“I’m with you because I like you, Lexi. I like the way you make me feel like myself, and not just some celebrity people want to grab on to. You’re funny and kind and real. You’re driven and talented, not to mention insanely beautiful. I like forcing you to take risks and be spontaneous, because even though you fight me every step of the way, I know you secretly enjoy it.” He adjusts his head, leveling his gaze so that he’s looking straight into my eyes.
“I like the way you feel like home.”
I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs as I internalize his words.
“Look, I can’t imagine that this is easy, dealing with all the things people say, or the stories in the tabloids. But I’m with you because I want to be with you, not Madison or anyone else. You can’t let everyone else get into your head, or this is never going to work.”
Taking my hands in his, he looks up at me through his lashes.
“Do you want to be with me?”
I nod. Of course I do. As much as it terrifies me, I can no longer imagine a reality that Jake isn’t a part of.
He gives me a small smile. “Then that’s the only thing that matters. You and me. No one else, okay?”
“You’re right.” I lean forward, brushing my lips against his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put a damper on your night.”
“You didn’t put a damper on anything.” He leans back, his eyes boring into mine. “Lexi, the complete opposite is true. Having you there makes it mean so much more.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and draw him toward me as his lips mold to mine. He pulls back, our eyes never breaking contact as he lifts my dress over my head and drops it over the edge of the sofa. His eyes widen as they roam over the lacy pink bra that Chloe snuck into the shopping bag when she delivered my loaner dress. Reaching behind my back, he unclasps it, then slides the straps down my bare shoulders. His hands are warm as he reaches around my breasts, kneading them gently with calloused fingertips.
I move my hands into his lap to unbutton his pants, and he helps me tug them down to his knees, along with his boxers. I stand up to step out of my matching underwear, and he unbuttons his shirt, discarding it beside my dress.
His eyes never leave my face as he presses a hand into the small of my back, lowering me into his lap.
“Come closer,” he whispers.
I gasp when he enters me, and I rest one hand against his chest to hold my weight as we begin to move together. Our breathing grows heavier, and I watch as beads of perspiration form around his hairline. Jake leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine.
“Please don’t give up on me,” he whispers, his eyes pleading, his words thick with emotion. “You’re the one thing in my life I’m sure of. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I nod once, unable to form words. Suddenly hot under his penetrating gaze, I break eye contact, sliding my lips over his neck to taste his salty skin. He groans and shifts his hips as we begin to unravel each other. When we finish together, Jake collapses back against the cushions, and I fall against his chest, our bodies a tangle of limbs and jagged breath. I press my cheek against his slick skin, my body rising and falling against his until I can tell he’s drifted off to sleep. But sleep eludes as I lay awake in the darkness, thinking about what he said to me, and not knowing what’s worse: that I can never bear to leave him, or that there’s no way we can ever last.
22
THERE’S ONLY SO MUCHcoffee can do when a person is running on three hours of sleep, and even after chugging an entire thermos during my commute, I can barely keep my eyes open the following morning. My limbs feel like they’re filled with cement, heavy and dragging. Judging by the looks I’m receiving from the rest of the team, it’s possible that I’m moving even slower than I think I am.
Even the ticket orders seem too loud today, the roll of paper exploding through the top of the printer with an offensive screeching sound. Squinting, I peer down at the newest ticket. Two orders of tabbouleh salad should be easy enough; that is, until I realize I have no idea where I’ve put the lemon vinaigrette. Panic grips me as I run my hand across the sides of the dressing bottles, frantically checking the labels in an attempt to locate it. I’ve been on this station long enough that I should have committed the position of each item to muscle memory, but somehow, I just can’t get any of it to stick.
I’m about to ask Mia to grab the vinaigrette for me when I remember she’s no longer at my station. After a joint plea session, Oren finally agreed to let me work unsupervised, and this morning, she’s working at the hot apps station on the other side of thekitchen. The irony is almost too cruel; things are finally going right, but I’m too exhausted and overwhelmed to appreciate it.
“Where is my goddamn tabbouleh?” Chef’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and looking down, I realize I still haven’t finished the two bowls in front of me. Panic rising, I finally locate the vinaigrette and quickly coat each dish before shoving them onto the pass.
“What’s your deal today, Berman?” Corbin’s terse voice echoes from across the kitchen.
“Didn’t you hear? She was out at her boyfriend’s concert last night.” Ethan’s eyes shoot over to me from his station, and the look of naked hurt in his expression sends a fresh wave of emotion pulsing through my veins.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t care who she’s screwing,” Corbin growls. “If she doesn’t get first courses out faster, we’re all fucked.”
I slam my hands down on the countertop as frustration explodes out of me like hot lava.
“You think you can do better? Why don’t you come over here and do it yourself?”
A series of low “oohs” erupts through the team.
“Yes! There it is!” Mia crosses the room to give me a triumphant fist bump. “I knew you had it in you.”
Corbin barks out a humorless laugh.
