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 my name on it.
Fumbled the exit.
Fumbled everything.
I’m just mortified I asked him if I could kiss him. It would have been better if I didn’t feel like a twelve-year-old. I’m thirty-two, and the way I feel around that guy puts me back to preteen eras. I hate it. I hate what I just did. Most importantly, I’d like nothing more than to never see Jack Highland.
I don’t know how I’m going to be able to look him in the eyes ever again.
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
PRESENT DAY
The two-hour car ride to The Walnut screws me over. It’s too much down time to Philly, and I end up replaying the awkward moment in Anacapri over and over in my head. I can’t tell if it was actually as bad as I’m remembering or if I’m imagining the interaction worse on each replay.
In any case, I was rejected for a kiss.
I’ve never been rejected before. Not like that.
Charlie and I are buzzed into the building, and while we ride the elevator to the third floor, I glance at the time on my watch.
1 a.m.
Who has an appointment at 1 a.m. that’s not a booty call or something that could put you in jail?
Charlie. That’s who.
My ear picks up sudden comms sound.
“Farrow to Omega, I’ve already left for the lake house. We’re trying to make it there before sunrise. Unless some bad shit happens, you probably won’t be able to reach me on comms for a while.”
I feel my mouth curve. His maverick ass is actually informing our lead about where he is. Albeit, after he’s already started driving to the Smoky Mountains.
I click my mic and speak quietly on comms. “Have fun on your honeymoon, Redford. Don’t be too sad I’m not there to make a good time better.”
“I think you mean messier, Oliveira.”
I stifle a laugh since Charlie is literally beside me and can’t hear the radio. I have enough time to say back, “A hundred-and-one tabloids with your face front-and-center would disagree.”
“You mean the ones that say I’ve had the wedding of the century?” I can practically see his smug cheek-to-cheek smile with that ace thrown.
He got me.
Farrow and Maximoff’s wedding made every headline, every entertainment site, late-night show, and Instagram feed. I love them, but my friend getting hitched recently, especially to a Hale, has been a painful reminder that I’m…alone.
And I’m about to face my crush that last ended like a pie in the face.
I’d joke to Farrow about letting me tag along on his honeymoon if there were time. But the elevator doors slide open, and my good time on comms comes to an abrupt halt.
Officially, I’ve lost the nerve to actually see Jack. Avoidance isn’t an option. I’m here for work, not a social outing. The only way to minimize embarrassment is to ignore Jack. Maybe I won’t even ask for the clothes he borrowed anymore.