Page 97 of Until You Say Stay
He laughs. “Hidden talents.” He nods toward the windows. “Come check out the view. It’s even better now.”
We walk over together and I stop when I see it. The mountains are just dark shapes against the evening sky, stars scattered everywhere like someone spilled glitter across black velvet.
Jack wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close. The fire crackles behind us, and standing here with him, wine in my hand, mountains outside the window, I feel this overwhelming sense of rightness. Like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” I say, taking a sip of wine. It’s good, smooth and rich. “That we just said fuck it and flew to Canada on a whim.”
“Best spontaneous decision we’ve made since the supply closet in Miami,” Jack agrees, two fingers tracing an idle circle on my hip.
I flush, remembering that night, then say, “The tabloid thing already feels far away, which is probably bad. I should be worried about damage control or managing the narrative or whatever.”
“That’s the point of being here.” He sets his glass on the window ledge and turns me to face him. “Thomas is handling the statement. It’ll blow over eventually. And we get to just be here without anyone watching or analyzing every photo we post or deciding what’s real and what’s fake.”
“Just us,” I say quietly.
“Just us,” he confirms.
The silence stretches out, comfortable and easy, the kind you can only have with someone when you don’t need to fill every second with words. The mountains fade completely into darkness, more stars appearing, and I can’t believe how right this feels. How much I want days like this to stretch on forever. Adventures with him, quiet moments with him, all of it.
“You know,” Jack says eventually, and I turn to look at him. There’s this mischievous glint in his eyes that I’m starting to recognize as trouble. “I think you still owe me a game of pool.”
The memory hits me immediately—that first night at the Black Lantern, when he’d tried to get me to play and I’d turned him down to be responsible and work. When this whole crazy fake dating thing started because I was trying to one-up Brandon and Jack swooped in like some rom-com hero.
“Oh, do I now?” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face.
“You do.” He nods toward the game room. “I mean I’ve heard so much about your legendary pool skills, but I never actually got to see them in action.”
“I was working!” I protest. “Someone had to serve drinks to your victims after you destroyed them at pool.”
“Excuses, excuses.” He offers up that full, dimpled grin that does dangerous things to my pulse. “But now we’re here. No work, no responsibilities, no excuses. Just you, me, and a pool table.”
“You’re really going to regret this challenge,” I warn him, and I’m already setting down my wine glass. That competitive spark is fully ignited now.
“We’ll see about that,” he says.
I head over to the pool table and select a cue, testing the weight and balance in my hands. Jack racks the balls and steps back. “You want to break?”
“Absolutely.” I chalk my cue, line up my shot, and break with a crack that sends balls scattering across the table. The ten ball drops cleanly into a corner pocket. “Stripes it is,” I announce, maybe a little smugly.
“Show off,” Jack says.
I sink two more balls before finally missing, and then it’s his turn. He moves around the table, studying angles, lining up each shot carefully. Ball after ball drops into pockets with satisfying thuds, and I’m remembering why he was so good at beating Mike and his friends that first night.
“Still as good as ever, I see,” I say, watching him line up yet another shot.
“Can’t let you win too easily,” he says with zero shame.
“Please. You’re just stalling the inevitable,” I counter, laughing.
He finally misses and steps back. “Your turn.”
The game gets seriously competitive after that. Trading shots, trading trash talk, both of us completely focused on winning. The fire crackles and pops beside us, casting warm flickering light across the table, and every time we pass each other there’s this electricity in the air that has nothing to do with the game.
I’m down to my last two balls when I line up what should be a relatively easy shot. But before I can take it, Jack moves to stand directly in my line of sight. Arms crossed. Smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Excuse me,” I say sweetly, not moving from my position bent over the table. “You’re in my way.”
“Am I?” He doesn’t budge. “Didn’t notice.”
