Look at me, making exceptions left and right for Jack Highland.
“It fit well,” I tell him, motioning to the belt threaded through his white slacks. “What would you have done if our measurements were off? Belt was too big for your scrawny waist?”
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