I want to reach for his hand, hug him, something. He’s always been so cool and collected, but his voice is soft and his gaze is turned down, face wincing like he’s recalling painful memories.
“So that’s why you’re so successful now,” I say. “You saw how you didn’t want your life to turn out.”
He shrugs. “I’d hardly call myself successful.”
“What?” I lean toward him. “You’re insane if you don’t think you are. You’re educated and intelligent and funny and you own your own business. If that’s not successful …”
“Stop.” He lifts his hand. “No more gushing. It’s weirding me out.”
At his request, I stop. If he doesn’t want to hear how amazing he is, I have to respect that.
“Your ex,” he says, changing the subject. “If he was such an ass, what’d you see in him?”
Sitting my spoon aside, I shrug. “He wasn’t always like that. When I first met him, he was cute. Endearing. Really driven, which I admired. He had this ambition that just … radiated off him, and I thought it was so attractive. It was a gift really. He was good at making things happen and that really worked out for him. But after he made his first million, he became someone I didn’t recognize. And I was too far in, too convinced it was just a phase, to realize we were on the verge of self-imploding.”
“You were blinded by love.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think maybe we’re always seeing what we want to see.”
“It’s human nature,” he agrees. “Instinctual.”
“What do you see when you look at me?” I ask. It’s only now that I realize how close we are, how his arm rests on the counter beside my thigh and how the faded scent of his shampoo invades the space around me.
Thunder rattles the glass of the living room window, and it takes everything I have not to cling at his arm as adrenaline flashes through me. I’ve never loved storms, but I’ve always loved the earthy, musty scent that fills the air after a good rain. And I love being here with Jude, where there’s chaos outside the window but peace and contentment in here. It’s an exciting combination, and I want to remember this feeling forever.
Leaning back, Jude’s head tilts and he studies me. “When I look at you … I see someone I can’t put in a box or a category. You’re complex, but in a good way. I think you’re still figuring yourself out, which is fine because I don’t know any other twenty-somethings who have life figured out.” Jude pauses, but I don’t think he’s finished yet. “There’s this gentleness about you, like a canary who’s been caged her whole life and now she’s free and she’s learning a new song.”
I place my hand over my heart. My skin is warm to the touch, my eyes watering. I don’t feel the thunder, don’t see the lightening. In this moment, it’s only him.
“That was sweet, Jude. Poetic, really.”
Jude shrugs and thunder shocks the windows again. I place my spoon on the counter at the exact moment Jude is reaching for his and our hands graze, sending a spray of goose bumps up my arm.
I smile.
He smiles.
Maybe I’m imaginging this, but I swear it’s getting hotter by the second all of a sudden. Adjusting my posture, I brace my hands on the edges of the counter to slide down, but Jude rests his palm on my knee.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I’m hot,” I say, exhaling and fanning my face. “Do you think it’s hot in here?”
“Damn,” Jude says, glancing across the room. “Thermostat says it’s eighty-four in here. Guess no power means no AC. You okay?”
“Yeah. I think so.” I’m in a strappy tank top and cotton pajama shorts. If I take anything else off, I might as well be naked.
Jude’s hand reaches to the side of my face. “You’re on fire, Love.”
And it’s not because I’m sick—that much I know.
“I’ll be fine. What about you? You hot?” I ask, focusing on the way his t-shirt clings to his chest.
“A little.” Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he gives it a tug. “You mind?”
My brows lift. “By all means.”
I’m not sure why we’re suddenly being so awkward and formal, but the runaway gallop in my chest leads me to believe that’s all about to change.
Twenty
Jude
* * *
Yanking my shirt over my head, I toss it over one of the kitchen bar stools.
“Can’t help but notice you’re staring.” I wink. “You like what you see?”
“Stahp,” she says, swatting at me. Heat radiates off her delicate skin.
“Do you?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Her brows center, like I’ve asked an idiotic question.
“Sure you’re okay?” I ask, noting the way her cotton tank top clings even tighter to her body. One of the straps falls down her shoulders, and it’s taking all the strength I have not to reach out and fix it. And good God, how did I not notice until now that she’s not wearing a bra? Maybe it’s built into her top? Or maybe it doesn’t matter because all this means is she’s comfortable around me. “You look … really hot. And I mean that in all aspects of the word.”
She brushes her hand against my chest and pretends to be annoyed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
“Fine. I’m hot. It’s hot as hell in here. There. Happy?” Love fans herself, moving the wisps of blonde hair that frame her face before tugging at her top. A moment later she fixes that rogue strap, letting it snap across her shoulder.
“So do something about it.” My mouth lifts at the side.
She feigns a scowl for a second, before her mouth twists upward. “If this is your way of trying to get me to kiss you again … you’re kind of taking forever.”
My cock strains against my pants, an instantaneous response.
Was not expecting her to say that. I expected more coaxing, more flirting, more set up before the show.
“It’s called the subtle art of seduction,” I tease.
Reaching toward Love, I wrap my hand gently around her narrow wrist, depositing her hand on my shoulder as I position myself between her widened thighs. Her other hand slips around the back of my neck and her full lips arch.
Love is right. It’s hot as hell in here. But the only heat I feel is the warmth of her skin against mine and ache between my legs that burns for her.
Love breathes me in. I cup her face, sliding my fingers into her soft hair. A second later, our mouths collide, and my heart is kick drumming in my chest, making me question the inauthenticity of this kiss on my end because it feels so fucking real.
Pressing her thighs against my sides, Love leans back, lifting her top over her head and tossing it aside, revealing her perfect teardrop breasts. Swiping my finger into the carton of melting strawberry ice cream, I lick the cool liquid off my finger before taking a pink budded nipple between my lips, swirling my cooled tongue around the pointed tip.
Love moans, so I do it again, blurring the sweet taste of her skin with the tang of sugared strawberries.