Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

“So, he’s been talking a lot about us?” I say slowly, and Ivy’s smile falls.

“Well, that Saturday he babysat, he didn’t come to the baseball game with us, so we asked what he did instead,” she says carefully. “So, he told us about babysitting and the stuff he and the kids did. He also asked me for some activity ideas for Sunday because I have a younger brother. That’s all.”

“He hasn’t really said much about you, though,” Bailey clarifies. “Just that you work your ass off and you’re a great mom. And you’re getting into photography.”

I flush a little. He said I was a great mom? He didn’t say anything else about me, though. Ivy and Bailey didn’t mention knowing about the state park date. That’s good. That’s what I wanted.

I think.

Or maybe he didn’t say anything because...

“Are you guys...” I trail off, gesturing between where Bailey sits on the blanket and Jesse stands yards away on the quad. “Either of you... and him?”

I feel like an idiot for asking, but I have to know what I’ve gotten myself mixed up in.

Ivy studies me with her head cocked to the side, and Bailey stares blankly at me. She blinks a few times, processing, and then her eyes widen.

“You mean us and Jesse...like...” She makes a gagging face. “Ew, no.”

“Bailey!” Ivy scolds, and Bailey winces.

“Sorry, no offense,” she says to me, and before I can protest that there’s no reason at all for me to be offended, no, nope, nothing between him and me either, she clamps her eyes shut and shakes her head again. “But ew. No.”

“What Miss Articulate means to say is that we love Jesse. He is family,” Ivy states clearly, and my shoulders loosen.

“Exactly. Family. Like a big dorky annoying older brother,” Bailey says, and I bark out a laugh.

“Is he that bad?” I ask through laughter, and her face softens.

“Nah,” she says with a smile.

“Jesse is a really great guy, Jocelyn,” Ivy says. “Kind, fun, genuine.”

“And loyal. Like a golden retriever,” Bailey interjects, and Ivy shoots her hand out and smacks her shoulder, making us all laugh. I trail my eyes back to the quad, where the man in question is currently galloping in circles with Jude on his back.

“Yeah,” is all I say.

Conversation flows smoothly after that, moving from small talk to more genuine, interesting topics. I learn how Bailey and Riggs were in a baking competition over her winter break, and how Ivy took the LSAT in October and has already finalized plans for law school after graduation. I tell them about my bridge program, about work at Harvest View, and I touch on my budding photography hobby. I mostly talk about June and Jude, though, and Bailey and Ivy never once make me feel bad about it. They ask questions, they laugh, they crack jokes. I don’t feel out of place, or too old, or unwanted. I didn’t realize how nice it was to interact with other people outside of a work setting. Other women. Other adults.

I’m in the middle of telling a story about Jude’s pirate obsession when Jesse runs up to our blanket with a giggling Jude under his arm.

“We gotta do a potty break,” he says quickly, and Bailey snorts a laugh from beside me. Jesse sends her a quick glare, then focuses on me. “Potty break, then pizza?”

I try to fight my smirk, but I just can’t. “Sounds good. Need me to take him?”

“Nah, Classic. We got this. Meet you at the front of the union?” He gestures toward the student union at the end of the quad. As soon as I nod, he takes off in a full sprint toward the building, Riggs and Kelley hot on his heels.

“Those boys are heathens,” June says, arms crossed, as she watches them run off. Ivy, Bailey, and I all laugh.

“The woman speaks truth,” Bailey announces, then holds out her fist for June to bump it. June does so without hesitation, and the smile on her lips is unbidden.

At the pizza parlor,Jesse takes one of the seats next to me, putting Jude on his other side, and June is sandwiched between Ivy and Bailey across the circular table from me.

It’s weird.

I don’t like it.

June and Jude are having a blast, though, so I’m apparently the only one with separation anxiety.

Jesse’s hand gripping my thigh brings my attention back to the group.

“Outta your head, Classic,” his voice rumbles. I meet his eyes. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” I answer honestly. “It’s been a good day.” He smiles widely, and under the table, his hand slides farther up my thigh. My muscles tighten, and I flare my eyes at him in warning, but he smirks and gives my leg a squeeze.

“It’s been a great day,” he corrects, and wedges his hand between my thighs, resting just centimeters from my apex. “I’m glad you agreed to come out today.” He squeezes again, and my breath hitches.

He’s been getting bolder as the day went on. A lingering hand on the small of my back. A wink and a heated glance. Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Each time, I’ve given him a weak cut it out look that I only half meant, and each time, my heart raced faster. But this, his hand inching up my thigh underneath the table in a crowded restaurant, this is more.

I scan my eyes around the table, but no one is paying attention to us. The kids are being entertained by Jesse’s friends, and no one has any idea that he’s just coaxed my legs wider and grazed his knuckle against the seam of my leggings. Leggings that are much thinner than I realized, judging by the sensations I feel from such little contact.

I slide my own hand under the table and grip his wrist, halting his movements. The smirk is still on his face, and I drop my eyes to his lips just as he drags his knuckle against me once more, this time taking care to press lightly on the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs.

My eyes flutter shut on a small gasp.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, my blood heating.

“Jesse,” I whisper, and my voice is a plea. He hums in response.

The pizzas being placed on our table makes me jump. We ordered four because, apparently, the guys are, as Ivy said, “bottomless pits.” When Jesse brings both of his hands to the tabletop so he can eat, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

I weave through tables of people and down a hallway, following the signs for the restrooms. I find them tucked in the back of the restaurant, right next to a small, dark room that holds a few electronic poker and arcade games, and one of those claw machines full of cheap stuffed animals. The only light from the room comes from the glow of a few game machines, and I glance inside curiously before heading into the bathroom.

I study my reflection in the mirror above the sink as I wet a paper towel. I’m flushed, still trying to settle my heartbeat from Jesse’s touch. I wring out the paper towel and bring it to the back of my neck. I need to get it together. It’s okay. No one noticed. I noticed, but at least no one else did. This whole thing with Jesse is so strange. Exciting and new and strange. I woke up this morning thinking the entire afternoon yesterday was a fever dream, but the next thing I knew, he was in my house and eating cereal with my kids. And now we’re here, with his friends, at a popular pizza place on campus.

It's not at all the way I thought I would be spending my Sunday.

I was never planning on letting the kids see Jesse in any capacity outside of a possible babysitter, and even then, I’m hoping to never have to ask him to watch them again. But now we’re hanging out, with his friends, in public. Luckily, Patrick doesn’t frequent campus, but if someone sees us and reports back to him? I take my hair out of my ponytail, run my fingers through it, then throw it back up in a bun. This is why I said no one can know.

But we’re in a group. Jesse and I have mostly kept our distance from each other today, and no one has noticed anything. I think. I hope.

God. It’s only been a single day of sneaking around, and already, I’m giving myself an ulcer.

I throw the paper towel in the garbage can, take one last look in the mirror, then head back into the hallway. As I walk past the small room with the arcade games, a familiar hand wraps around my arm and pulls me inside. Within a breath, I am pressed up against the wall between a pinball machine and Ms. Pac-Man with Jesse’s arms propped on either side of my head.

“Jesse,” I gasp out, my heart beating hard against my rib cage. I look toward the doorway, searching for the kids.

“They’re still at the table,” he whispers, answering my unspoken question. His eyes bounce between mine. “I just need a minute with you.” He cups my jaw and rubs lightly on my lower lip with his thumb. “You want me?”

His question catches me off guard. It’s abrupt and raw. Sincere and subtly vulnerable. I couldn’t lie even if I wanted to. I nod once, and his mouth is on me instantly.

His body presses into mine, lips urgent and hungry. He slides one of his hands down my body and grips my backside, massaging and then squeezing hard. I gasp, opening for him, and his tongue tangles with mine. When he moves his lips from my mouth to my jaw, then to the hollow of my throat, my nipples peak and my head goes fuzzy. The worries I had seconds earlier—that we’re in public, that someone might see—disappear, and all I can think of are his hands and his mouth and his tongue. The sounds he’s making, the heady way his body feels against mine, and the undiluted need that flows through me. I dig my fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pull him closer.

“You know how bad I’ve wanted to touch you?”