“We’re really going to do this.” My voice sounds too thick, and if she could cut just beneath the surface of my words, she’d see I’m planning for us to make so much more than a baby.

Dear God, let this work.

She clears her throat. “Do you think . . . I mean, should we get screened or anything? For infections or whatever?”

I step back and force myself to take a breath and remember I’m not going to rush into this. Slow the fuck down, Jackson. This is a marathon, not a sprint. “I’m okay with that if it would make you feel better.”

She nods sharply. “It seems like the responsible thing, right? I mean, I haven’t been with anybody since Harrison, so they’re not likely to find anything but dust up there, but—”

I cough to cover my laugh—not at the dust joke so much as my shock that she hasn’t been with anyone since Harrison. And she’s planning to sleep with me. I won’t let myself think that means more than it does. “I don’t think vaginal dust mites are a thing, so you should be good. And I . . .” I drag a hand over my face, feeling a little awkward admitting the next part. “A girl I used to see called with a scare a couple months ago, so I’ve had a panel done. It was clean and I haven’t . . . been with anyone since.”

She cuts her gaze away. Not for the first time, I feel like an ass bringing up other women. Ava always acts sort of slighted when she knows about me seeing someone. Another reason I haven’t given up on her, I suppose.

“One more thing,” she says, bringing her eyes back to meet mine. “If at any point one of us wants to be done with this . . .” She searches my face. “If the sex feels wrong, or you change your mind about this crazy plan or anything, we can call it off. But we have to promise each other we’ll talk about it so we can go back to being friends.”

“I promise, Ava, but that goes both ways, right?”

She nods tentatively. “Are you sure, Jake?”

I arch a brow. “Did you miss the part of this conversation about the months and months of hot sex?”

Laughing, she releases my shirt and backs away. “We both know you could have hot sex with whomever you wanted whenever you wanted.”

“You say that with such conviction, and yet you’ve never been in my bed.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s right. Turn on the charm now. Maybe I’ll eventually buy your lines.” She eyes the door before swinging her gaze back to meet mine. “I bet the girls are jumping to all kinds of conclusions about what we’re doing up here, so I should probably get down there. Talk to you tomorrow?”

I nod. “Night, Av.”

I stare at the door long after she goes, willing my racing heart to calm.

Ava

I’ve never been so grateful to see the end of a school week.

Billy Joel Christianson—who was absolutely named after the singer—made my day hellish. Not only did he plagiarize his research paper, he tried to blame me for it. I told him his sources were acceptable; therefore, it was entirely my fault that he copied and pasted from them into his paper. Never mind the fact that we had a whole unit on avoiding plagiarism and how to appropriately paraphrase, summarize, quote, and cite your sources.

Billy Joel hasn’t given me anything I haven’t seen before, but his parents are big donors to the school. The cherry on my crap day sundae was being called down to Mr. Mooney’s office and told I wasn’t handling the matter delicately enough.

By the time I get home, I’m contemplating the merits of spending my evening with the punching bag at the gym or the world’s largest glass of wine on my couch. But when I pull up, I see Jake on a ladder tinkering with the gutters and realize neither of those plans are in the cards.

At the sight of Jake, my work stress reaches out to hold hands with my real-life stress, and they become one happy, united front, making me want to curl under a blanket and hide. I forgot he was coming over tonight. I put our agreement from my mind and forgot about having someone in my bed for the first time since my divorce.

Dread pricks at the back of my neck, and my stomach twists.

This will change everything.

No girl in her right mind would dread having sex with Jake Jackson. But no girl other than me is his best friend.

It’s just sex, right? Our bodies were made to do this. I can lie back and think of England, as they say. Just get it done.

Except it’s not that simple. I’ve never been one who could turn on sexually without turning on emotionally. And turning on emotionally with Jake is dangerous. I let myself think of him as more than a friend before and regretted it. What a sticky situation I’ve gotten myself into.

I pull my car into the garage and leave the door open so I can go outside and see what Jake’s up to.

He sees me and flashes his signature panty-dropping grin. It’s taken years of practice to become immune to that smile. I trained myself not to think about what it would be like to have him want me, worked hard to never wonder what he did with his dates when he took them home, or how it would feel to be one of those women. Am I ready to break down that wall? To let those thoughts creep into my consciousness? And if I do, will I ever be able to turn them back off?

The deluge of self-doubt makes me want to change our plans. I don’t want to spend my Friday seducing Jake Jackson only to have him discover that I’m a dud between the sheets. I want him to stay for a movie and popcorn so we can talk trash about the eighteen-year-old trust-fund kid who thinks he can skirt the rules because his parents have money. But we have an arrangement. A deal that gives me what I want most. It’s time for me to pull on my big-girl panties—or maybe time to pull them off.

Tags: Lexi Ryan Boys of Jackson Harbor Romance
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