“Something about it being your turn?”
I rolled my eyes at Will and at Jonah’s amusement. “Of course he did.”
We’d somehow moved toward my kitchen instead of the living room. The light was off in here, but the blinds were still open, filling the room with the creamy moonlight from outside.
“Want me to make us some drinks?” he asked.
We were standing in the middle of the kitchen. Neither of us moved to turn the lights on. He towered over me, all gentle masculinity, which I didn’t know could exist until I saw it in Jonah Mason. This was a new version of him I’d never known. Soft Jonah. Tender Jonah.
When we were kids, his home life had been a mess. His dad had split shortly after he was born, leaving him with his mom. Being raised by a single mother would have been challenging enough. But Shayla Mason had been a piece of work—undiagnosed mental illness, alcoholic, couldn’t keep a job, neglectful harpy. It wasn’t that she had a long list of problems that weren’t ever addressed. It was that she was cruel and distant.
Sometimes, I felt sorry for her. And sometimes, I wondered if she’d had the help she needed when Jonah was little after his dad left if she’d be a different woman today. But then again, I’d seen her reject help constantly.
My mom had initially tried to befriend her. They’d had a lot in common, and their friendship could have been so good. Maybe my mom didn’t struggle with mental health issues or addiction, but she knew what it was like to raise kids on her own. She knew what it was like to have the world deal her a bad lot and then spend her own life making sure her kids turned out despite everything they were up against.
But Shalya had hated my mom from the start. And although she always let Jonah come over to our house and stay with us whenever he wanted, it was only so she didn’t have to deal with him.
In high school, Jonah had started acting out. He’d gotten in with the party crowd and started going through girls like a stack of cards. Will had tried to help him. Maybe not talk him out of parties or anything, but at least help him put purpose behind his life. Jonah had started to float... to detach completely—not just from consequences, but from life. But even after Will talked to him, Jonah had pushed away further.
It was my own mom who had brought him back. She kept inviting him over, kept asking him if he was okay, and kept digging and digging and digging at his armor until she finally made a chink. And then made the whole damn thing fall away completely.
That was what my mom was best at—making people feel loved amidst their most unlovable circumstances. It had been her greatest gift to Will, Charlie, and me as children. Our whole lives, really. Our dad’s cold cruelty only made her love on us all the more. We all had a deficit from where our dad’s love could have mattered. But Mom did more than help us adjust. She loved us until we could acknowledge all we’d been through and move on.
And somehow, she’d done the same for Jonah, even though she wasn’t related to him by blood. Even though his childhood was so much worse than ours. I was so lucky to have her as my mom. And as crazy and far off as it felt to think about having kids, I really was excited to follow her example when they finally came into the picture.
Jonah’s mom had seen him at his best and couldn’t seem to love him. My mom had seen him at his worst and loved him anyway. I really believed her love had saved his life. But because of how he grew up, he wasn’t a soft or tender person.
He could be abrasive and gruff. He could be fun and wild, quiet and laid-back. But he was not ever gentle. Or tender. Or... this. Whatever this was.
“Be honest,” I teased him. “Did you come back just to watchThe Witcher? Because if you need my password, I can give—”
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me against his chest with enough enthusiasm to push the wind from my lungs. “I thought it was obvious why I was here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it has nothing to do withThe Witcher.”
I was breathless with confusion. So nervous I could hardly think. “What is this, Jonah?”
He dipped his head and brushed his lips over mine. “I thought that was obvious too.” Another delicate kiss. “If you’re not into me, you should tell me now. Because I’m not here to watchThe Witcher.” Another kiss. This one longer. Lingering.
“I-I-I didn’t say that.”
He kissed me slowly, his lips and tongue moving against mine like we had all the time in the world. His lips were so soft. And his tongue was so hot. If I struggled to understand these new gentle places in his personality, it was just as difficult to understand the tender places on his body.
As hard and unyielding as his personality was, his body was equally so. He was six foot two inches of lean muscle and chiseled definition. His hands were calloused from working out and hours of moving heavy crates of alcohol for work. His jaw was rough again. His five o’clock shadow had started to fill in. He was all careful control and restrained testosterone. And I wanted to put my hands on every inch of him.
But it was more than the feel of him. More than the taste of him.
It was just him, taking his time to kiss me until I was breathless and leaning into him. My hands landed on his chest and clutched his sweatshirt. The butterflies had moved from trembles to shivers. The nervousness had given way to passion. That desperate seventeen-year-old girl inside me had yawned awake, hungry to finish what she’d started so many years ago.
But it was that same seventeen-year-old girl who had to ask, “What are we doing, Jonah?”
He pulled back, but barely, angling his face so he could look me in the eyes. “We’re kissing, Eliza.”
He said it like it was the most natural and normal thing in the world. And perhaps, in my shadowy kitchen glowing with moonlight, he was right. Maybe that was the most natural and normal thing in the world.
Maybe he and I were completely natural. Maybe he was my normal. And I was his.
So I kissed him back. Releasing his sweatshirt, I wrapped my arms around his neck. He made a hum of approval in the back of his throat and kissed me with more intention.
I pressed my chest against his and let his mouth take me to an entirely different place. His lips danced with mine, kissing, sucking, biting.
