what she thought about my chapters. I always got a little nervous because it turned out shy little Jane wasn’t timid about telling me exactly what she thought about my writing. Her critique was always insightful and fair, and it made her praise even more satisfying. I fucking glowed when she rhapsodized about the parts she loved.
It didn’t surprise me to find Jane curled up on the couch with her laptop open on her lap. Skye gave her a key to the house not long after we’d moved there.
The tension that had coiled tightly around my muscles as I’d hurried home relaxed immediately.
“Hey,” I said, dumping my backpack by the coffee table.
Jane looked up at me with those gorgeous eyes. “Hey.”
“Lorna at practice?”
She nodded.
“Want a drink?”
“Sure.”
I frowned at her less than loquacious responses but retrieved bottled water from the refrigerator without questioning it. Instead, I waited until I got to the sectional and sat as close as I could without it being too obvious how close I wanted to be to her.
The smell of watermelon and some other fruity, undefinable scent tickled my senses. Jane always smelled amazing.
“What’s up?”
She heaved a sigh and turned her body toward me, her laptop slipping. She grabbed hold of it and then peered up at me from beneath her lashes. It was a shy, uncertain look. I thought we were past that.
“What is it?” My tone was more impatient than I meant.
A frown creased her brow. “Nothing.” She flicked her finger over the mouse pad. “Let’s talk about this book of yours.”
Realizing I’d fucked up with my attitude, I covered her hand with mine. “Hey, you can tell me.”
Her gorgeous olive skin turned a little pink on the crest of her cheekbones. I tried not to be smug about it, but I loved that I could make Jane react to me. It made up for the fact that ever since I’d driven her home that night from Malibu, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
Before that night, I’d realized I was attracted to her. And I didn’t want to be—she was my little sister’s best friend, and there were eighteen months between us. That wasn’t a lot, true. But we were at the awkward place in our ages where I was legal, and she wasn’t.
I’d tried to ignore my attraction, but it was more than physical. That was the problem. I wanted her, not just because she was beautiful, but because I couldn’t always work her out, and I liked that. She was quiet and thoughtful, and she had the ability to shut me up with her intelligent observations without even raising her voice. Mostly, though, she was smart, cute, authentically herself, and so fucking kind, it was unreal.
“Jane?” I took my hand off hers since I seemed to have struck her mute with the action.
Finally, she met my eyes. To my shock, I saw something like guilt in them. “I hate school right now. Everyone is … People are still crying in huddles and constantly talking about Greta. Lorna and her friends are organizing a memorial for the end of the semester, and a drunk-driving campaign, and they keep trying to get everyone to talk about how they’re feeling about Greta’s death.”
Understanding dawned, along with a deep sense of kinship. “You don’t want to share that shit with people who aren’t your friends.”
“Yes.” Her eyes filled with relief that I understood, and it took everything within me not to kiss her. “I’m horrified this happened to Greta. But she was not a nice person to me. And she got in a car drunk—we’re lucky she didn’t kill anyone else. I have very mixed feelings about the whole thing, and I don’t want to talk about it. Sometimes what they’re doing doesn’t feel genuine. Like, it’s for attention … Does that make me sound like a bad person?”
“No.” I frowned. “You and Lorna are different people. Let her draw out the grief with her friends the way she wants to.” I sighed. “You just do you. Like hell I’d want to talk to people who aren’t my real friends about something like that … If you need to talk, you can talk to me.”
Jane gave me a grateful smile, the sadness in her eyes dimming but never disappearing. As if she read my thoughts, she whispered, “I just did. And I feel like the shittiest person for feeling only sad instead of heartbroken. And for truly believing Greta’s friends are using her