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I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. “Long story short, he saw something in me he liked and chose me. I thought I was the luckiest guy on earth. He took me to all the best restaurants, introduced me to things I’d never even known about, like theater and opera. He showered me with presents, told me he loved everything about me like how I talked, how I tended to swear too much, my hair that made me look like I belonged on a surfboard. He was the first guy I ever had sex with and he made it amazing. I was so in love with him that I became blind to anything and everything else.” I sucked in a breath because I’d already said too much and I could feel my chest getting tighter and tighter. But that was the point of all this, so I barreled on.
“It ended last year but Marcus doesn’t like to lose, so that’s what the calls are about. So that’s it, Jett,” I said as I forced myself to look at him. “I can’t possibly know what it’s like to have been through what you have, but I understand what it is to feel vulnerable… and to hate every second of it. That wasn’t my intent the other day when I held your chair for you, and I know this”—I motioned between our equally undressed states—“may not feel like we’re on equal ground—”
“Sawyer…”
There it was. The pity. The astonishment over the fact that I fell hook, line, and sinker for Marcus’s act.
“So yeah, that’s it. I just wanted to say I was sorry and that I get what it feels like when you have a part of your life exposed…”
I lost the courage to finish my sentence, so I quickly tried to scramble to my feet, but Jett was faster. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down. I ended up practically pressed to his chest.
“Jett, I—”
“Shut up,” Jett said softly. His husky voice made my entire body break out in goosebumps. “Look at me,” he demanded.
I couldn’t have ignored the order even if I’d wanted to. At some point he’d pressed my hand against his chest, but he wasn’t holding me there. He was simply running his fingers over mine. I was the one who couldn’t move. Not with the sensation of his chest hairs tickling my palm and the furious pounding of his heart that seemed to match my own racing pulse.
When our eyes met, Jett just stared at me. It took several long beats before he said, “Is it my turn?”
“What?” I asked in confusion. Jett sat more forward so our noses were nearly touching. He smelled really good. A lot better than he probably should have considering he’d been working out.
“Do I get a turn?” Jett asked. He kept moving forward into my space and while my upper body instinctively moved back, my lower body was quite happy where it was. I held my breath as Jett maneuvered us so I was lying flat on my back beneath him. He dropped just the smallest amount of his weight onto my chest, but it felt so good I closed my eyes. Memories of the last time I’d felt a strong body settling on mine threatened to steal the moment away, but then Jett’s husky voice broke through the threatening darkness.
“Sawyer?” Jett murmured. This time he did let his nose brush against mine as he teasingly lowered his mouth until there were mere millimeters separating our lips. But he wouldn’t complete the contact and when I looked into his eyes, I knew why. He wanted an answer to his question.
“Your turn for what?” I asked.
“Well, I’m already pretty much naked and you took care of you being pretty much naked, so is it my turn to clear up a few things?”
His mouth teased mine again, but the contact was so fleeting it was akin to torture. At some point, Jett had closed his hands around my wrists and was holding my arms above my head, but his grip was loose and easily escapable so surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid.
And for once, I didn’t want to escape.
“Is it?” Jett whispered against my mouth.
I nodded agreeably. Anything to get to the good stuff.
“Good. Let’s start with the little incident with the wheelchair a few days ago. I’ve been in that thing long enough to know how to get in and out of it blindfolded, while it’s on a hill, or in the middle of traffic after some jack-off hits me with his car. But what they don’t teach you at the Wheelchairs for Life school is how to get in one when you’re in a certain… predicament.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe too much of the blood in my brain had fled south.
