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Chapter 14
PRESENT DAY, MY PARENTS’ HOUSE
I hear the slam of a truck’s door and my heart gallops to life. I quickly scold it, reminding myself that every other day of the week I heard that slam, a second slam followed.
“It’s not Jax,” I say aloud. “It’s Tommy and Daryl coming to work on the deck.”
In the mouth of the hallway between the kitchen and living room, I hold my breath, half a piece of toast in one hand, and wait for the second slam.
It doesn’t come.
I drop the toast onto the plate on the kitchen counter and rush to the bathroom to check my reflection. My hair is in loose, beachy waves and my shorts and T-shirt are casual and cute. I’m barefoot and walking into the living room, cellphone in hand when the knock comes.
Despite my now thundering heartbeat, I force an air of epic chill and call out, “Come in!”
The door swings aside and Jackson steps in. The oxygen seizes in my lungs. Seeing Jax always feels like the first time I saw him. The first thing I notice is his height—he’s much, much taller than me—the second, his sapphire irises in stark contrast to his dark hair and tanned skin. He used to correct me whenever I referred to them as sapphire with a “They’re blue, Mini. Plain old blue.”
But they aren’t “plain old” blue. They’re brighter than blue, and they sparkle like the surface of a sun-drenched ocean wave whenever his lips curve into a smile. And his smile is flooring. It’s endearing and kind, and there was a time when a specific sexy bend of his lips was reserved for me and me alone.
Like I confessed at Taco Bell, he’s broader than he was in high school and college. What I didn’t tell him is that he also seems more steady now. More comfortable in his own skin. Today he’s in worn jeans, the ends frayed around a pair of work boots. His T-shirt is gray and the Burke Builders logo is silk-screened over his chest. I suck in a breath and recall with vivid clarity the feel of that chest, and those abs—the thick ridge of his erection when I lifted my hips into his while we rolled around on my bed.
That seems like a lifetime ago.
I guess technically, if we’re going way back to the last time I was skin-to-skin with him, it was a lifetime ago.
“Hi,” I say when I realize I’m staring.
He looks up from the screen of his phone. I’m waiting for the casual “Hey, Mini” to come, but instead, he peruses me from head to toe.
“The pink polish is my favorite,” he rumbles, then changes the subject so fast my head spins. “I’m going to work on the deck outside today, so I won’t be banging around up there.”
“Okay.”
He pushes his hand into his hair and I blink, noticing what I hadn’t noticed until he starts to walk past me.
“You cut your hair.” My voice is a thready gasp. His hair’s still long on the top, but he sheared a good bit off the back.
“I was looking like a shaggy dog.” He rubs the back of his bare neck. “Taking some getting used to.”
But he didn’t look like a shaggy dog, more like a hunky fox. I like the way he wears it back sometimes. Or the way he wears it down, tickling his collar. And I definitely like balling my fist in it whenever he leans down to kiss me. Which I start imagining in vivid detail. Not that I expected him to swoop in here and lay one on me, but a girl can dream. The kiss on Saturday left an impression. Even if he was faking it. When he lazily opened his eyes after our lip-lock, I nearly fell into those blue pools. Then he snapped out of it the second the woman put her phone away.
I know that’s unfair—I asked him to kiss me for the purpose of being photographed, but I thought, I don’t know…that the chemistry we have would take over. That maybe we’d end up having a real date on that picnic blanket. No such luck. He hopped up and played Frisbee for the next fifteen minutes as if none of it mattered.
“You okay?” His eyebrows pinch slightly.
“Sure. Totally fine.” My smile is fake and I worry he can tell. But a microsecond later the curiosity vanishes from his expression.
“All right, then.” He dips his chin as walks past me. The farther away he goes, the flutterier the panicky sensation is in my chest.
“Jax?”
“Yeah.” He stops at the entrance to the kitchen.
“Are you…okay?”
“Am I okay?” he repeats, like he’s confused or offended. Immediately, I want to eat my words. It’s so obvious that he hasn’t been reeling over the kiss at the park like I have. He hasn’t been wondering if the kiss was more than playacting like I have.
“You seem tired,” I say instead. “Can I make you a cup of coffee?”
