Straight Up Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 2)

She laughs and shakes her head. “What’s gotten into you? You never dance.”

I take her chin in my hand and turn her face up toward mine. Her laughter falls away, and her eyes search my face. I dip my head down and rub the tip of my nose over hers. “Just dance.”

She probably can’t even hear me. The music’s so loud in here and the crowd grows thicker around us with every song, but dancing is in Ava’s blood. She loops her hands behind my neck and shifts her hips, so close that her body brushes against mine with each movement.

I can’t think about us falling apart. I can’t think about her never seeing me as more than a friend or about her starting a family without me. So I just think about this: Ava dancing in my arms. Her body close and warm. Soft.

I place the flat of my palm against her belly and drop my nose to the crook of her neck to take in her smell, her heat. I use my free hand to trail up and down her side, only hinting at every inch I plan to explore.

And when looking into her eyes makes the sting in my chest too sharp, I spin her in my arms and pull her back against my front. She reaches one hand back behind my neck, keeping hold of me as we dance. She craves the same contact I do. I have to believe it means something.

Ava

Jake’s dancing with me. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I swear this feels like sex. The way his hands move over my body, gripping my hips, the graze of knuckles over my stomach, his breath at my neck then my hair tugged lightly in his fist . . .

I’ve never had sex with Jake, but I can imagine if we ever make it there, this is what it’ll feel like—a relentless desire for more, more, more, each touch making my body plead for the next, each caress making my skin hum. The thought makes me want to rush this and slow it down all at once.

Dinner was good. We didn’t talk again about the things he said to me in the bathroom, and I didn’t ask again if he planned on sleeping with me tonight—a question I realized he never actually answered.

We talked about typical Jake and Ava things: business at the bar, school, his mom’s treatments, how perfect his niece is going to be on stage this summer. I understood he was making me wait. And I liked it. But now that his hands are on me and his body is against mine, I’m done waiting. I spin in his arms so I can see his face. I feel good after a couple of drinks, and more relaxed than I have in months. Maybe years.

Jake scans my face before meeting my eyes. “You’re drunk,” he says, his voice rough.

“I’m . . . relaxed.”

“Relaxed but not drunk?” he asks, searching my face. “Tonight, the difference matters.”

“Buzzed, not drunk,” I promise. I rise onto my toes to get my mouth closer to his ear. “Take me to bed.”

He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and nods. “Yeah.”

I wave to Ellie, to Colton, to Levi and his date. Jake keeps hold of my hand the entire way to the door. His strides are long, and I practically have to jog to keep up with him. I brace myself to chase after him the whole way to the hotel, but his steps slow the second we reach the sidewalk, as if the cool air outside the club has sobered him and made him less frantic.

I squeeze his hand. I want him frantic. I liked the way he was racing out of there with me. I was imagining he couldn’t wait to get me alone, and I want that to be true. I’m just not sure it is.

We stop to cross at the light, and he’s so quiet it’s killing me. His whole body

is tense. Is he regretting this? Wishing he hadn’t made promises or whispered in my ear?

“Jake?” I’m still holding his hand, and I squeeze. This is where I should give him the out. You don’t have to do this. It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.

Before I can get the words off my tongue, his hard eyes meet mine. He shakes his head as he presses his index finger to my lips. “Don’t.”

What does that mean?

I don’t have much time to analyze the word before he’s tugging me across the intersection, into the hotel, and across the lobby. The second the elevator doors close behind us, I’m pressed against the wall, his mouth on mine. His hands are greedy and seem to be everywhere at once. One is in my hair and the other’s at my hip, tugging at my dress until his fingers splay over my bare thigh. He traces the strap of my thong from the small of my back to under my belly and down between my legs, where I know I’m wet. Does he feel that through the lace? Does he understand that I suck at this? That my body sometimes locks up and that at any moment my pleasure could morph into panic? That my overactive brain could start a destructive spiral and ruin everything?

My worries evaporate at the feel of his knuckles along the fabric between my legs. “Do you want me to touch you here?” The question is a husky whisper against my ear. “Put my mouth on you here?”

I never thought I was into words, but Jake’s are the best kind of foreplay, and I want more. “Yes. Please. I want you. All of you.”

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight, Ava.”

I suck his bottom lip into my mouth and moan as I release it. “Please.” I know I’d never have the courage to speak like this if it weren’t for the drinks. I’m grateful for the buzz making me bold. I need the courage tonight. “I’m begging. You said that’s what you wanted.”

His palm snakes up my dress and flattens against my belly as his fingertips slide into my panties and he cups me. “I like hearing you say that. I like knowing you want me.”

The elevator dings. The door slides open, but neither of us moves.