He smiles. “First off, I’d never be scrawny. Have you seen me swim?”
“I’m suddenly having a hard time remembering. You’ll have to show me again.”
“Make the date, I’ll be there.”
Date.
Jack doesn’t give the offer time to breathe. “And I knew your belt would fit me. Your other clothes have.” He means my bandana and sweatshirt.
I could joke about how the bandana would fit anyone, but he’s not Donnelly or Farrow. I don’t want to rib him like I would a friend. “If you ever need or want more, I have a whole closet full of pants and tees.”
“Just pants and tees?” he jokes with a smile that captivates, that could make the saddest motherfucker on this planet feel some kind of happiness.
“I’ve already given you more than that, Highland. You think I’d stop there?”
He laughs into a bigger smile. “Maybe I’ll just quit packing for these trips. Your clothes always smell good, and you probably have better underwear than me, anyway.”
My blood pumps. “Always trying to pad egos,” I grin.
He looks me up and down, the suggestion clear to me. “Is it working?”
Yeah. My defenses fluctuate between high and low. “You’re doing your LA networking best, bro, but I’m not someone who has anything to offer you professionally.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. He’s rethinking something. And Jack isn’t a guy that overthinks what he’s about to say. He has the charisma of the fucking sun. That big blazing ball that is hoisted in the sky and everyone leaves their house to bask in its rays.
It’s magnetic energy.
But something traps his words, stumbles him up.
After a second, Jack says, “It’s not that…I’m not trying to schmooze you for work or to join the docuseries—though, you’d be great in it.” He smiles.
I shake my head with a matching grin. “Still never happening.” I like maintaining some anonymity in the public, and that’s already hard these days.
“Really, I just enjoy this,” Jack says more quietly, our gazes latched with seriousness. “You and me and…” He breathes in but doesn’t breathe out. Our eyes dance along each other, and I find myself stepping closer.
His chest rises in a headier inhale.
My lungs inflate, and I want to take my hand and clutch the back of his neck. To let my fingers thread through his dark hair and up the back of his skull.
For our lips to find each other in a slow, scalding ache of a kiss. I want that. Warm summer wind whips around us, and tension mounts while we linger, an inch away.
I glance at his mouth. My voice husky as I ask, “Can I kiss you?”
Jack stiffens.
And not like a dick-stiffening kind of way. He morphs into a stone statue, which rocks me back.
Fuck.
Should I be checking myself to make sure I didn’t turn into Medusa and cast a spell on the guy?
He blinks.
So at least he’s alive.
I actually take two steps away from him. Putting space between us.
“Jack,” I say, his name sounding weird on my tongue. I usually call him Highland…or Long Beach. I’m concerned about him, but I’m afraid crowding him will make it worse somehow.
“Uh…” he breathes out. “Thanks, but I’m straight.”
I go rigid.
Thanks, but I’m straight.
Thanks, but I’m straight.
Thanks, but I’m straight! It blares in my head.
Concern is gone. I’m just…fuck.
My skin scorches from head to toe in deep embarrassment.
He’s quiet again, apologies in his eyes.
I want to disintegrate right now. I’ve never been this fucking mortified. I feel like an idiot, and I know I’m not one. An awkward stretch of silence bends around us.
Jack often throws out platitudes to make sure no one in the room is uncomfortable. Well, that’s not happening here. He’s not saying a fucking thing.
We’re both wading in intense, unbearable discomfort.
What was I thinking?
I break the quiet. “Yeah, fuck, sorry,” I mumble. “I just…I didn’t mean…”
He offers a weak smile. “Yeah.”
That one word literally sets my pulse into a panicked race.
Good God I want to run and hide. “Um…cake…has name.” I turn around, avoiding his eyes. And I leave with a hot, lengthy stride.
I’ve never run away from a situation so fast.
Shit, what did I even say? Cake…has name? That’s not a complete motherfucking sentence! I was trying to tell him there’s a piece of cake that has my name on it.
Fumbled the exit.
Fumbled everything.
I’m just mortified I asked him if I could kiss him. It would have been better if I didn’t feel like a twelve-year-old. I’m thirty-two, and the way I feel around that guy puts me back to preteen eras. I hate it. I hate what I just did. Most importantly, I’d like nothing more than to never see Jack Highland.
I don’t know how I’m going to be able to look him in the eyes ever again.
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
PRESENT DAY
The two-hour car ride to The Walnut screws me over. It’s too much down time to Philly, and I end up replaying the awkward moment in Anacapri over and over in my head. I can’t tell if it was actually as bad as I’m remembering or if I’m imagining the interaction worse on each replay.
In any case, I was rejected for a kiss.
I’ve never been rejected before. Not like that.
Charlie and I are buzzed into the building, and while we ride the elevator to the third floor, I glance at the time on my watch.
1 a.m.
Who has an appointment at 1 a.m. that’s not a booty call or something that could put you in jail?
Charlie. That’s who.
My ear picks up sudden comms sound.
“Farrow to Omega, I’ve already left for the lake house. We’re trying to make it there before sunrise. Unless some bad shit happens, you probably won’t be able to reach me on comms for a while.”
I feel my mouth curve. His maverick ass is actually informing our lead about where he is. Albeit, after he’s already started driving to the Smoky Mountains.
I click my mic and speak quietly on comms. “Have fun
