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“Yeah, well, don’t.” But I can’t keep a straight face, and it only encourages him. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“Is that bad?”
“Yes.” No. “I hate it.” I really don’t. “It’s awful.”
His grin grows wider. “You’re a terrible liar.”
And I realize in that moment why I like being around him so much. Jack brings out my silly, ridiculous, playful side. He makesme feel young. I mean, Iamyoung. I know that. But I very rarely feel it.
By the age of five, I was a little adult, attending awards shows with my dad and learning fast that I was the mature one in our parent/child relationship. And then suddenly I wasn’t. Dad retired, and thenhebecame the adult, and out of nowhere, my life became sheltered. He wasn’t—and still isn’t—keen on me going out, partying, dating. Since the second I hit adolescence, he’s been projecting his fear and regrets over his checkered past and questionable lifestyle choices onto me.
So no. It’s rare for me to experience all those youthful, carefree feelings other girls my age take for granted. Jack brings that out in me. Our friendship is fun, and I feel giddy when we’re together.
And inevitably that always seems to trigger a rush of need that now rises inside me.
I look up at his hazy blue eyes and know he’s feeling it too. He’s not drunk this time either.
Jack stares back at me in an infinite moment of anticipation that expands like a bubble of time as it engulfs us. I know before it happens that I’m going to regret this. And I don’t care.
I kiss him.
On my terms. Because I feel like it, and whatever he tells himself later, he means it in this moment. He returns the kiss with intent. Hurried and insistent. As if he knows I’ve waited weeks for a second chance at this.
He makes a low, rumbling sound and deepens the kiss.
I melt against him. My hands climb his broad shoulders to pull him closer. He presses me against the passenger door, his tongue slicking over mine.
“You drive me mad,” he mumbles before hungrily kissing me again.
I feel him hard against my pelvis and can’t stop myself from rocking my lower body. Just slightly, but it’s enough to summona groan from his throat. I swallow the husky sound with another frantic, greedy kiss, needing to feel his tongue touching mine again, teasing me into oblivion.
Kissing Jack feels like the most natural thing in the world.
But it’s over too quickly.
“Fuck.” He pulls back, biting his lip. “I’ve no bloody willpower around you.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” My heartbeat is still so erratic, my knees weak.
“Christ, I don’t even know anymore.” His voice sounds hoarse. “No, I do know. Nothing’s changed, Abbs.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m still shit at relationships. Meaning I still don’t want to jeopardize things between us. I count you as one of my closest friends. I don’t want to lose that.”
“Who says you would?”
There’s a trace of self-deprecation in his answering laugh. “That’s what always happens. When you’re with a woman, suddenly there’s a whole new set of standards you gotta meet. And I never meet them.” Before I can delve any deeper into that response, he adds, “Besides, we already established we don’t want to ruin the dynamic of the house, right?”
There he goes, speaking on my behalf again. But the rational part of me knows he’s right. If we got together, the house dynamic would be shot to hell. It’d be too convenient. Dating a guy who sleeps thirty feet away starts to look like shacking up pretty quick. Which turns into practically married even quicker. And that’s gotquick, fiery endwritten all over it.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I stand here in the face of yet another rejection from Jack Campbell.
“Right,” I say, brushing it off with laugh. “We’d be married and divorced in six weeks. Tops.”
“Right. Lawyers are so expensive these days.”
“It’d be an ugly custody battle. I’d obviously get Lee and the house.”
