“Dessy…I didn’t mean to—well, I did, but—shit.” He scrubs a hand over his face with a groan. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey. No, it’s fine.” A soft smile curls my lips. So we both don’t know what the heck we’re doing. For some reason, that makes me feel a little better. I grab the hand covering his face and rub small circles into his calloused palm. “I think we need to set some ground rules because the action took me off guard.”
“Ground rules, right. That sounds good.” His shoulders relax as he finally brings his attention to my face.
“I need you to stop being sweet and be more of a rake.”
“Like… the gardening tool?”
“No.” I laugh. “A rake. It’s a term they used in the nineteenth century to describe a man who had lower moral standards and was a playboy. When we’re practicing, I need you to pretend like all that matters to you is having me wrapped around your finger to get what you want. I don’t have feelings that concern you.”
This request sounds dangerous, but I’m relatively confident I’ll be able to play off of Playboy Jack better than Slightly Flirty Jack. That version is too easy to pretend is real and it’s confusing my heart.
If Jack acts like he does at a club, a part of his life I don’t belong in, I can separate the two. Jack Parker, the best friend, will be safe.
I think.
I hope.
I can do this.
“You—want—I’m sorry? What do you want me to do?” Jack scratches the back of his neck, staring at me like I have multiple heads. “No offense, but I tried to kiss you—uh, for practice, you know…and you bolted. This doesn’t sound like a great next step.”
“I promise you I was slightly rattled after the Tyler thing, but I’m good. I’m ready to take this seriously. And I don’t think it’ll be that hard for you, either. We, uhm, we’ve been flirting all night, right? And now we’re in this dark, secluded hallway. What would you do if I wasn’t your Dessy, and instead I was someone you—I don’t know, just met at the bar tonight?”
“Dessy, I don’t do—”
“Uh, uh, Parker. Dessy’s not here. It’s like you said, we aren’t friends tonight.” My fingers reach up and play with the three fastened buttons on his shirt. With each exposed inch of skin revealed, the binding of hesitation around my heart falls away. I graze the small patch of hair dusting his chest, sparks searing my fingertips with every passing touch.
Like everything else tonight, touching Jack feels like a natural fit, as if I was born to do it.
My head was made to rest in the crook of his arm. Our lips were made to join together, and his skin was meant for my fingers and touch alone.
Jack’s eyes shutter closed. His chest rises and falls in a pronounced rhythm. With every exaggerated breath he takes, I grow increasingly hopeful that he feels the inevitability of us too.
“I’m just a girl who pretended to be cold, so you would give me your flannel,” I say, pressing up on my toes and bringing my lips a few inches from his. His breath falls hot against my cheek as his eyes flutter open. “And then I pulled you into a hallway to tease you some more. So, Parker, as a rake, as someone who wants to get me wrapped around your finger because I have something you want—what do you do?”
“Dessy—” he whispers, impossibly soft. His forehead falls to mine like he’s in agony.
He’s not going to play the game and I can’t force him to do this when it looks like it’s torture for him.
“You know what? Let’s forget it. This was clearly a mistake. Maybe I could ask Tyler. He’s obviously got the rake thing down—” I turn. I’d rather leave the role vacant than actually ask Tyler, but Jack doesn’t need to know that’s the road I’m going to take. All he needs to know is he’s off the hook.
Jack’s hand firmly envelops my wrist and tugs me toward him. The warmth of his chest slams into my back before he pivots us and gently presses me into the wall. The black ink on his wrist swirls into the cuff of his shirt above my head. My breath hitches in my throat as my lungs struggle to adjust to the sudden shift in our positions.
“Put your hands on the wall,” he says low and gruff.
Like the doomed shmuck I am, I follow his orders. The electric current humming inside sparks alive, buzzing through my veins and licking my nerve endings to life. While touching Jack may have felt natural, this is anything but.
This is something unearthly. A sensation I can only compare to one other paradoxical sensation in my life—thunder snow on the shores of King’s Pond. That’s what it feels like when Jack looms this close—not a bland blanket of goodness, but a collective, confusing beauty in all its forms and powers.
Jack lowers his mouth to my ear. “Promise me if I do this, you won’t act weird around me after.”
“Why—why would I act weird?” I ask. Delicate snow falls along my spine and goosebumps pucker my arms.
“I’m serious, Dessy. I need you—this can’t ruin that, so I need to hear you promise.”
I manage a nod, forcing my lungs to produce enough oxygen to respond. “I understand we’re just practicing. I promise I won’t get the two confused.”
