Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

As hot as Jack is, I know that crossing any line with him is like stepping into a rigged heavyweight match. But it’s nice to hear that he at least relates on this level.

My eyes flit to the camera around his neck. “You have to get back?”

He’s here to work. Unlike me. He filmed the wedding and is supposed to be taking more videos of this reception.

I’m distracting him.

“Not yet.” He leans his ass more against the closed trunk. “I have a couple more minutes to kill.” His eyes flit up and down me again, and he tinkers with his camera as he says, “You know being single at weddings has its benefits.”

“Yeah?”

“All the single people start wishing they were in a relationship—or at the very least in someone else’s bed.”

Can relate.

But I don’t get the words out before he says, “Some of my best lays have been at weddings.”

“At weddings.” I grin. “You hooking up in the broom closet, Long Beach?”

He matches my grin. “What are you, a stickler for specifics?”

“Maybe.” I toss the last of my food in my mouth.

His smile hits his eyes. “Not at the wedding. After the ceremony,” he clarifies. “One time I didn’t make it that far.”

Fuck. I’m intrigued. Full-blown, I want to dive into this conversation and never leave. But my muscles have also tensed considerably. Talking about sex and work and weddings without anyone else around feels like stepping out onto a tightrope. One false move and I’m plunging fifty-feet.

“Now you have to tell me,” I say.

He shrugs with just one shoulder. “I’ve probably already carved out a spot in hell.”

I put two-and-two together, and my grin overtakes my face. “Did you…” I laugh. “Did you fuck in a church?”

“Catholic church. Back pew. The bride was a family friend from California.”

I cock my head. “You fucked the bride?”

He laughs. “No. Definitely did not do that, Oscar.”

We share a softer smile.

He lets go of his camera, letting it hang. “I’m confirmed Catholic, but I don’t go to church as often as I did as a kid.” He pauses like he’s gauging my reaction. Maybe he cares what I think.

“Same here,” I tell him.

We both nod, recognizing in a quiet moment that we have shit in common. More than I think we’ve both ever even explored or given breath to.

Jack runs his fingers across his strong jaw, slight stubble coming in. Making him look a little older than twenty-seven.

I usually go for people my age or older. I also would usually never even draw towards a straight guy like I am him. 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.