Page 51 of Don't Remind Me
His smirk grew. “I like a challenge.”
A small thrill shot through me at the way he said it, all confidence and resolve, and we stayed like that, studying each other for a moment before he spoke.
“It seemed like you and Evan got along.” His voice stayed even, but the lightness in it had turned forced.
I shifted onto my side to face him. “We did. I’m going to talk to Talia about offering him some freelance work.”
His brows rose. “Wow. So you’re keeping him around, then.”
“Should I not?” A teensy part of me hoped he’d say no. The same part that hoped it had been regret in his gaze earlier. That he’d been jealous. Probably because that was how I felt whenever I imagined him dating another woman, caring for her, making her laugh. Cooking for her.
Something like liquid-hot metal scorched my chest and pooled in the pit of my stomach.
Jase stared at his hands in his lap, one thumb rubbing into the opposite palm. I fixated on the movement, mesmerized by each tiny flex of his fingers. “He’s a good guy,” he finally said, nodding. “A good friend to Aubrey.”
I swallowed a hint of disappointment. “I could use a good friend.”
His eyes shot up to mine. “You have one.”
“That’s true.” I tucked my hands between my face and where it lay against the armrest. “I’m lucky to have Robin.”
“I wasn’t talking about Robin.”
I knew. But to acknowledge what he did mean felt wrong somehow, like it was only half the truth, and I didn’t want to look at all of it only to have to turn away again.
My voice grew light. “I mean, I like Zach a lot, but I don’t think of us as being ‘good friends’ yet. We haven’t even had any sleepovers.”
Jase’s mouth twitched. “You’re missing out. He’s a hair-braiding pro.”
I smiled. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. Killer dancer, too. If the gala falls flat, we can send him out there to fire things up on the dance floor.”
“You mean that’s not your job?”
He made a face. “You wouldn’t want that. I’m a terrible dancer.”
I huffed out a breath. “I don’t believe that for a second.” I’d spent too many hours watching him move in the kitchen, flowing with a confident grace that was hypnotic to watch.
“Okay, then.” He got to his feet, shaking out his arms and rolling his neck. “I’ll prove it.” His eyes gleamed as he extended a hand. “Dance with me.”
“What?” I laughed.
He waved me up. “Come on. Give me your professional opinion.”
“I was never a professional,” I said, but I set my hand in his anyway.
He tugged me to my feet, catching my waist with his other hand. “Still better than me,” he murmured.
My response evaporated from my lips as he stepped closer, his hand on my waist wrapping around to rest on my lower back, pulling me into him so our chests brushed. I slid my free hand over his shoulder and let myself lean into his warmth.
The room fell away as our bodies rocked gently side to side, his nearness like a drug. One whose high I’d been chasing since the first time he’d wrapped his arms around me after the note on my car and made me feel safe.
I breathed in his scent, catching the slightest hints of garlic and rosemary over his usual spice, and felt high all over again. His cheek grazed mine, the scruff of his jaw lightly scraping my skin, and my nipples pulled tight.
“You’re such a liar,” I breathed as a shiver ran through me. He was a fantastic dancer.
He released my hand and trailed his fingers up my arm, raising goose bumps in their wake. His thumb stroked my jaw, and he tilted my head up, drawing my heavy-lidded gaze to his. I was putty in his hands, practically melting as his eyes dropped to my mouth.
