Chapter 19 #2
Mom smiles faintly. “She’s just protective, sweetheart. Maybe she’s seen too many people hurt you before.”
I stare at the glinting water, fingers tracing the edge of my coffee cup. “Maybe. I just don’t like that we’re at odds on this. I want her to be happy that I’m happy, not–”
“–not second-guessing every man you meet?” Mom finishes for me, eyes softening. “I get it. That’s her role in life as your friend and assistant.”
The lines in this life have a way of getting crossed. It’s important to surround yourself with people you trust, which means friends and family get on the payroll, but they aren’t just employees. They’re my people. My truth tellers.
I nod slowly, letting it settle. “Yeah. I know.” The look in her eyes tells me she understands without me finishing.
Mom pats my hand. “The fact that you’re smiling this morning–that’s enough for me.”
And for a moment, looking at her, listening to the faint hum of the pool and the birds in the yard, it really is.
Mom leans back in her chair, tilting her head as if weighing something carefully.
“The Spring Gala’s coming up in three weeks,” she says.
“Everything is running smoothly, and I think it may be our biggest year yet.”
“Thank you, Mom, you do a great job organizing it.”
The Flock Foundation isn’t just for one thing. It’s a way to help multiple charities as needs are presented. Some are for individuals having hardships or illness. Other times we donate large amounts of funds or items during natural disasters like tornadoes or floods.
“You know,” my mom continues, “it could be the perfect opportunity to bring a date.”
There’s no mistaking what she’s insinuating.
I blink, caught off guard. Stepping out like that is a big commitment.
Being seen together at an event like that–it’s practically a public announcement.
Bigger than going ChattySnap official. And three weeks isn’t far off, especially with Jefferson’s graduation just a week before.
I shift in my chair, fingers tightening around my mug. “I’ll think about it,” I say finally, soft but deliberate. “I’d like to, but you know it’s more than just showing up with a date. What it means and what people will think.”
“Since when did I raise you to care about what other people think?” Mom’s southern twang rises up, her eyes sharp but gentle. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You get to decide when, and if, that world gets to see the parts of you. If it makes you happy, I’ll be happy.”
I nod, staring out at the pool again, imagining the flash of cameras, the whispers in the room.
Showing up with Jefferson in person would squash every rumor about Jake or anyone else, once and for all.
But it would also mean it’s real. Official.
And the truth is, I’m not sure I’m ready to decide if it is–if we are.
Mom smirks, reaching for her coffee again. “I think he’d look good in a tux.”
“No doubt.” I laugh softly, the sound thinner than I intend. “I’ll consider it,” I say, and leave it at that.
She’s right, but also wrong. Jefferson Parks wouldn’t just look good in a tux, he’d look deadly.
“How was your exam?” I ask, tucking my knees up to my chest on the bed. He’s shirtless, hair damp from the shower, and leaning back against his headboard. That’s all I can see of him on the video. It’s enough. He should be asleep, but he waited up for me. That knowledge alone makes my chest ache.
“All done,” he says, flashing that boyish grin that slays me every damn time. “Just one paper left, and I’m officially out of here.”
“That sounds amazing.” My smile is instant, impossible to hold back. “I’m proud of you.”
He grins wider. I grin back. We’re two stupid grinning fools staring at each other through a screen, like neither of us has any idea how to play it cool.
His gaze dips, soft but knowing. “How are your blisters?”
“They’d be better if you were here to kiss them.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, flirty and dumb, but when his grin goes wolfish, my stomach curls.
“Flirty little thing,” he teases.
“It’s dumb,” I say quickly, laughing to cover the flush creeping up my neck.
“No,” he cuts me off, shaking his head. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
My throat tightens. It makes no sense that just a few words from him leave me drenched between my legs, but here I am, clutching my pillow like it’ll keep me from combusting.
“I miss you,” he says suddenly. His voice softens, but the weight of the words slams into me. “I miss your face and your mouth–and that pretty pussy that takes me so good.”
“Jefferson.” I laugh, scandalized. “You’re filthy.”
“I’m honest,” he corrects, his tone as unbothered as it is devastating.
And he is. That’s what’s so refreshing about him. Him and the guys he runs with. They’re solidly who they are–loud, brash, funny, horny–and there’s no pretending, no polished mask of celebrity. It makes it so easy for me to be my true self in return.
Still, Madison’s voice gnaws at the back of my mind. “Madison thinks we’re going too fast,” I confess, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “She says I don’t know you well enough.”
His brow furrows, but his voice stays steady. “Angel, that’s not even close to true. But what do you want to know? I’m an open book.”
I tilt my head at him. “An open book, huh? Tell me everything. Dazzle me.”
He shrugs one broad shoulder taking up half the screen.
“The first time I picked up a hockey stick? Six. The year I learned to ride a bike? Eight. I did better on skates than wheels. First kiss? Twelve. Carla Goodwin.” His lips twist. “First time I had sex–not with Carla Goodwin, by the way: I came in three minutes flat. To one of your songs.”
I groan, covering my face with both hands. “Don’t remind me. I’m still trying to figure out which one.”
He laughs, low and smug. “And I’m still not telling.”
“Was it Blue Skies, Full Hearts?” I peek at him through my fingers.
“Nope.” The smirk tugging at his mouth makes me want to both kiss and strangle him.
I drop my hands, squinting at him. “Hate to Love?”
His lips twitch. Nothing.
“Cupid’s Bow?”
Still nothing. The bastard just watches me, eyes glinting with amusement.
I huff, hugging the pillow to my chest. “This is actual torture. Why do I even care?”
He leans closer to the camera, voice soft but sure. “Because you want to know everything about me. And you should. I want to know everything about you too.”
The air between us shifts, heavier now, his grin fading into something deeper. I speak before thinking. “I want to see where you live.”
His lip quirks. “You want to come to The Manor?”
I nod. “I want to know that part of your life.”
His expression flickers between surprise and something darker–want, maybe. “Can you even fit me into your schedule?”
I think on it. “It’ll take a miracle, but if I rearrange a few things, I’ve got three days off before the final shows in New York. I can come then.” I pause. “If you want me to.”
“I want you to,” he says with zero hesitation.
Relief, and something headier, sweeps through me. “I’ll talk to my team and make it happen.”
“Good.”
We’re grinning at each other again like idiots, a thousand miles apart but tethered tight. His hand rests on his firm chest, fingers tapping a restless rhythm. “Now,” he says, his voice lowering, “let me see you.”
I blink. “See me?”
His smile sharpens, equal parts sweet and wicked. “Show me what you’re wearing.”
I glance down at the oversized hoodie I threw on after my shower. “This glamorous ensemble?” I deadpan, tugging at the fabric. “Very tour chic.”
“Take it off,” he says, quiet but firm.
Heat floods me. “Bossy.”
“I know what I want.”
I hesitate, glancing toward the locked door of my suite. My skin buzzes, my pulse quickening. Slowly, deliberately, I tug the hoodie over my head and drop it on the floor. My tank clings to the bare skin underneath.
Jefferson’s jaw flexes. “Fuck, Angel.” He drags a hand down his face, then back through his damp hair. “Do you know how much I think about you like this? Laid out in your hotel bed, soft and messy, just waiting for me to get my hands on you?”
My thighs press together instinctively. “Tell me,” I whisper. “What would you do if you were here?”
“I’d start slow,” he says, his voice a gravelly promise.
“Mouth on those bruises, your blisters, every sore spot from grinding it out on stage. And then I’d work my way up until you’re spread open under me, wet and desperate, begging for my cock.
And I wouldn’t stop until you’re screaming my name so loud they’d hear it down the fucking hallway. ”
A breath shudders out of me. “Jesus, Jefferson.”
He leans closer to the camera, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in his world. “Touch yourself for me, Angel. I need to see how bad you miss me.”
My hand trembles as it slips beneath the waistband of my shorts. The things this man can get me to do. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’m dying for you,” he counters, his hand fumbling just below the screen. His jaw tightens when he’s got a grip on his shaft. I know that clench. I love it, it means he’s desperately trying to stay in control. “Now let me watch.”
I bite my lip, the distance between us both unbearable and intoxicating. My fingers slide lower, circling my clit the way that feels so good, the way he taught me with his tongue. His groan rattles through the speaker, dark and hungry.
“Fuck…that’s it. Nice and slow. Let me see your pussy.”
My hips lift off the mattress as I rub tighter circles.
Heat sparks everywhere his words touch me.
He strokes himself in time with me, broad shoulders flexing, his lips parting on ragged breaths.
I want his weight, his sweat, his mouth–but right now I’ll take this, the raw need on his face, the way he looks like he’ll crawl through the screen just to get to me.
“More,” he urges, his voice low, rough. “Push those shorts down. Let me see what’s mine.”
I shove the fabric out of the way, baring myself to the phone, heart racing. His eyes darken, pupils swallowing color.
“Lick your fingers, taste yourself.” I do as he says, sliding my fingers between my lips. “Beautiful,” he growls. “Fucking perfect. I swear to God, Ingrid, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I doubt that,” I whisper back, slipping two fingers inside, the wet sound filling the silence between our gasps.
He shifts his own camera, giving me a view of his cock as he fists it harder, his shoulders hunching forward like he’s chasing me, chasing the sound of my moans.
The words stop, both of us too deep to communicate.
My body arches, shuddering as I cry out his name, the climax tearing through me, leaving me breathless.
Through the screen, Jefferson curses, his body tightening, his head falling back as he spills over his hand, thick spurts of cum pooling onto his abdomen. His groans tangle with mine until it feels like we’re in the same room, the same bed, the same skin.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I reply, unable to speak any further.
I’m nothing short of undone. Ruined. Flushed and panting, the sheets damp beneath me.
But I don’t feel lonely. For the first time in forever, I feel truly satiated.
And I don’t just mean from the orgasm, but from all of it–his voice, his hunger, the way he sees me like no one else ever has.