“That’s okay.”
She props herself up on one elbow and drags her fingers through her bed head. The strap of her tank top hangs loosely on her shoulder, and it’s harder than usual to wrench my gaze away. I watch as two fingers tuck under the strap, lifting it back to its rightful place, only to remain on her shoulder and caress the sleep-warmed skin there.
Fuck. Those are my fingers, not hers.
“Thank you,” she whispers, the words falling from her lips like melted butter as her blue eyes search my face for something like clarity.
You won’t find that there, Jessa. All you’ll find is a tormented man, telling himself to take his damn hand away.
But I don’t. And she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into the touch, and now my whole palm rests on her arm, my thumb rubbing circles against the freckles dotting her shoulder.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” she asks, biting her lip in a way that has me leaning into her against all logic.
“Yeah.” I struggle to pull in a breath, my gaze hooked on that hypnotizing mouth of hers. “Did you?”
She smiles. “Yes, it was fine.”
“That’s good,” I whisper.
I should ask Jessa something about how my daughter did, or if she went to bed okay . . . but all I can do is keep staring at her mouth.
The words hang in the air for less than a second before I take a chance and close the distance between us. Jessa’s breath hitches, and I feel her hand grab at the front of my shirt, pulling me in.
And just like that, we’re locked together in a breathless kiss. Her book falls to the floor with a faint thud, no match for the pounding of my heart in my ears.
Her lips are warm and so unbelievably soft against mine, opening to my tongue with an eagerness that I feel right against my pants zipper. My hand slides up her neck to tangle in her hair, tilting her head to deepen our kiss and eliciting a whimper from deep in her throat. Her moans are sweeter than a goddamn daiquiri, and I’m drunk on the taste of her—
Oh my God. I’m drunk.
Ashamed, I pull away, our lips parting with a wet pop. My hand drops from her curls to clench the sheets between us. My eyes closed, I take a few slow breaths.
Jessa unknots her hand from my shirt and whispers, “Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is almost heartbreaking.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I manage to choke out. “I’m drunk. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s okay,” she says softly, reassuring me.
She runs a hand through my hair, which does nothing to calm the tension in my jeans. Throwing off the blankets, she scoots off my bed and grabs her book from the floor.
“I’d better get going. Happy birthday, Connor. I hope this year is the best one yet.”
She pads away, her footsteps growing quieter until I hear the faint latch of the front door. I stand up too quickly, my head swimming for the moment it takes me to ground myself in the present.
I just made out with Marley’s nanny. I just made out with Jessa. And it felt incredible.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
8
* * *
JESSA
“Hey, Scar, remind me again where you want this box to go?” Maren calls out from down the hallway.
Scarlett’s mouth screws up to one side while she thinks, scanning the room. “Um . . .”
A small smile forms on my face. “Any day now, Scar. These boxes aren’t exactly as light as a feather.”
Scarlett shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t know. Just drop it in here, and we’ll figure it out together.”
Maren huffs loudly and grunts her way into the living room to join us, setting the box down with a loud thud. She wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and glares at Scarlett.
“Next time, if you’re going to be indecisive, you can carry the box full of old trashy tabloids. Why are you lugging those things around with you, anyway?”
Scarlett ignores Maren’s little jab and continues organizing flatware in the kitchen.
Maren looks at me, her eyes wide, and I get the message. Can you believe her? she’s trying to tell me, but I know better than to get between old friends. Especially old friends who are getting testy because of the stress of moving. And quite possibly hangry too.
But I’m about to move several thousand miles away, so I know a thing or two about that particular kind of stress.
“I’m hungry. Are you guys hungry?” I ask, keeping my tone light and chipper so it’s not obvious I’m trying to distract them.
“Starving.” Scarlett groans and throws herself across the olive velvet couch.
“I could eat.” Maren picks at a stray thread fraying the hem of her shorts as she agrees.
“So, what are we thinking? Chinese? Thai? Mexican? Pizza? I saw a place around the corner that looked pretty good.”
Both of their faces light up at my last suggestion.
Maren’s stomach growls, and she places her hands over her belly, a look of surprise sneaking across her face. “Okay, maybe I’m hungrier than I thought.”
“That pizza place is the bomb,” Scarlett says. “My old place isn’t far from here, and I’ve eaten there many times.”
I pull up the pizzeria’s menu on my phone and start scrolling. My mouth waters just reading the topping options. Moving’s harder work than you realize, even if you pay a couple of burly men to do most of the heavy lifting for you.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any white wine in that fridge, would you?” Maren asks, prodding Scarlett’s side and wiggling her eyebrows. Clearly, their small moving-related fight is over.
“Mmm, no, but I can have Caleb stop and pick some up on his way over.”
Maren and I exchange a look.
“Caleb’s coming over?” I arch a suggestive brow.
Scarlett shrugs innocently, holding her phone tightly to her chest. “He’s a good friend of mine, actually. We’ve known each other since college.”
Interesting. I’d assumed Scarlet first made friends with the girls in the group. I didn’t realize Caleb was one of her oldest friends.
Maren gives her an appraising look, perching on the edge of the couch. “You guys have been hanging out a lot,” she says delicately. “Anything going on there?”
“With Caleb?” Scarlett’s eyebrows jump. “God, no. Can you imagine?”
A mischievous grin spreads across Maren’s face. Apparently, she can imagine. But not knowing Caleb’s personality well, I have no idea what exactly she’s imagining.
In the few interactions we’ve had, he seems funny and chill. But now I’m wondering if he has a revolving bedroom door of a past like Connor apparently did.
“I invited a few people over to see the new place,” Scarlett says, waving one hand.
My stomach leaps. To Scarlett, “a few people” probably means the majority of her friend group. The majority of her friend group means the men of Frisky Business, and the men of Frisky Business means Connor, who I haven’t seen or spoken to since he kissed me on his birthday.
Yeah, let’s just say that’s one detail I’ve left out of this girls’ evening so far. Not that I think Maren and Scarlett would disapprove. Quite the opposite.