around mine. His hands are in my hair, holding my head like it’s a sacred treasure.
There’s no time to think, there’s no need. I am gone. Wrapped up in him, consumed by the need to get closer. And I do. I want to get closer so badly I can hardly stand it.
My hands grip and knead his arms. Too wide for me to get my fingers around, they travel over his shoulders and down his broad chest covered in fine wool, and he sighs, sighs! sweet heaven’s sake.
“Jake…Jake…Jake…” I hear my voice echo. It sounds like a faraway supplication, my tongue and lips shaping the words in between tender teasing kisses.
He pulls away and searches my face, amusement dancing in his indigo eyes. “What?” he whispers, punctuating it with another kiss.
“Nothing,” I murmur back, so ridiculously happy I’m floating, giddy with the anticipation of more. “I just like the feel of your name of my lips.”
His smile slowly fades as he stares at me. And when he kisses me again, he does it softly, reverently, like he’s planning on making it last forever. Like this is all there is and the only place he wants to be. For the first time since we’ve met, Jake Turner is living in the moment, and that moment is me.
“I’m going back to Cali, Cali, Cali. I’m going back to Cali…” my phone rings, the tone courtesy of LL Cool J. “I’m going back to Cali…”
Jake pulls away and we both stare at my phone sitting on the tabletop, Ben’s name flashing on the screen. It’s a total mood killer and Jake’s expression proves it.
“You should get that,” he says over the sound on the music.
But I don’t want to get it. I want to get back to kissing and possibly more. “Jake.”
Walking backwards, he reaches the front door of the cottage. “Jake wait…” Damnit, I want to cry. It’s been years! And the last time wasn’t exactly all that memorable.
“You should get that.”
Rooted to the floor, I stand in the middle of the cottage, completely powerless as I watch all the amazing feelings flowing between us a minute ago disappear without a trace like they never even happened.
Jake walks out and the phone continues to ring. Instead of leaving a message the traitorous rat hung up and redialed.
“Yes?” I answer, my tone making it clear that I’m less than happy to hear from him.
“Carrie. Fucking Christ, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a week. You have to come back. Kennedy is a mess. She can’t do anything without me having to hold her hand. Legal is up my arse because she didn’t follow up on a source and half my dry cleaning is missing.”
Ben sounds frazzled. Ben is never frazzled. I am secretly pleased at this new development in his character. But this is no longer about Ben. It’s about me and a fork in the road, so to speak.
“Ben…”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about Kennedy.”
“Great. So when can I expect you? By the way, where are you? I went by your place and the old lady next door, the one with the cat, told me you’d moved.”
“Lake Placid…New York”––by eyes drift to the wall I share with Jake––“and I’m not coming back yet. But I do have a suggestion.”
“I need you, I don’t need suggestions.”
Yeah, he needs his slave back. No thanks. It dawns upon me then. Falls out of thin air and hits me in the head. Getting fired may have been the best thing to ever happen to me.
I stare at the wall that separates my cottage from Jake’s. The second best.
“Ben…”
“Yes?”
There are moments in life when one must practice restraint. This is not one of those moments.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Chapter 14
Regina and I head to Farmer’s Market the following day. I need inspiration for my next article. The first person we run into is Beth Herman, one of the mean girls that used to terrorize us at lunch. In tow, she has four-year-old twin girls and one tired looking husband.
“Gina Polizzi and Carrie Anderson! Oh my Gawwd. It’s so good to see you two. And you’re still friends. How cute!”
The feeling is not mutual. To my regret, she looks exactly the same. Small, blonde, and beautiful.
We make polite conversation, and she tells me how much she loved the article. “Brad and I are donating. Those poor poor boys. It’s terrible. And it’s so great that that hockey player”––she turns to her husband––“Honey, what’s his name?”
“Turner. Jake Turner.”
“Yeah, that’s right.