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“Ididn’t think you could get more cheerful.” Emily studies me like a lab rat.
Shrugging, I contain my smile. “Today is a great day.”
“How was inventory last night?”
“Great. It took longer than I expected.”Only because we spent an hour making out.
“Huh.” She looks me up and down.
“Mom, look.” Olive holds up her drawing, a raccoon and Mike Wazowski fromMonsters, Inc.holding hands.
“She’s obsessed with that monster now,” Emily whispers. She raises her voice to Olive. “Great job, honey. That’s so cute.”
“Thanks, I know. Shiloh, did you see?”
“Of course, Martini. It’s so good.”
“I thought so.” Olive studies the picture.
“Not you too. Calling my child by an alcoholic beverage.”
I shrug. “I can’t help it. It’s so cute.”
“I love that nickname, Mother,” Olive chimes in.
“‘Mother’? Who taught you that?” Emily reels back. “What happened to ‘Mom’?”
“I call you Mother, because…comedy.” Olive walks away, back to her designated table, covered in markers and paper.
“I can’t with that child.”
“Olive is literally the best.” My phone buzzes in my back pocket. There’s no customers in line, so I pull it out, my lips immediately curving.
Jackson:Come to my office. I have something to show you.
“Jackson wants me in his office.”
“What?” Emily asks. Her chin tilts down, her eyes staring at me under her lashes.
“It has to be a question about inventory.”Or does he want to kiss me again? Or more?
“Must be. I’ll watch the front.”
“Thanks.” I sprint to the hallway. Running fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath.Please don’t let my face be bright red.
“Hi.” I knock on Jackson’s open door, and he swivels around, grabs my hand to pull me in, and slams the door behind me. He stands to hover over me, and my breath catches as I look up at him.
“Hey,” he whispers, leaning down to brush his lips against mine. “I couldn’t stop thinking about doing this again.”
“Me either.” I’m caged in by his arms as he leans in, this time more urgent. Our breath entangles as he pins me against the wall, devouring me. It escalates as his hand cups my backside and his mouth travels down my throat. His fingertips flirt with my shirt’s hem, leaving fingerprints of fire on my back. I reach to turn the lock and swallow, staring at him.
He pulls away and I nod, raising my arms. He lifts my shirt, slowly. I’m wearing my most-boring bra, a white one with a tiny flower between the cups, but Jackson looks at me like I’m remarkable.
I shiver with anticipation as his lips drift down the column of my neck to my collarbone, his tongue trailing my freckles and moles. He leaves wetness on my skin, my hairs stand on end, and my back arches with his touch.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned.
“Yes,” I say, my throat dry as I pant, his hand drifting to between my legs. I gasp as his pointer finger rubs against the seam of my jeans, applying pressure to the most delicate part of me. I feel feral, unhinged, as my mouth searches for his.
