“You told me about your ex, Chett,” I answer her.
“Oh God.” Her face burns even more red. “I am so sorry. You did not sign up to be my therapist.”
“I didn’t mind. Sometimes it helps to talk,” I reassure her.
She nods, still not quite meeting my eyes. “Anything else?”
Just tell her, it’s the right thing to do, and let the cards fall where they may. “You kissed me.” Technically, she tried to kiss me and missed, and then I kissed her. The words hang in the air between us.
Her eyes widen, her mouth falls open. “I what?”
She doesn’t remember. Shit. “You were drunk. I stopped it. Nothing happened.” I keep my voice neutral. Professional. Like it was no big deal. Like my heart isn’t pounding just from remembering it.
“Oh my god.” She covers her face with her hands. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. That is so inappropriate. You were just being nice, and I ... I am such an idiot.” Seeing her beat herself up over it kills me.
“I may have kissed you back.”
She stares at me, and I stare back. “Not willingly.”
I wince. “It was definitely willingly. And I’m so sorry. This is so against my job. I don’t normally kiss people I save. You were drunk and upset and …”
“You could get in trouble. This is your job and I ...” She looks genuinely distressed. “I’m so sorry, Jax. Really. It will not happen again. I will stay on my side of the cabin, and we can just pretend ...”
No. I don’t want her to retreat. I should want what she is telling me, that it won’t happen again, but … “Sloane …” I sit up, facing her over the pillow wall. “It’s fine. You did not do anything wrong. I did. I was the sober one. You trusted me to look after you in your time of need, and I … I took advantage of that.”
“Jax. Don’t beat yourself up over something so insignificant,” she tries to reassure me.
Insignificant. She thinks that kiss meant nothing. It has to mean nothing because you cannot do anything with this girl.
“As long as you do the same,” I tell her.
“Pinky promise,” she says, placing her hand over the pillow wall. I stare at it for a moment before taking it. There’s that stupid zap of electricity again as we touch. I ignore it as I pinky promise not to touch this woman again.
“Now, how about some coffee? I think we both need it,” I ask, changing the subject.
“Coffee sounds amazing. I might pop into the shower first, help me wake up.”
I nod as I climb out of bed, trying to hide my morning wood, and head to the kitchenette, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between us. I can feel her watching me as I leave, awkwardness thick in the air. We can move past this, we will move past this, and I’ll maintain a semblance of professional distance for the rest of the storm.
Sloane groans, walking out of the bathroom, steam swirling around her. She’s dressed in leggings that mold to her legs and a tee that shows off her impressive curves. She’s thrown her hair up into a messy bun. She looks beautiful. “Thought a shower would help this hangover. I was wrong.” She looks adorable and miserable, and I want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything will be okay. But I don’t.
“Here,” I say, handing her a mug of coffee. “Drink this. It will help.”
“Thank you,” she says, wrapping her hands around the mug like it’s a lifeline. “I’m never drinking again.” Then she moans as she takes the first sip of coffee, and the sound has a direct line to my dick.
“How about I cook up some bacon and eggs, that should ease the pain you’re in.”
“You cook too?” she asks, looking up from the couch where she is slumped.
“One of my many talents.” I smirk as I start moving around the kitchen.
“It looks like a complete whiteout, out there,” she muses, sipping her coffee.
“The storm seems to be much worse than they predicted. I’m going to go outside later and check on things.”
“Can I help?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. You stay inside. Watch your movies. I’ve got this,” I tell her. I checked my phone earlier, and the roads are completely impassable. We are completely snowed in. I continue to busy myself with cooking while she sips her coffee, looking progressively more human with each sip. The awkwardness starts to fade as we fall into conversation about neutral topics. The storm. Christmas movies. My brothers.
