Page 66 of Meet Cute Magic

“I’m not, Rosie. I was voted the biggest flirt in high school.”

I blink once, twice, three times.

“No, you weren’t,” I say with a disbelieving laugh, but his face isn’t showing deceit or laughter.

He’s dead serious.

“Oh my god, you’re being serious?”

“Rosie,” he says with a small smile, stepping forward. I take a step back, my back toward the brick wall of the alleyway, and he takes another step to close that gap until our bodies are just inches apart, his hand resting gently on my hip. “I know how to flirt. I’m pretty good at it. I realized pretty young that I wasn’t half bad looking, and if I just leaned into it, I could get a girl. I’m awkward, but I know how to make it work for me if I want to. As a kid, I read and watched shows and figured out that being a quiet nerd was something girls liked, so I made it work for me. I have social anxiety when I’m talking to normal people, but if I lean into the facade, I can get a woman.”

“You don’t use that around me.” That smirk turns into a full smile, his hand lifting, brushing over my cheekbone. I realize belatedly that a part of me is jealous. Am I so unattractive to him that he never wanted to win me over?

“Because you get under my skin in two point five seconds and I can’t maintain it around you.”

I roll my eyes. “Or you’ve just been so uninterested in me that you didn’t feel the need to bother,” I mutter in a childish pout. He shakes his head and smiles at me, the kind of smile you give a kid who is trying to come to terms with the fact that fairies aren’t real or that there isn’t a man in the moon, though, for the record, both of these are actually true, but don’t tell anyone.

“You’re not getting it,” he says under his breath, almost to himself. My brow furrows and my mouth opens to argue and ask what he means, but then he’s taking another step closer to me, moving me so my back is pressed to the brick and his front is against mine.

“Jack,” I whisper, confusion mixing with something totally different and hot in my words.

“It’s just you, Rosie. You’re the only one who gets me frazzled. You’re the only one who gets under my skin, who makes me blush and stutter. You’re the only one who I couldn’t flirt with because, since the first day I met you, you got me tongue-tied. I grunted at you and acted angry with you because I was. You made me so annoyed, cracking through my perfectly curated cover. I’m not an idiot: I’m conventionally attractive, I work out, I have common sense, and own a business that, while nerdy, more than pays the bills. I can overcome whatever confidence hangup I have. But you, you make me feel like I’m fourteen, still awkward and scrawny and nerdy, but with none of the other benefits to even the playing field. It drives me crazy—it’s always driven me crazy.”

Breath is suddenly hard to get into my lungs. “Is that why you hated me?” I ask, my words faint and with the barest hint of something that sounds a bit too much like hope for my own sensibility. He dips his head then, pressing his lips to mine, a hand on my jaw to tip my head where he wants it, the other gripping my hip like he’s afraid I’ll get away from him if he doesn’t keep me in place. I give in to the kiss, parting my lips, suddenly desperate to taste him, to reassure myself that he’s mine.

If only temporarily.

The kiss gets more and more heated, his body pressing into mine, my hands moving to tangle in the back of his hair as he shifts, a leg moving between my legs, his arms and hands moving to my hips to situate me until my center is settled over his hard thigh. A low groan leaves my lips, and he smiles into the kiss before breaking it.

“I never hated you, Rosie. I was so into you, it pissed me off that I kept fucking up my shot. Then things just kept getting worse and worse, and I kept making more and more of a fool of myself, that eventually, I decided it would be easier—safer—for you to think I was annoyed by you instead of a bumbling idiot whose tongue got too big for his mouth every time you were nearby.”

His words settle in my gut with a warmth I can’t be feeling, the reality of his words crashing down around me.

Jack never disliked me.

In fact, it was the exact opposite.

He was so into me, he couldn’t act normal.

Now what the fuck am I supposed to do with this new intel?

But common sense comes in on the trail of this revelation with another, oddly more logical explanation: the kiss bond. It hasn’t been too long since it wore off, and I’m not sure of the long-term effects or how constant interaction after the strands faded would impact things. My magic is just weakening his memories, making him see things where there were none.

It should ease my nerves, and in a way, it does, but it leaves the sticky feeling of disappointment I can’t wash away in its wake.

“Jack, I—” I have no time to finish my dismissal because his lips are on mine, kissing me hot and deep, lips and tongue and teeth nipping, and each shift fans the flames of need settled in my belly and sends heat through my veins. I groan quietly into his mouth when the hand on my hip shifts me, guiding and grinding me against the denim of his pants. I’m wearing a skirt with tights today, and I feel every single inch of that grind.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, lips moving to the spot right beneath my ear as he continues to guide my hips back and forth.

“But for right now, I’m enamored by you and I really want to see if I can make you come in this alleyway with just my thigh between your legs and my lips on yours.” A breathy noise leaves my lips. “But only if you promise to keep quiet.” My pulse goes wild, and Jack’s lips tip higher, knowing his effect on me. I should say no.

I should tell him we need to get back to his place.

I should do just anything but nod.

But I do. I nod and whisper, “Okay.” He smiles wide before his lips are on mine again, and his hands are shifting my body. The cocktail of emotions in my gut churns and churns, a mix of all-consuming jealousy and heat and anxiety that I won’t look at too closely, not in this lifetime, but I swat it away and focus on the most pressing things: the feeling of his leg against my pussy, the look in his eyes when I said okay, and the way I can feel his pulse pounding in time with mine as my pleasure builds.

I’m close just moments later, probably from the mix of adrenaline and the idea that anyone could see us here like this, when his hand stops on my hip, holding me in place, my swollen, needy pussy pressed against his leg. With my thin panties and tights, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a mark on his jeans, but I can’t think of that, not as I force myself not to let out a loud noise of protest.