His fingertips tease the edge of my hair as he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it before sliding his tongue back into my mouth.
Every bone in my body relaxes, except for one. He tastes like bitter coffee and buried memories, like bad decisions and promises I certainly can’t keep, and wouldn’t know how to even if I could.
He pulls away, his lips hovering inches away from mine. “Is that real enough for you?”
His tongue flecks out to lick his lips and his fingers are playing with my hair and my hand is still on his hip. Everything about this moment feels right. It feels… comfortable. It’s not awkward. I’m not trying to think of an excuse to get away. I want to stay right here, with him, in this moment. I want to hold onto this feeling, lock it away so I can come back to it whenever I’m feeling like shit.
It’s true that you don’t know what happiness is unless you’ve felt pain, and I guess the same goes for misery. I’ve been walking by in life for so long that I didn’t know any better, but when Alex is around… I’m different.
“It’s real,” I rasp out, fingers tightening on his waist. “Very fucking real.”
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say this?” he breathes. “How long I’ve wantedyou?”
That hits me right in the chest. Because no, not really. Alex fucks around with a lot of people. That’s always been his thing. I didn’t realize that hearing this from me was something he wanted.
“It’s still here,” I add.
He breathes out a sigh of relief. “It is. You feel it, too, right? Please fucking tell me you do.” I hold his gaze, not saying a word. “Jordan,” he snaps.
I can’t help but huff out a laugh. “You’re too easy to fuck with.”
He rolls his eyes.
“What do you want, Jordan?” he asks softly, face going serious again as his fingers brush along the back of my neck, causing goosebumps. “What do you want from me?”
I let out a sigh.
“I don’t know,” I answer, and he closes his eyes. I grab his throat, my thumb pressed against his jaw, tilting it up to meet my gaze. He holds it steadily. “But maybe you can help me figure that out.”
His hand settles over the back of mine, but he doesn’t push me away.
There’s a long pause as his thumb trails over the underside of my wrist. I can’t be sure what’s going through his mind. He looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. All I can do is focus on his touch and the way he’s looking at me. His green eyes glisten in the bright light and he nods.
“Okay,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
And that’s when the reality sets in. I have no idea what the fuck I just agreed to, what I just got myself into, but I’m ready for it.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Alex
I watch as the red paint thins out, fading into the wood as I let my mind wander. It’s been three Sundays since I attended the Brewer Family Golf-spel, and I’m not sure how much longer I can put it off.
Of course, because the universe loves to torment me, Dad’s precious golden boy texts me this morning asking where I am. I could have easily told him I was with Mack without going into detail. It’s not like I haven’t socialized with Austen’s friends. We’re all close in age, and both of us are involved in sports, so a lot of stuff overlaps. But for some reason, I can’t tell him the truth. So I tell him I’m not feeling good because of my knee. It’s a bullshit excuse, and I know he knows it. Thankfully, he doesn’t press me and tells me he hopes to see me at the next golf outing.
I don’t hate my brother. Far from it. Sometimes, I just wish we could switch places, that I could know what it feels like to be the favorite and to be praised and revered as a success in the eyes of our parents.
My mother pisses me off with her constant need to be involved in my love life, but my dad is a different sport altogether. Honestly, I don’t know why he insists on me going with him to the damn club at all, given the fact he barely tolerates me. It’s not like he’s proud of me and wants to show me off; all he and my mother do is complain about my life.
I dip my brush back into the candy apple red paint, swirling it around before I wipe off the excess on the rim.
Another stroke on the wood, covering up the faded red spots that thinned from where I left off.
I can’t help but glance out the window at Jordan, who’s been outside all morning and afternoon, underneath the hood of his truck.
He insists he can fix whatever’s wrong, and while I would call it a day and buy a new car, he seems attached to it, so I don’t argue with him. Though, the thought has crossed my mind to just buy him a new one, something big and shiny. Expensive. One of those trucks people look at that makes them think the driver has a small dick. I laugh to myself, knowing Jordan doesnothave a small dick and it would be funny for people to think that.
He deserves more than he lets himself have, but I get the feeling that me buying him a car would piss him off in the not-so-good way, so I won’t.
