He turns slightly and, like the coward I am, I immediately look down at the champagne glass I’ve now polished to within an inch of its life. But the glimpse of his profile I caught in the split second before I looked away has given me something close to heart palpitations. How can he be so beautiful?
Which is not a word I use lightly. The man’s looks are soul-crushing, gut twisting. And I don’t mean his frame or all that strength. The way I feel after that millisecond’s glimpse is the way I remember feeling when Clark and I went to Yellowstone on our one and only vacation—planned, organized, and paid for by yours truly. I woke up one morning in time to see the sun rise over the misty mountains and I remember crying tears, actual tears, at how wrenching a sight it was.
Jake, like that landscape, is made up of contrasts. Towering mountains and lush greenery, harsh boulders swathed in silken mist. Only he’s warm flesh and thick, rounded muscle, built on a framework of cartilage, tendons, and bone. He’s human, but…is he really, with how gorgeous he is?
Oh my god, what am I doing? Why am I thinking like this when there’s clearly nothing between us?
I’m just a mess with Clark breathing down my throat, as if I’m the one who owes him something. That’s all this is.
Frantic, I look up again, straight into the mirror, where I see my own face, broken up, the smudged eye makeup only highlighting the bags I can’t seem to get rid of, my lipstick too bright against my haggard skin. Unerringly, I glance his way.
Our gazes clash with somehow a million times more impact in the mirror than they would have had real life. I feel the jolt like lightning down my spine. My body’s in instant battle between taut and liquid.
In the glass, I watch, helplessly ensnared by his gaze, as Taylor’s hand lands on his forearm. It’s a casual move that could be interpreted any number of ways, but I’m familiar enough with the woman at this point to get that she’s interested.
In Jake.
He turns to respond to her, releasing me from his hold, and I’m left boneless behind my bar. The one place where I’m in charge and know my power. Only, right now, I don’t feel any of that. I feel awful. Weak. Sad.
Just as I put the glass I’ve been polishing away, Cora walks up. “Mind handing me the whip?”
“Oh, yeah.” I grab it and head over to finish her drink.
“What’s this? Cake?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Grab a fork. Jake made it for us.”
“Yum, god, why’s he so good at this?”
I concentrate on pouring coffee and topping the drink with whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon.
Mouth full, Cora leans close. “Think she’ll finally get him to go home with her this time?”
“What?”
She rolls her eyes. “Taylor. She’s been working Jake for a while now. I mean look.” She nudges my arm, lifting her chin to the other end of the bar. “Seriously, people, get a room.”
Swallowing back the nervy wave of nausea trying to work its way into my throat, I do my best to put a smile on my face and shake my head. It’s all I can manage.
Cora shovels more cake into her mouth. “Oh my God. Is she going to kiss him? Hol-y shit. Werk, girl.”
I won’t turn. I won’t look.
He’s not mine. What we have is the farthest possible thing from a relationship. He owes me nothing.Nothing.Taylor’s perfect for him. Right age. Right looks. Right situation in life.
“I um…”
“Christ, they’re gonna go at it right there? I can’t tell if she’s whispering in his ear or, like, licking it. Man, you might want to shut that?—”
“Sorry, I have to go to the…” I head out from behind the bar, straight to the back hall and bathroom. No. No, there’s someone in it. My office. Crap. I need keys. Scrabbling at my pocket, I pull out my set, shaking so hard it jangles like bells, shove the key in and stumble my way inside. I shut the door behind me and sink onto the sofa, hands over my face.
What am I doing?I keep thinking, over and over and over.What I am doing? What am I doing?
I don’t know. I just have no earthly idea. And no matter how many times I ask myself, I can’t come up with an answer that makes sense.
14
Jake
