HARLEY:Just an expression.
GEMMA:I can practically see your blushing cheeks from across the apartment, Harley.
JACK:Wine and takeout and passing out candy works for me, guys!
HARLEY:Now I love you too, Jack.
NICK:Whoa. Let’s take that one back several notches.
ME:Yeah, what Nicky said.
ME:Also, eff you guys for making me agree with what Nick said.
HARLEY:Oh my god, I love all of you equally, okay?
NICK:But me just a little bit more, right?
HARLEY:Obviously.
GEMMA:Me on the other hand, I hate all of you. I’m dressing as an old maid for Halloween.
ME:Gem, be serious. There might be hot single dads out there.
GEMMA:Sexy librarian it is.
“Is this going to be enough candy?” Jack holds up three bags, each the size of my upper body.
I purse my lips to keep back the smile, and yeah, I notice how his arms bulge a little, laden down with pounds and pounds of sugar. “How many did you go through last year?”
He tosses them on the kitchen peninsula. “I don’t know. I usually turn the lights off and hide in the basement.”
“Oh my god, you’re the cranky-old-man house!” Taking a few bottles of wine out of the cabinet, I also pull down five glasses and arrange them all on the counter.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.” He frowns, his brow wrinkling in a way that’s adorable and also makes him look kind of like a little old man.
“Every neighborhood has one, buddy, and looks like you’re it for Park Slope.” I rummage around in the cabinets until I find a huge bowl. “If your old-man muscles can handle it, can you rip one of those bad boys open?”
Jack glares at me for a solid thirty seconds before grudgingly tearing open one of the bags.
I transfer the candy from the bag to the bowl, only pausing twice to take a bite of chocolate for myself. “You changing or is that your entire costume?” I wave my hand, currently holding a Twix, in his general vicinity.
He captures my wrist in his hand, biting off half of the candy bar.
And I have to grip the counter to keep myself from face-planting on the hardwood floor. Was that—is this—does that count as foreplay?
Jack releases my wrist, a smug smile tugging on his lips. He pulls a red cape from one of the bar stools, tying it around his neck. He points to his blue shirt, a big red S on the center of his chest. “Shirt, cape, Clark Kent glasses, I think I’m good to go.”
“Well, which are you, Superman or Clark Kent?” I’m arguing for argument’s sake. And because he caught me off guard with that wrist grab/bite and I don’t like it.
Things have been... playful... around the brownstone since the whole I-hadn’t-painted-for-seven-years-until-you-came-along-to-be-my-muse fiasco. We seem to have moved from easy friendship to mostly innocent flirting, though the sexual tension is still most definitely present and accounted for. Even if it never goes beyond tension. Jack’s grabbing my arm and chomping half of my chocolate bar is the most action I’ve seen in months.
Which reminds me, I need to charge my vibrator.
“As with most things in my life, Sadie”—the rumble of Jack’s voice distracts me from the needs of my sex toys—“I find myself caught somewhere in the middle.”
“How poetic.” I reach for a bottle of wine, popping it open and pouring myself a glass. A big one.
“What about you?” He takes the bottle from my hand and pours himself a glass.
