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Mrs. Trelawney, far from finding the reminiscence as funny as they did, looked like she was biting down on a lemon.
“Charming,” she said flatly. Then, with a small squaring of her shoulders, she dove back into “perfect hostess” mode. “Yes, that truly is charming. You’re childhood acquaintances, then?”
Abby didn’t say anything. After all, she didn’t know how Jet felt about them being public, or labeled, or…God, who knew what might be a concern to someone in his position? She felt it would be best for him if she just kept her mouth shut.
Jet didn’t seem to share her reservations, though. With a wide grin, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, then leaned down and planted a solid kiss on her lips.
She was still a little breathless when he said, “No. I mean, yeah, sure, we’ve known each other since we were kids. But Abby’s my girl.”
Whoa. His girl.
Normally, with any other guy and in any other situation, she wouldn’t have liked hearing it phrased that way. She would’ve retorted that she was a grown woman, not a girl, and if she was anyone’s woman, it was her own, thankyouverymuch.
She didn’t do that now, though. She didn’t even want to. Because hearing herself called Jet Valentine’s girl was just about the awesomest damn thing she’d ever heard.
