He expression softened. His eyes went warm. He squeezed her shoulders. “Do you trust me?”
Did she? Yes, in theory. Though, not when it came to table arrangements.
“Answer the question,” he said. “Do you trust me?”
She placed her hands at his waist. “Of course I do.”
“Then go get your hair done. Let me do this for you.” He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there. “Do what you need to do this afternoon. I’ll be by to pick you up, just like we talked about.”
“Jase…” She couldn’t just leave her project behind.
“Trust me,” he said, his breath brushing against her bangs.
In that moment, everything in her shifted. She trusted him. And if the tables were wrong, they would still be right.
“I trust you.”
And she meant it.
* * *
The last timeJase went to prom, he got drunk on spiked punch and made it to third base with Shelby Mitchell before his mother caught them on the back patio and took the keys to his Mustang for two months. He had high hopes this evening would be substantially better. Of course it would. Heather was his date.
She’d taken off to fix her hair and change her clothes while he wrapped up everything. He’d called in Elizabeth and finished up. He’d told Heather everything was done. He’d lied. And he’d gone slightly overboard with vines, water features, and other accents. He called the revised theme “Garden Jungle.”
He hoped to hell she didn’t hate it.
The surprise mattered, and he’d needed that line of space she was so insistent on setting tables in for a few jungle-themed water features that involved koi fish and running water.
He rushed to pull on his tuxedo jacket, affixing the boutonniere he’d made to match her corsage. He’d spent way too much time staring at the dress whites he’d brought home to wear to prom. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to put them on. So a tuxedo it would be. A glance in the mirror, and, yeah, not too bad for a guy in a penguin costume. Corsage in hand, he hurried to her apartment.
He knocked. His heart rate started to kick around in his veins, like the teenager he was not. Genetic memory perhaps of all the men before him who’d stood on the other side of a slab of wood waiting for the girl they loved to open it up.
His breath caught.Hold up.He had no business thinking about words like “love.” Love was not what he’d signed up for. He didn’t do love.
He did “like” and “going steady” and as many kinky things as she’d allow. But love? His heart started to thump, ready to get in the game.
Shit.
“Hang on,” Heather called.
He hung on, engaging tactical breathing to reduce his heart rate.
She pulled the door open. Her dress was practically painted on, low-cut light-blue satin that hugged her in all the places he’d frosted. Maybe not all the places. That would be indecent. But enough of them to make his mouth literally water and his dick want in the game that his heart was already trying to play.
Tactical breathing wasn’t going to control shit at the moment.
“Is it okay?” She shifted the strap on her shoulder.
Earlier, when she’d been helping decorate, she’d been wearing an oversized sweater and shorts that he fucking loved because they showed off her legs. Now? She’d curled the hell out of her hair and piled it on the crown of her head. He’d seen her all dressed up for two weddings—Dean’s and Brek’s. He’d danced with her both times. Thought she was pretty. Wished she wasn’t with the idiot she’d been dating.
Tonight, though? She was fucking beautiful. Because tonight she was his.
“Jase?” she asked, her expression turning serious. “Is it okay?” She shifted again, glancing down at the satin. “You’re not saying anything.”
“Wow,” he finally said. “You look…”
She was waiting for him to finish the sentence, but he didn’t have the right ending. Everything he came up with didn’t do her justice. Instead, he traced the line of her cheek with his knuckles, letting the air between them go still. Because if he moved, he’d kiss the lipstick right off her lips and then she’d probably be pissed.
