“I’m not over him. And you … I don’t know what it is about you, but every time I see you or I’m near you, I just …”
I can’t help feeling sympathetic because I know exactly what he means. “When I’m near you, I don’t even know what I saw in Bryce.”
“What are we supposed to do with that?”
“I’m guessing sex is not the right thing to say here.”
Jet bursts into laughter. “You wish.”
“I really do.” I step closer again, dipping my head so we’re mere centimeters away. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. I know what I want to do and what I should do, but I don’t think either is the right solution.”
“What are you supposed to do?”
That’s easy. “Walk away.”
“What do you want to do?”
Less easy. I swallow hard as I say the words I know I shouldn’t. “Never stop touching you.”
“What are you gonna do?” Jet whispers.
“I don’t know.”
“Soren?”
“Yeah?”
“The correct answer to that was kiss me again.”
Chapter Ten
JET
Soren’s mouth ravishes mine again, strong and demanding, leading me to only one conclusion.
I’m screwed. I’m so screwed.
Twenty-year-old me with love hearts in his eyes takes over twenty-three-year-old me like some sci-fi body snatchers movie.
Soren kisses me as if he thinks he’ll never get the chance again.
I’d like to say I’m strong enough to make that happen, but I’m not.
Soren makes me weak and greedy.
His knee goes between my thighs, and it takes all my effort not to rub against him like an animal in heat.
Fuck it. I need it.
But before I can take it, Soren pulls back.
“Shit,” he hisses. “We better stop before we get arrested.”
I push away the disappointment and go for the joke. “Pretty sure you just said I look like a hooker …”
Soren rests his forehead against mine. “Jet. Sweet, sarcastic Jet. What are we doing?”
“You tell me.”
“What do you want this to be? This can be a moment of weakness, or it could be a promise of things we both know won’t happen.”
“Ain’t there a happy medium?”
“Like what?”
“Drowning our sorrows in each other?” Fuck, what am I saying?
“Will that work?”
No. “Maybe?”
All I know is I want to keep kissing him. Now that I’ve started, I’m not sure I can stop. Bottom line is, Soren might be the one person on this planet who could make me forget about Harley. I just have to remind myself that naïve Jet can’t get in over his head.
I’m going to be smart about this. “So, we have fun on vacation and that’s it.”
Worst. Idea. Ever.
“Fun …” Soren says. “Just fun.” He purses his lips. “I don’t know if I could ever only have fun with you, but if that’s all you can give me—”
“It is.” Well, it’s not all I can give. It’s all I’m willing to give.
“What exactly does fun entail? Are we talking, like, hanging out or sex or …”
“You want boundaries, you mean?”
“Right. Like, am I allowed to flirt with you?”
“Do you have the balls to in front of my brother?” I challenge.
Soren doesn’t say anything.
“Okay, how’s this for keeping it simple. We can only talk about things you’d be willing to say in front of Matt.” That should keep the flirting to a minimum. “Fun doesn’t have to mean sex stuff, though that’s definitely on the table. Hmm, sex on a table …” I shake my thoughts free. “We can hang out and go sightseeing together. I want to stop wallowing and have fun. Real fun. Every type of fun.”
“Have meaningless fun and fuck the consequences? I don’t think I’ve heard a more typical Jet saying.”
“What would you know? From what the gay brigade has told you? You don’t actually know me, Soren.”
“Then maybe that’s what we should be doing the next two weeks. Getting to know the real people behind the memories. Because when I think of you, I confuse you with the guy I know and the guy everyone else says you are.”
If I’m honest with myself, I do the same thing. It’s as if I’m a different person when I’m performing than I am backstage, and then when I’m with Matt and Noah, I’m someone else again.
I’m desperate to do as Soren says—be the real me for once. But it’s not that easy. I’m all my personas and none of them at the same time.
“I’m telling ya,” a loud Ollie says, “I don’t think they came out this way.”
Soren steps back from me, and I try to compose myself before the guys find us.
They sound like a herd of elephants with their big-ass athlete feet.
“We’re here,” Soren says, taking another step away but turning his back on the guys to adjust himself.
All of them have come looking for us because they’re, well, them. They converge through the palm trees like a zombie pack.
“You okay?” Matt asks.
“I’m fine. My throat was hurting. That’s all.”