Guilt churns my stomach, incinerating the butterflies fluttering in a flurry this close to Jack.
Next to me, Jack chuckles. “Serves that jerk right,” he says under his breath.
“Darn it, I think we were too mean. I should go help clean him up before that stains.” I wiggle out of Jack’s arms.
A warm hand wraps around my wrist. “Don’t you dare, kitten. Let him go.”
“Okay, what’s up with this whole kitten thing?” I laugh.
“I panicked, but I figured it was a play on Kitty Bennet, maybe?” He regards me almost bashfully.
His reasoning is cute, and I’m torn. Something about the innocent, helpless vibe of the name doesn’t sit well with me, but also…Jack Parker is calling me “kitten,” even if it is for a bit, how can I be mad at that? “I don’t think Lydia would like being called something close to her sister’s name, but we can keep it for tonight.”
Jack’s grip stays locked on my wrist, but if I wiggle a bit, I may be able to shimmy free. My heart protests, like it’s comfortable in our little flannel cocoon with Jack and it fears the cold. But I should leave and help Tyler—it’s the right thing to do. I think.
Could snuggling with a man you have intense growing feelings for, but who doesn’t feel the same way about you, also be the right thing to do?
Because I want it to be.
Desperately.
“You make a very valid point. I’ll come up with something else.” He nods. “Now, do me a favor before you try to escape my grasp and look at Tyler.”
I glance up, seeing a gorgeous chestnut brunette drawing near a downtrodden Tyler with a bunch of napkins. In the next moment, she pats his chest down.
The action does little to assuage my guilt.
Until the twinkling lights overhead catch a sparkle on her finger.
“Is he…engaged?”
“Seems it. He was at the bar when I went to get us drinks and tried to start a conversation about you and me. I didn’t give him much, but he kept running his mouth and saying stupid shit, like how I should stay single. He said he recently got engaged but hates it because ‘it’s hard to keep people like us tied down to one person,’ implying I was the same kind of asshole he was.” Gently, Jack grips my chin and turns my attention to him. His eyes meet mine, hard and intentional, like what he’s about to say holds a significant amount of weight. I try my best to keep my stare connected with his, but the temptation to dip lower, to his lips, grows stronger with every second his sapphire gaze bares into me. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Dessy. If you were mine, I’d worship you like the fucking queen you are.”
My heart somersaults at Jack’s words. I’m not entirely sure what to make of them.IfI was his? It’s a hypothetical situation Jack has no intention of making a reality, I’m sure of it. Still, the thought that the notion has passed through his mind, even for a microsecond, has rainbows all but exploding out of my chest.
Couple that with him calling me a queen, and well, I’m toast.
Scrambled eggs and bacon. Here comes me.
With a sigh, I lean back, finding Jack’s arm still open and waiting for me. I burrow into the crook again. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Anytime.” He reaches forward, grabs a shot, and hands it to me before grabbing one himself. We clink before I throw my head back and swallow. The liquid slides down the back of my throat, incinerating anything it touches. Blech. “Now eat your poutine before it gets cold,” he says, handing me the cheesy curd goodness I didn’t ask for but desperately need.
“I love you for knowing to get me this. Serious best friend benefit right here.” I happily squirm, taking a bite. Savory brown gravy dances on my tastebuds, and I greedily shove a few more fries in my mouth.
Jack tsks in a disapproving manner.
“What?”
“I’m not your friend tonight, Aulie, remember?” Gently, Jack’s thumb swipes across my cheek. His touch leaves a passing, shimmering tingle along my skin. The playful light in his eyes flickers out, replaced by a deep, smoldering intensity.
With his eyes still locked on mine, he takes his thumb in his mouth and sucks the remnants of brown gravy off.
I—uhm suddenly forget my name. It’s Lydia or something like that, right?
“Definitely not friends tonight,” I stammer.
A wide, devastating grin breaks across his face. “That shit’s pretty good,” he says, leaning back and rubbing lazy circles on my exposed shoulder. He reaches over to my plate of poutine and grabs himself another fry, acting like we didn’t just have a moment.
