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Gah. I need a drink.
“What would you like?” my rival asks now, nodding at the nearest pop up bar. It’s twined with string lights, and a young guy in a white shirt and braces stands behind the bar, shaking acocktail to the band’s beat. “Fair warning: if you say cyanide, youwillhurt my feelings.”
Pressing my lips together, I turn my face into the breeze. Sparks keep zipping under my skin, my nerves fizzing with excitement at what just happened between us. All around, our coworkers laugh and drink and joke and dance, like my whole world didn’t just turn upside down at this party.
Did Jude like what we did?
Would he want to do it again?
“Violet?” He ducks down now, frowning at me with those indigo eyes. His dark hair is so thick and tuggable, and his lips are slightly red from our kiss. He looks debauched, and almost as wired as I feel. Like he poked an electrical socket and got shocked awake.
I love him.
Holy shit, I love this man.
This is terrible news!
“I’m getting you a water,” Jude says, taking my elbow and steering me toward the bar. “You look like you might vomit, sweetheart, and I’m trying really hard not to be offended by that.”
It’s true. My insides are churning; my head is light. A clammy sweat has broken over my skin, and I can’t feel my face. Since when am I in love?
A crush? Sure. Inconvenient sexual longings? Absolutely.
Butlove?
“There, there.” Jude rubs steady circles on my back, fussing over me with zero care for the stares we’re attracting. It must be strange for these people too—they’re all so used to watching us spat like alley cats. This truce must be confusing. “Would you like to go home? There’s a car service, apparently.”
“Yes.” My spine straightens, and I’m still in a trance, butthat’s it.That’s what I want right now. Need to get away fromthese stares and whispers and out of these stupid heels that are crushing my toes; need to go somewhere I can think straight. “Take me home. Toyourhome.”
Jude’s eyes flare with heat, and he draws in a long inhale. When he nods, his jaw is tight.
“I won’t expect anything.” He pulls out his phone, tapping at the screen.
“Always such low expectations of me.”
“No, I—”
When he glances up, I wink.
And as that smile bursts over his face, crinkling his eyes… my heart trembles like a leaf. Oh, boy.
* * *
Turns out Jude Jenkins does not live on a trash heap out at the city limits. My bad. Instead, he lives in a small but tasteful one-bedroom apartment not far from work, with a leafy park view, bare brick walls, and metal beams on the ceiling.
There’s barely any mess. Only a normal amount of clutter. I feel misled.
“Welcome to Casa Jenkins,” Jude says, strolling across his living room floor. It’s all open plan, airy and calm, and there’s an abstract painting of aspen trees on one wall. “Can I get you that water? Or would you like something stronger?”
Sinking down onto the arm of the sofa, I kick off my heels and stretch out my aching feet. “You know, if you wanted to date me, you shouldn’t have pretended to be a hopeless hoarder.”
“Didn’t put you off, though, did it?” Jude twinkles with amusement, then crosses to his refrigerator to rummage inside. Jars clink together, and his voice bounces around the small space as he calls, “Not my fault if you have low standards, Moore.”
It’s different, scoffing at him now.
Warmer. Fond.
Or—maybe it wasalwaysfond, but I was kidding myself. Pretending we were enemies when all along, we were building… this.
