“Yeah, I guess so.”
He broke into a wide, brilliant, gleeful grin. “God, I love it.”
“You do?”
“Hayden will be furious—at himself, mind you—” he made this point with his spatula, “when he finds out he sent you straight into Oliver’s arms. Classic.”
I frowned. “Seriously, you’re being competitive about this?”
“Hayden’s being an idiot lately. He’s feeling sorry for himself and don’t get me started on this Sabine thing.” Again, he pointed at me with the utensil. “Look what he missed out on. You, half naked, in the kitchen. His loss.”
I sighed. “You guys are ridiculous.”
He fussed with the omelet, turning down the heat on the stove, tossing in the cheese. I got lost in his movements, the way his fingers deftly used the knife, the confidence in everything he did. He cut the avocado into thin slices and said, “So how was it?”
I looked up from his hands. “How was what?”
“Sleeping with Oliver.”
Warmth rushed up my body. “Good, actually.”
“And this was for closure?” The question came out softly and that time he didn’t sound quite so sure of himself.
“No, it wasn’t.”
His blue eyes met mine. “No?”
“No. Between you and him and,” I looked at the counter top, “everything else. I don’t think closure is really what I’m looking for.”
I heard the scrape of the pan and felt his presence before I could blink.
“You’re not looking for closure?”
I shook my head and his fingers grazed my hip.
“Thank fucking god,” he said in a rush.
“You want more too?” I asked. I needed to know. I needed to clarify so we were on the same page. Me, him, and Oliver, at least.
“So much more.” He kissed my forehead, my nose, and then lips. I linked my arms around his neck, tugging at the hair that curled at his nape. He tasted like coffee and smelled like soap. My desire, content a few moments ago, reared again, telling me I had room for more.
Jackson’s fingers pushed at the hem of my T-shirt, slipping under the edge of my panties. He pushed me against the counter, my foot finding leverage on a drawer pull.
I lost myself in him; his touch, his mouth, his body. He moved his fingers so they rubbed between my legs, grazing over sensitive spots, igniting sparks of desire across my body.
Jackson used those fingers I’d just admired for their dexterity on me; stroking, swirling, caressing. My belly seized under the activity, my breath came out quick.
I was so lost that I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway. Or sense Oliver’s presence until he was all the way in the room.
Jackson looked up first, swallowed, and said, “Hey man.”
I glanced over my shoulder, not knowing how he would respond. We’d always kept our physical relationships separate—discreet to an extent. It just seemed right. Sure, there had been mishaps, but the person that walked in generally walked back out. And there was an unspoken rule about hooking up right after one another. It wasn’t a rule I made—it seemed more like an understanding between the guys. Something territorial.
But now Jackson held me, fingers touching my most intimate places, rubbing tiny circles. I didn’t want him to stop and it sure as hell didn’t seem like he wanted to stop. We both looked at Oliver although my jaw was slack, my brain and body warring for control.
My body was certainly going to win if Jackson didn’t get his hands out of my pants.
Oliver’s eyes drifted down my body, across the hard peaks of my nipples obvious through the thin, worn fabric of his shirt. Down to the where my ass hung out at the bottom. His eyes shifted to where Jackson fondled me, stroked me, and I held my breath, not wanting this moment to end but willing to stop it for the sake of our fragile, new co-existence.