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“Wilbur says he was never going to kill me, after all.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
“As soon as I picked you to save, he decided I was a good guy. It was a test. And I passed.”
“But why test you if he wasn’t going to kill you, anyway?”
“It was a friendship test.”
I studied Jack’s face. “So it wasn’t that heroic when you saved me, after all.”
But Jack just gave me a look. “It was pretty damn heroic.”
Jack sighed. “I am honored that you came back,” he said. And even as he was talking, he was stepping closer, cupping both hands behind my head, looking into my eyes like they were a place he wanted to go. “But,” he said then, “don’t ever fucking do it again.”
Then he brought his mouth to mine, and pressed us back up against the door, and kissed me like he might never get another chance.
Yep.
Heck of a do-over.
Apologies to everyone in the world who is not me… but the truth is—as good as Jack is at screen kissing, he’s a thousand times better at the real thing.
I mean, he makes it easy.
You don’t overthink it.
You don’t think at all, in fact.
You just let yourself get lost, and your body takes over, and before you know it, your arms crook up around his neck, and you’re pressed against that washboard stomach, and you’re melting against him and dissolving into a moment that’s so mind-numbing it’s as if he hijacked every single one of your senses.
In the best possible way.
He kisses you like it’s destiny. Like that’s what always happened. Like there’s no other conceivable version of the story.
And you kiss him back the same way.
And your whole body feels like fireworks.
And so does your soul.
And it’s like you’re in your life and flying above it at the same time. Like you are both on earth and in the heavens. Like you are all heartbeat and rushing pulse and warmth and softness—but you are also the wind and the clouds. You’re just everything, all at once.
It’s as if loving somebody—really, bravely, just all-in loving somebody—is a doorway to something divine.
And later—many hours later—after he’s taken you to bed, and your red boots are forgotten on the floor, and you’re both exhausted and tangled and half asleep, and you have helped him do whatever crazy thing he always does to his sheets, Jack, all casual, yawns and stretches out that famous torso, and says: “I wonder if anybody’s monitoring the surveillance footage.”
“What surveillance footage?” you ask.
“In the front hallway.”
Of course, Robby is. Since he’s still the primary agent on Jack’s detail.
You lift up on your elbows to read Jack’s face. “Did you kiss me in the front hall like that to show up Robby?”
“I kissed you in the front hall because I’ve been desperate to do that exact thing for weeks and weeks,” Jack says, clamping his arm around you and pulling you to him tight.
Then he adds: “Showing up our old pal Bobby was just a bonus.”
