I perk up at that. “You’ll invite her?”
“I will.”
“Do I still get an answer to the other things I asked? Or is that it?”
“Do you want that to be it?”
“I want pool noodles.”
Jake tries so hard to avoid laughing—to avoid encouraging my nonsense—but he can’t help it, and I switch back from water to wine now that I feel better about everything. After we’ve taken a few more bites of dinner, the server clears our plates and sells us on a dessert we’ll share. Between quick hits of chocolate, caramel, and ice cream, we play around with menu ideas for the pool party, and I remind him he doesn’t have to make a bunch ofstuff from scratch.
And that if he really wants to, I’m happy to help.
He’s been resistant to that so far, and my offer is careful because I assured him months ago that I wouldn’t step into spaces he needed to keep full of untouched memories.
“So, what exactly do you think you need pool noodles for?” he asks before pressing his tongue to his spoon long enough to make my dick jealous.
“So I can fight with Beau,” I reply easily, something else occurring to me a second later. “And maybe you should fight with Adrian. Nobody can hold a grudge after a pool noodle fight. Or—”
“Yes?”
“We could chicken fight.”
“Chicken fight?”
“Yeah, so two people are in the pool and then—”
“I know what chicken fighting is,” Jake interrupts, a perfect little grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Are you planning to chicken fightwithpool noodles, or did your brain go sideways again?”
I shrug. “Sideways, I think.”
Our server brings our check then—I notice our dessert has been comped on top of the wine he’d already gifted us—and once I’ve paid, we stop to thank Steven again on our way out the door. Jake’s hand rests on my lower back when we step back onto the street, and I’m not sure how much of it’s for show, but I let myself enjoy it while I can.
All friends. No benefits.
We have a ferry to catch, but we’ve got some time to walk off dinner first. We end up on the back side of several shops because the wind is better blocked that way, and body heat only gets us so far when I hadn’t thought to bring something warm.
“Hey, come here,” Jake murmurs, backing into a nondescript stucco wall.
He’s got my wrist in his hand already, but as soft as his command was, his hold on me is gentler than that. Jake pulls me toward him, then lets go to reach for my sleeve, unrolling it slowly and smoothing it over my forearm. It conceals my goosebumps, but I shiver when he does the same thing with my other sleeve, and I can’t remember the last time a man touched me like this. Covered me up. Put a layer between his fingers and my bare skin.
And the way he’s looking at me. I think I could cry or come, and I really don’t know which should embarrass me more.
I don’t have time to worry about it when he wraps his arms around me and holds me against his chest, his mouth pressed close to my head as he starts to talk.
“I don’t know whether she’ll be able to make it to the party, but Lucy wouldn’t be uncomfortable at all. She’s heard about all of you for years, and I know she’d love to meet you guys.”
“But you,” I mumble into him. “You’re uncomfortable letting her see you with us?”
“Not uncomfortable. Overwhelmed.” Jake sighs, and while I feel the obvious hesitation, I don’t get in the way of anything else he has to say. We stay there, silent, until he takes another deepbreath and goes on. “I got my goodbye with Michelle. I’ve grieved and I’ve celebrated and I’ve made friends and I’ve—I found you. I’ve had this time with you. But we’ll all be there, in my backyard, and it’s been so long. It’s my fault, but it’s been so long, so if Lucy is there, too—it’s everything, all at once. That grief and celebration and her and you and—I don’t know. I’m just not sure what to do with all of that.”
“Do you have to do anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a pool party, not a wedding reception,” I say softly. “The sun will be out, and some idiots you know will whack each other with pool noodles, and I’ll be co-hosting simply because I’m the asshole who pressured you to do any of this in the first place. That’s it. If there’s something you still need to celebrate or grieve, do it. But don’t make it about Lucy. And definitely don’t make it about me. Just enjoy the fucking party.”
He nuzzles me for a moment so brief that I might have imagined his beard against my hair. I only know it’s real when I feel him kiss me a second later, his mouth warm at my temple. Without thinking, I turn toward more of it—toward more ofhim—and whimper when his lips part so easily for me, my tongue sweeping past them for a taste. Jake makes a sound too, and I want to hear another and another, already desperate for the intimacy I’ve missed for weeks. We’re moving slowly enough that everything in me aches, but our kiss is the kind that matters more than the way my cock is straining against my zipper. Jake’s arms are fully around me now, and I hold his face between my hands like theprecious thing it is, only backing away to whisper two words.