Page 214 of Wait for Him

Because fuck, he looks good.

He chose a black T-shirt for our first official date, which shouldn't be noteworthy except the damn thing is stretched across his shoulders and thick arms in a way that feels deliberately antagonistic. Dark jeans sit low on his hips, his hair is loose again, and he's sitting there with one ankle over his knee watching me over the rim of his glass.

Jackson has always been attractive. Even at nearly twenty-one, the night we first slept together, he was devastatingly handsome. But Jackson at thirty-one is worse. The man grew into himself, filled out, picked up the beard, the confidence, the irritating ability to sit completely still while making me feel like I'm the one being inappropriate.

It is deeply annoying.

And hot.

Also annoying.

His eyes drop briefly to my dress before coming back to mine.

Shall we? he mouths.

I nod and finish the rest of my wine because I am an adult making excellent choices.

Jackson gets to his feet, and then we're saying our goodbyes while the entire room behaves like we're teenagers leaving for prom. Blaire is grinning. Jenn is already emotional about something. Michael keeps looking at my dress with the pained expression of a man trying very hard to forget his sister owns breasts.

Then Joe pulls out his phone.

"Wait, wait. Stand together."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jackson says, laughing.

"First date picture."

"We're adults, Joseph," I tell him.

"Exactly. You're all grown up."

Jackson steps beside me anyway, his hand reaching around and settling against my lower abdomen for the picture.

And there it is.

That hand.

I straighten my shoulders and smile at Joe's phone like my entire nervous system didn't just perk up and yell welcome back.

The fucker.

Jackson

"Goddamn, Rose."

The second we're in the car, the partition glides up. Gerald, a professional and a saint. And then I'm on her because fuck, she looks good. Every fantasy I've had about this woman for the last year has been waiting for leather to make its grand return. I run my hand over her hip, feeling the new muscle underneath, the changes I noticed the night she came home but haven't been allowed to properly investigate.

"Ah-ah." She catches my wrist, and her voice drops into that register that rearranges my spine. "You have to be a good boy and wait."

"I feel like humping your leg." The confession falls directly out of my mouth. "Shit, I don't know what's happening to me right now. I'm a grown man. Where are we even going? Let's just go home."

"Patience."

"I have no patience. I spent it. All gone. The account is empty."

She laughs, low and delighted, and that does absolutely nothing to improve my condition.

"Good boys who wait get rewarded, Jackson. You know that."