightly. “Except Mr. Darcy was the world’s biggest idiot, too proud to show the woman he loved what he truly felt for her. You don’t want me to be Mr. Darcy.”
The dig at Mr. Darcy almost had me indignant, chasing away some of the shock. “You can’t be Sydney Carton, either.” Quiet and pessimistic would not convince anyone.
“No.” Jamie’s chest rose sharply again, and fell just as slowly as before. A bolstering breath. “I can’t.”
Jamie hooked a lock of hair behind my ear, tucking it over my shoulder, exposing my throat. A shiver bolted across my skin as my best friend leaned closer, and the next time I inhaled, a warm, soft scent filled my nose. The same scent that’d been on his pillows when I laid beside him on his bed.Hisscent. Jamie.
“Don’t go back to him,” Jamie all but whispered. His closeness, his smell, and the way he looked at me now—it all caused something to flip in my stomach. “Don’t take him back. Just let me help you.”
Perched on the dresser, Jamie and I were eye to eye for the first time, and the new angle made everything feel tilted. His glasses weren’t slipping down his nose. My mouth was suddenly dry. “Help me… do what?”To not be stupid, I remembered dully, a request I’d asked not even two minutes ago.
Jamie’s lips were parted, but he hesitated, as if torn between saying something aloud. “Let me help you forget him.”
Before I could stop it, my gaze dropped to Jamie’s mouth. His full lips were still parted, and all I could suddenly think about was the fact that he had drank from the same Sprite cup I’d sipped from earlier. Our lips had touched the same spot on the rim, like an indirect kiss, and?—
Oh man, now I was thinking about kissing.
KissingJamie. The breath I pulled in got stuck in my throat.
Jamie closed his eyes for only a beat, letting out a short exhale of defeat. It tickled my skin, like a match before it caught. “The things I do for you, Daisy Carmichael,” he murmured.
Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to the side of my neck.
Andkissed.
James Brighton, my best friend, waskissing me.
I gasped—a loud, shaky, ragged sound that felt clawed out of my throat. If I’d thought Jamie’s hands were sure before, they were no match for how confidently he kissed my skin. His mouth was warm, and the firm edge of his glasses poking at the underside of my jaw contrasted sharply with the softness of his hair brushing against my cheek. He then kissed half an inch higher, at the spot his glasses had brushed.
They were featherlight kisses, there but glancing, sparking and shivering against my skin. My eyelids, on their own accord, slipped shut.
