Jo opened the door to Wayne’s room and pulled the man inside.
A penthouse suite greeted her, if the lavish furniture, expensive layout, and floor-to-ceiling panoramic view of New York City were any indication. A lush, tan carpet spread the length of the floor from wall to wall, disrupted only by the glass stairway that swirled up from its center to a second story. Leather couches in a deep maroon took up the corner with subtle but well-placed lamps on either side.
Jo didn’t have much time to take in anything further. Because for all its luxury, the space felt lived in—comfortable, even. And comfortable was something Jo had every intention of making herself.
The door barely had a moment to shut before she had him pressed against it.
To Wayne’s credit, he didn’t startle. His hands fell on her waist, thumbs stroking up her stomach, fingertips already indenting her skin. His eyes searched her thoughtfully, the beginning of a crease forming at his brow and chasing away the drunkenness that had already begun to weigh on his eyelids.
“What is it, doll?” he asked, and Jo willed herself to focus on the part of his voice already dipping thick and low. The genuine concern lingering beneath, she ignored vehemently.
Instead, she pressed their hips together, relished the feel of the growing firmness in his pants, and took a deep breath.
He smelled so different.
Jo shook her head in a futile attempt to dislodge the scent of crispness and cloves from her nose. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
But when Jo leaned in, eyes already fluttering closed, she wasn’t met with hungry lips and panting breaths. Instead, she was brought up short by a hand pressed firm and unrelenting into the meat of her shoulder. Jo looked up at Wayne in confusion, startling at the seriousness that had now fully overtaken the man’s expression.
“Wayne?”
For a long moment, Wayne only seemed to scan her face, looking for something that Jo couldn’t even begin to place. His frown persisted, lips drawn in a hard line that was utterly uncomplimentary to his usually kind expressions. It drew on long enough that Jo began to feel self-conscious, pulling herself away from his now half-hearted embrace to hug her arms to her chest.
The motion seemed to snap Wayne out of whatever analysis he’d been conducting, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips.
“Look, doll,” he said eventually, reaching out to pull one of her hands away from her chest and linking his fingers with hers. He gave them a squeeze, smiling in a way that somehow managed to be both fond and also pitying. It made Jo’s heart warm even as her hackles rose. “I’d like to think we’re both still on the same page here, but you might have the wrong idea.”
Jo’s chest squeezed painfully, suddenly not wanting to hear another word. This wasn’t what she’d come here for, and he knew that. So then why wouldn’t he just give her what she needed?
“Weareon the same page,” Jo said, and if the scoff at the end of her words sounded less than believable, Wayne didn’t comment. He did, however, take a step back the moment she went in for another kiss. Even if he didn’t let go of her hand, something in Jo still fractured a bit.
“We covered this before,” Wayne explained, rubbing the inside of her wrist with his thumb. The motion soothed her, though only enough to hear him out instead of running away in embarrassment at the feeling of being so utterly rejected. “I’m here for you if you want to have fun. But this. . .thisdoesn’t feel fun. There’s more than that here. I don’t know what’s on your mind right now, doll, but I don’t touch broads that can’t even see me when they look at me.”
“I can see you right now.”You enigmatic ass, Jo wanted to add, but didn’t for the sake of her cause.
“No, you’re looking, doll. But you’re seeing something else.” He gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t touch brodies like you with a ten-foot pole.”
Jo’s heart jumped into her throat, words spilling from her mouth like vomit as she scrambled into the defensive. “I don’t know what you’re— There’s not— What did you just call me?”
At this, Wayne had the audacity to laugh, using his free hand to run fingers through her long, dark hair. When he rested his palm against her cheek, she couldn’t help but lean into it, keeping her eyes locked with his in determination.
“A brodie is a mistake, doll face,” he said, letting go of her hand only to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her in closer. “And whatever it is that’s got you all caught up? If I had to put a name to it, I’d say it definitely screams ‘brodie’.”
The genuine look of sympathy finally had her breaking eye contact. Jo’s breath caught, wavering slightly. Sure, she knew that a quick release, however satisfying, wasn’t really what she was looking for, but she didn’t know what else she could do.
Jo took a breath, feeling Wayne’s body shift alongside hers. It felt intimate but casual, like a hug from a very close friend. She didn’t know if it made her want to laugh and lean in or go back to the recreation room for another tantrum.
“I’m more than happy to help you,” Wayne said suddenly, low and sincere. “But I don’t think you want my help.”
“Try me,” Jo challenged reflexively, feeling her face heat when Wayne only smirked.
“My advice?” He was right, they weren’t on the same page. Because the help she wanted did not come in the form of ominous advice. “You’re chasing a fool’s yearning. Doll, you and I? We’re friends, thick as thieves, have been—on my side at least—from the moment you woke up. We work that way. And yes, we fell into bed once, still enjoy a good flirt. But all of that works because we know it’s casual and not what defines us. It’s auxiliary, in no way an expression of something deeper.”
Jo couldn’t stop a blurt of laughter at his directness. She heard his own satisfied, amused, huff before he continued.
“Eternity is way too long not to get any when it’s wanted.”
“You’re telling me.” She turned her head towards the skyline outside the flat’s floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the faint oranges brighten into full-blown dawn.
