by Ryan, Lexi
I’ll never again be able to take a bite of a burger without thinking about sex. “Will we . . . share a room?” Will we have sex? Will I kill the mood by panicking again?
“Is that okay with you?” He turns my hand and nibbles on my knuckles, the scrape of teeth followed by the hot tip of his tongue.
“Yeah, sure, why not? I mean, it’s not a big deal, and it might be convenient to be in the same room when we . . . I mean, if we . . . I mean, it works, right? I just need to figure out what to pack and stuff. I never know what to wear to those things.” Dear Lord, make me stop talking.
He looks me over, a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth as he drags his gaze down the length of me, as if he has x-ray vision and can see me through the desk and my clothes. “Why don’t you wear those shorts you wear to garden?”
“My old cutoffs?”
He lifts his eyes to mine and gives a cocky nod. “Yeah. I really like those.”
My cheeks heat. Jake and I don’t say stuff like that to each other. There aren’t moments in our relationship when he flirts with me or speaks in innuendo. That’s not the kind of relationship we have. Then again, he’s never sucked on my fingers before tonight either, and I’m not complaining about that, am I? “I’m not wearing my cutoffs in public.”
Smiling, he opens my palm and presses a kiss right in the center—first lips, then the briefest touch of his tongue. My back arches. I want to catapult myself out of this seat and onto his lap. I want to claim all the dirty promises he’s making with his lips and tongue.
“So those are only for me to enjoy when we’re alone together?” he asks.
I blink at him. Straddling his lap would be heaven. I want the hard length of him pressed between my legs and his mouth . . . What has gotten into me? “What?”
“The cutoffs?” He shakes his head slowly. “You’re so fucking cute when you blush. You know that?” He puts my hand down and stands. “But Cindy’s going to kill me if I leave her out there alone much longer.” He winks at me, then turns the knob to open the office door.
Another woman might let him leave then touch herself to relieve this pulsing ache between her legs. Another woman might tell him not to go and climb him like a tree. Another woman might not instantly ruin the moment with worry.
I bolt up from my chair and chase him out of the office. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He stops and turns in the middle of the kitchen. “Do what?”
I bite my lip and look away. “I don’t know. Flirt with me, I guess. Seduce me with . . .” I swallow, a delicious chill running up my spine with the thought of his hot mouth on my skin. Are knuckles an erogenous zone? Because I’m pretty sure Jake just made them into one. “With your mouth. You don’t have to. You’re doing me a favor. It’s not like I expect you to . . .”
“Because you have lube?”
My jaw drops, and I swing my gaze back to him and glare. “Oh my God, if you say that word one more time, I’ll kill you.”
He stalks toward me, something different in his eyes. Something darker and more intent than the playful Jake who sucked my fingers, and I back up until my legs hit the cold stainless steel of the walk-in cooler. He puts a hand on either side of my head and leans in, his body close to mine. Our gazes tangle for long, silent beats before he finally speaks. “I don’t have to seduce you, or you don’t want me to?”
I lick my lips. My heart is pounding, my body asking for so much more than I should ever want from Jake. “I don’t think we need to over-complicate this.”
His gaze drops to my lips. “Does it make you uncomfortable when I’m close to you?”
I swallow. “A little.”
“Why is that, Ava?” He dips his head, and his mouth is so close to mine that speaking or moving at all feels intimate. “I know you feel this. I see it in your eyes.” He tilts his head to the side and runs the bridge of his nose along the column of my neck. “In the flush of your skin,” he whispers in my ear. “I hear it in the hitch of your breath. And before you threw the brakes on your own pleasure last night, I could feel it in the arch of your back, and the way your hips moved under me like you wanted to rub against me.”
My eyes float closed. His voice is low and husky, and I want more of his words so much right now. “We’re friends, Jake.”
“We’ve always been friends. That’s never going to change. But for the next few months, I’m going to be more than that, so it’s time for you to get used to the idea. I’m going to do things to you that are a hell of a lot more pleasurable than a fucking burger can ever be. Don’t fight it.” He nips at my neck and sucks. When I release a soft cry, he groans into my ear. “Christ. You’re going to be my undoing, Ava.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, and I’m in no position to ask. If I weren’t leaning against the cooler, I’m pretty sure I’d be in a puddle on the floor.
He backs up, and there’s so much heat in his eyes that I don’t know if I should shut this down before we do something we regret or drag him back into his office and shut the door. I’m walking on a dangerous precipice, and I’m terrified. I like the earth steady and solid beneath my feet, but Jake’s offering the wind in my hair, the thrill of the fall.
His tongue touches his bottom lip as he gives me a final once-over. Then he disappears through the swinging door. My heart is hammering, and my skin is tingling, and I’m not even sure what the hell just happened.
Jake
I push out of the kitchen and head straight to the taps. I need a drink, and water isn’t going to cut it. Jesus. I could get off on nothing more than the little sounds Ava made when I sucked on her fingers, and my dick aches from the way her eyes went dark and her lips parted. I’ve never been short on fantasies when it came to Ava, but that little interlude just added a few dozen images to the list. And then she fucking ruined it by chasing after me to tell me I didn’t need to seduce her. As if I’m just the stud who can show up a couple of times a week, get off inside her, and walk away.
Fuck that.
I pour myself a snifter of our imperial stout and drain half of it before turning back to the bar to play catch-up. My steps falter as I spot a beautiful blonde. She hops off her stool immediately when she sees me. “Jake! Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!”
“Molly.” I swallow, take a breath, and paste on a smile. Fuck, I’m rock hard in my jeans from touching Ava and then her stepsister suddenly appears, like fate is trying to remind me that I fucked up once, and that I lost the right to ever make Ava mine. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” She stops, squeezes her eyes shut, and shakes her head. “That’s bullshit. Sorry. You deserve better than that. I’m not good. My stepdad’s an ass, my mom is a doormat, and my life’s a mess.”
“Sounds like not much has changed since last time we talked.” I grimace the second the words leave my mouth. I really, really don’t want to talk about last time. In fact, I’d rather we pretended last time didn’t exist. “How long has it been?” I ask softly, but I know the answer. The last time I saw Molly McKinley was the night I found out Ava was engaged. The night I made the most epic mistake of my life.
“Almost five years.”
“That’s a while. I must have scared you off.” I try to smile, but guilt makes my expression waver.
“I’ve come home a couple of times but never stayed long.” She grabs her pint glass off the bar and hoists it in the air. “But now that I know the beer is as good as I remembered, I’ll be sure to swing by next time I’m forced to visit.” She looks me over slowly, and when she lifts her gaze back to meet mine, her pink lips are stretched into a smile. “I wonder if anything else is as good as I remember . . .”
Ava
I clean up the remains of my dinner to give myself a chance to steady my breathing. I’m not ready to face Jake yet, so I sit in his office to scroll through my phone. If I were to walk out there right now, I’m pretty sure everyone who looked at me would know I have sex on the brain.
/> Sex with Jake.
Shit. Better not to think about it too much. Even if I want to. Even if I can’t stop . . .
I’m scrolling through Instagram—something mindless to distract me—when my phone rings in my hand. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Ava McKinley, please?”
“This is she.” My whole body tenses at the woman’s use of my full name. Because this is such a small town, a parent of a student will occasionally get my phone number and call to yell at me for their child’s grade—as if their child played no part in it—and after the Billy Joel Christianson incident on Friday, I should’ve known better than to answer a call from an unknown number.
“Ava! I’m so glad I reached you. My name’s Penelope Grimly. I’m calling from Seaside Community Schools.”
“Oh!” Not what I expected. But still awkward. “Hi?”
“Is this an okay time for you?”
“Um, I guess?” I shake my head. I didn’t think my dad was lying about this, but I thought maybe he was overly confident. “I’m not busy right now.”
“I promise to keep it short!” She laughs easily. “I hope you’ll forgive me for calling you unannounced on a Saturday night. Martha passed your information on to me over dinner, and I was so excited to reach out to you about the opportunity we have here. I wanted to call as soon as possible.” She makes a squeaking noise, as if she’s putting the brakes on her own little speech. “Martha said you’re in the market for a new job. She said she wouldn’t forgive me if you took another position before we had a chance to make an offer.”
“An offer?” I’m not only unprepared for this phone call, my mind’s not right. I’m feeling warm and fuzzy from Jake’s words in my ear, his mouth on my skin, and I’m on the phone with Penelope from Seaside Community Schools. Good old Ava, always making her dad proud.
“Nothing is definitive yet.” Penelope gives another squeaky laugh. “Martha shared your résumé with me. She told me about your background and your experience with the children’s theater in Jackson Harbor. You’ve built an amazing program there, and I’m so excited that you’re considering joining us. I want to get the ball rolling on your application process.”
I consider putting her off and explaining that there’s been a misunderstanding, that, as far as I know, I still have a job next fall. But then I think about that news making its way back to my father. It’s probably best that I play along. “Thank you for calling, Penelope—may I call you Penelope?”
“Yes, please do, thank you!” Her tone of voice isn’t unlike that of a teenager receiving a promise ring from her first boyfriend. Either Penelope is totally impressed by what she knows about me or she’s a great actress. Or maybe it’s neither and she’s just half squeaky toy. “Martha tells me that your mother lives near us. Is that true?”
“She’s a professor at Pensacola State College.”
“That’s not far from Seaside at all! Less than an hour, depending on traffic. Does she like it down here?”
I smile when thinking of my mother in Florida—the freckles covering her cheekbones, her magnetic draw to the beach, the way she always tilts her face toward the sun. Mom was never overtly unhappy in Jackson Harbor, but she radiates joy in her new home. “She’s been there for thirteen years, so I think it’s safe to say she’s a fan. It’s hard to come back to snowy Michigan when you’re used to the sunshine.”
“Yes, I imagine. Most people who move down here can’t imagine leaving, and Seaside is particularly close to my heart. I hope to get you down here for a visit soon so you can fall in love too.”
Wow. What kind of favor do Dad’s friends owe him? “I . . . Thanks.”
“Listen, I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll cut to the chase. May I email you some pertinent details? You can look them over and then we can schedule a call at a time that works for you.”
“That sounds good. Thank you, Penelope.” I give her my email address—curious about the position now, despite myself. I don’t plan on leaving Jackson Harbor if I can help it, but Dad’s right. It’s always good to have a backup plan, and after my meeting with Mr. Mooney yesterday, I’d be lying if I said I felt as secure in my job today as I did the night of our date, when he told me I shouldn’t worry.
I end the call with Penelope and shoot Dad a quick message to let him know she called and seems enthusiastic about me. I feel a twinge of embarrassment as I send the text—thirty years old and still trying to make my daddy proud. I slide my phone back into my purse.
My nerves feel frazzled and my heart is racing, and I barely did any talking. God save me if I actually have to go out on the job market and do interviews.
It’s already after nine, and I want to get home early tonight, so I head out front to say goodbye to Jake. When I push out from the kitchen, I’m greeted with the sight of Jake standing across from Molly, his eyes wide as she chatters on about something.
Jackson Brews isn’t mine. It’ll never be mine. But I’ve worked here part-time since my divorce and feel a little ownership of the place as a result. So when I see my perfect stepsister sitting in the middle of a space I consider to be so completely my world, talking to my Jake, it throws me off balance.
Jake looks as if he’s been knocked off balance too, but in a different way. Jealousy twists my gut. I’m in the simple black dress and flats I wore to dinner at Dad’s, but Molly looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her pink shirt is perfect for her fair complexion, and the low cut shows off her collarbone and the swell of her abundant cleavage—the only place you need to look to know Molly and I share no DNA. Her makeup is perfect, her hair a silky sheet of blond.
Jake practically jumps when he sees me, and I wonder with an acute pinch in my chest if he’s regretting the things he said to me in the kitchen. In this moment, I forget what a dick my father was to her. In this moment, with Jake’s attention swinging so quickly—magnetically?—back to my stepsister, I hate her a little.
It’s not Molly’s fault that she’s practically perfect in every way, but it’s pretty tough not to resent all that. Couldn’t she just be pretty or smart? Vivacious or athletic? Why did she have to be everything? And why did I have to fall so damn short?
I shouldn’t be jealous here. This is Jake. It’s fine if he’s attracted to Molly. What do I care?
Except that he’s going to father your child. Except that he just whispered dirty promises in your ear so hot that your belly is still a little weird and fluttery.
“Molly,” I say, trying to be a bigger person than I want to be. I let the kitchen door swing closed behind me and cross to where Molly’s sitting so only the wooden bar top is between us. “Hey!” The word is stretched thin, but the smile she tosses my way tells me she doesn’t notice.
“Ava, I was just telling Jake how awful dinner was. After you left, Dad tried to lecture me again and I blew up. We got in an awful fight and then he and Mom started fighting.” She shudders. “I needed a drink.” She shakes her head. “What a day it’s been.”
“I’m sorry about that.” There you go, Ava. Grab hold of that empathy you were feeling earlier. “Dad’s expectations can be impossible.”
“It’s my fault,” she says. “I only agreed to visit because I thought it would be better to ask the favor in person, but I never should have told Mom I had something I needed to talk about. I should’ve known she would assume it was good news.”
I swallow and shrug. “In her defense, it almost always is with you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. I think I’ve given Mom more than a few gray hairs. I’m surprised Dad doesn’t send me her salon bills.”
“Dad won’t budge on the loan, will he?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
She shakes her head. “I realize how bad this is to say when I’m here wasting money on alcohol, and I’m about to waste more money on a hotel when I’m officially a couple of strokes of bad luck away from being homeless.”
“Homeless?” Jake’s been standi
ng by, a silent observer, but his eyebrows shoot into his hairline at this. “Shit. What happened?”
Molly waves a hand. “Lost my job. Can’t find a new one—at least nothing that’ll cover my rent in Brooklyn—and I’m running out of time.”
“Can’t you just move home for a while?” Jake asks.
I wince, but Molly gapes at him. “You want me to move back to Jackson Harbor?”
He shrugs. “You wouldn’t be homeless.”
I drag my bottom lip through my teeth. “He’s right.”
“Nope,” Molly said. “It’s not an option. I’m a New Yorker. You can take the girl out of the city, yada, yada, yada.” She groans. “I thought your parents were supposed to help when you were having hard times, but I should’ve known Dad would be all about the tough love.”
“You can borrow some money from me,” I say. Her eyes go wide, and Jake looks shocked too, but hell, I’m competitive with my stepsister, not hateful. “Jill said she’d figure out a way to pay me back. It’s no big deal.”
Molly squeezes her fists together and presses them to her mouth. “Oh my God! You are so amazing! Ava! What did I do to deserve you?” Her eyes well with tears, and my cheeks heat. Her words feel good, even if I don’t deserve them. Her warm smile is full of gratitude and reminds me—yet again—that our so-called rivalry is one-sided.
“And you don’t need to get a hotel room. You can stay at my place while you’re in town.” I practically throw a hand over my mouth, because I cannot believe the words that just came out of there. Maybe it’s penance for years of unfair resentment.
“Get out!” Molly’s blue eyes are bright. More gratitude I don’t deserve. “Ava, you are seriously the best.”
I wave a hand. “It’s nothing. I have the room.” I turn to Jake, really getting into my role as the good sister now. “You have business contacts in New York, don’t you? Any chance you and Brayden could help Molly out?”
Jake blinks at me, then nods slowly. “I might have a lead on a job in the city,” he says, turning to Molly. “I can get some details if you’re interested.”