Page 83 of Capri

Hard to deter.

“Who? Noah?” I ask, wondering what he’s talking about.

“Fuck. Don’t say his name. Just tell me. Is he the reason we can only be friends? Is he yours, Capri?” His voice sounds strained—broken.

“No, Jones. Noah and I are just friends.”

“I saw him at the restaurant the first day I saw you. His arm was around you.” He looks hurt.

“My parents invited him. We’ve been friends since we were kids. I promise.”

I hear the relief leave him, but he doesn’t move away, and I’m not sure I want him to. This is the closest we’ve been since Italy, and I’ve missed him.

“I’m losing my mind here, sweetheart.”

“Jones…”

He stops me. “I know. I know. I just…fuck. Seeing his hand on you made me want to beat his face into the fucking gravel. I don’t like him touching you, especially when I can’t.”

This fiercely protective side of Jones makes me want to throw caution to the wind and let go of my self-preservation for the night. I did it in Italy. Why can’t I do it now?

I don’t think, just wrap my arms around him and pull his body closer. He catches on fast and holds me tight.

“Will you just hold me, please?”

His grip tightens, and he inhales deeply into my hair. We’re in sync, fueled by our chemistry and led by life’s plans for us—separately. It’s beautiful and tragic all in the same.

“I’m right here. However long you need me,” he whispers into my hair.

Jones peppers kisses along my neck, leading to my cheek, and I feel a rush of tears threaten to spill.

Why couldn’t I have met Jones Archer in a few months when I’m restored and stable again? Why does it have to be when I want him the most but know it’s not the right time?

He makes me feel deliriously happy.

“I wish I could give myself to you,” I whisper to him honestly.

“You focus on yourself, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

I know he means emotionally, but I can’t help but remind myself that physically, he’ll be gone again in almost two months.

“Okay,” I say. Because what else can I say when I know I’ll be hurt either way?

24

JONES

Holy shit.

I didn’t know she could sing like that. Add it to the list of all the things I still have to learn about Capri Meadows.

Fuck. What’s her middle name?

I’m standing off the edge of the stage, watching as Capri makes her way down the side steps. She jumps into my arms, and I twirl her in circles.

“It never gets old!” she shrieks, coming off a high from killing “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac.

“Holy hell, woman. Never knew you could sing like that. You were incredible,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her.

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