20. Jayce
TWENTY
Jayce
L iora might be many things, but clueless isn’t one of them. She’s way too smart to not know what’s going on.
My fingers jerk back like Rosie’s skin just burned me. Rosie flinches in return, eyes flashing with something sharp before she spins around, slipping into acting mode so fast it leaves me in awe. Her smile is so effortless as she pulls Priya into a hug, but Liora doesn’t move. Just stands there. Watching me. It’s like she’s silently asking me if I’m lying to her soon-to-be fiancé. And the way I hold her gaze—steady, unflinching, maybe even a little defiant—pretty much screams, Yep. Sure am .
Riley’s already closing in, wrapping her up in a hug before she can do or say anything to me, and she has no choice but to smile, to play along. The thing about Liora is, she’s loyal—to a fault. But not just to Riley. To her friends too. And thank God, I count as one of them. So, no, she won’t run straight to him and spill everything. But she will make damn sure I do it myself.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to look normal. Act normal. Be normal. But I suck at it. Because I’m not normal when it comes to Rosie. Never have been.
“Hey, Jay, how are you?” Priya’s voice suddenly drags me back to reality.
Liora is all fair skin, blonde hair, and golden light, and Priya is her opposite—dark-haired, sun-kissed, sharp and bright in a way that makes her stand out in every room. They’ve been best friends since their reality skating show last year.
“I’m better, thanks,” I say, shifting my weight to my good leg. I need to sit down soon or my stupid knee will give in.
Priya squeezes my arm, flashing a grin. “Good to hear, big boy.”
The team crowds around us, everyone greeting each other, laughter breaking near the dessert cart where Priya’s swatting away our goalie’s wandering hands. Derek Devereaux. His dark brown hair is a permanent mess, the kind that looks effortlessly good without him even trying—annoyingly so. Paired with a chiseled jawline, blue eyes, broad shoulders, and that cocky little smirk, he’s the walking definition of an all-American heartthrob. And I think he’s had a crush on Priya since he met her at a party. But she’s giving him the cold shoulder. Thank God. Derek’s a little bitch and she seems to know it.
The noise is good. A distraction.
And then Liora starts walking toward me.
I go still.
“Hey, you.” Her voice is light, but her eyes are anything but. She’s tiny—barely five feet something—but somehow, she always makes me feel smaller when I’ve done something shitty. “How are you?”
I know she wants to ask something else. She wants to ask what the fuck I’m doing with Rosalie. But she can’t, because Riley’s right there behind her, his fingers still laced with hers like he physically can’t let go even an inch.
“Okay-ish,” I say, clearing my throat.
She tilts her head, studying me. She looks like an angel, but I know she’s got so much fire in her. She’s perfect for Riley. “Funny, you’re suddenly back in New York.” A beat. “Who managed to pull you out of your cave?” Another beat.
She looks at Rosie.
I swallow my lip.
She’s studying to become a lawyer, and damn she’ll be a good one. “I almost came to check on you, you know.”
“I know.” I exhale sharply. “I just…thought it was about time to stop whining on my own.”
Liora’s eyes flick to Rosie again. And in that moment, Rosie looks at me and smiles, but it dies when she notices Liora. It’s quick—half a second, maybe less—but Liora catches it. And she nods.
Fuck. We just confirmed her theory.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think we should talk soon.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
It feels like I’m being scolded by my mother.
And then Riley’s whisper-shouting at the DJ, and the air shifts. Thank you.
People start moving. Laughter quiets. The team parts, peeling off to opposite sides of the room, even me, just like Riley told us to.
Liora freezes mid-step, green sequins catching every bit of overhead light. “What’s all…” Her voice trails off as Priya and Aiden move, too, slipping away with secret smiles.
And then she realizes the other conspiracy.
Confusion stiffens Liora’s shoulders as Riley steps into the center of the room. The crowd instinctively forms a circle around them. She scans the sea of faces, her breath catching when she spots her boyfriend—standing there, waiting. And then her gaze shifts.
To Rosie’s father standing next to her mother and her son, Rory.
And I think Liora’s entire body stills.
Her head flicks back to Riley moving toward her.
Three strides. That’s all it takes for her hands to fly to her mouth.
A small hand wriggles into mine. I glance down and find Rosie standing beside me, her fingers curling around mine like she knows I need something to hold on to. Everyone is pressed in so close, lost in the moment, that no one notices. No one but the two of us, and that’s why I squeeze back, swallowing against the sharp sting in my throat as I watch my best friend—my brother in everything but blood—pour his heart out.
He smiles at Liora, a boyish, reckless kind of grin that belongs to her alone. Gently, he takes her trembling hand away from her mouth.
“Love of my life,” he begins, and Rosie squeezes my hand tighter.
“I know we’ve had difficult times. We’ve had to go through so much together, and you are the strongest soul I have ever met. I can’t imagine a life without you, and you know what they say—souls don’t meet by accident.” His voice wavers, thick with emotion. “You will always be my forever. So please…”
He drops to one knee and you can hear the audience gasp.
A single tear slips down Liora’s cheek, and I hear Rosie whisper, “Shit. He can be romantic, can’t he?”
I almost laugh, but I don’t—because that’s when I see him.
Rory.
He’s six years old and all blonde curls and wide, innocent eyes. Their little boy steps forward from where Liora’s mother is standing, carrying the velvety box in his hands as he takes his little steps toward Riley, like he understands exactly how big this moment is.
And then, as Riley kneels before Liora, Rory stops beside him, lifting the box up to his mother with both hands.
Liora breaks.
A sob punches out of her, raw and unguarded, and a hot tear leaves my own eyes.
They deserve this. They deserve happiness.
As if this moment wasn’t already sacred enough, the DJ—God bless Riley’s sentimental heart—starts playing “You Raise Me Up.”
A choked laugh spills from Rosie. “Oh, he really went all in.”
But I can’t laugh. Because then Rory speaks.
“Mom,” he says, small but sure. “Please marry us.”
Liora swallows, her underlip trembling slightly. “Oh God.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out broken, tangled with tears. She presses a hand to her lips, shaking, overwhelmed, and then—then she nods while tears stream down her face.
She falls into Riley’s arms, pulling Rory in with them, holding them like she’ll never let go. And it means so much more when you know what they went through. When you know how fucking much they deserve each other.
“Yes,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “Yes. Yes. God, yes. ”
And Riley doesn’t even wait. He pulls her onto his knee, cradles her face, and kisses her like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it, and I think that fool has.
The room erupts in applause and Rosie and I let go to clap too.
“I love you so much,” I hear Liora say. “I love you so, so much.”
Silver confetti cannons detonate on delay, dousing Derek’s hair in glitter as he tries to steal the orange slice from Priya’s cocktail. She slaps his hand, hard.
“You did way too much,” Liora says and tries to dry her tears as everyone swarms them to congratulate them.
Rosie and I make our way to them, too, touching each other while we are in the middle of the crowd and no one is watching us.
“I just love that Riley found her.”
“Me too,” I whisper in her ear and quickly place a kiss there. Reckless. I know. But I just had to. I just couldn’t not do it. I think I’m a romantic fool after all.
When we come to Riley and Liora, I watch her smile faltering when Henry Huntington approaches them. He’s holding a white orchid, hands trembling like he’s carrying a live grenade.
“Henry,” Liora says, looking at him with full surprise. “Thank you for coming.”
Riley goes rigid beside her. Liora’s knuckles whiten around her new diamond.
Henry stares at his son for three excruciating heartbeats before thrusting the plant at Liora. “It blooms twice a year.” His accent roughens the edges. “You did a great job with the venue, it looks beautiful. I wish you the best and look forward to your wedding. My congratulations.”
He clears his throat and then I see Liora stabbing Riley’s ribs with her elbow. I know him so well that I can tell he suppresses an eye roll right before he hugs his father, and I think everyone in the room stops breathing. This wouldn’t have been possible a year ago.
“Thank you, old man.”
When his father claps him on the back, the sound echoes like a slap. “I’ll be…I have to go.”
“You can stay and eat with us?” Riley says, and I think Henry actually debates it, but then he shakes his head.
“I have a meeting.”
Riley nods and Liora takes his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“I hope you come to dinner soon?”
Riley nods, and that’s when Henry turns around to kiss Rosie goodbye, but he doesn’t before he shoots me a cold stare, of course.
“Sir,” I say. He just grunts at me. That’s all I get.
Rosie hugs her dad. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he says.
“Not being your usual grump.” She kisses his clean-shaven cheek.
He smiles then leaves, and we all take our seats.
I sit next to Riley and Colton, opposite from Rosie.
“That kiss was real subtle, Thorne,” she whispers at me. She takes her seat, crossing legs that could end wars.
“Subtlety is for people who aren’t balls deep in denial.”
That’s when Riley clinks his champagne flute and holds another speech, thanking everyone for being part of the big surprise.
The straw finds her damned mouth again. Hollowed cheeks making filth look like fine art. I kick her ankle under the table.
She looks at me, grinning. “What?”
Oh, she knows damn well. “What,” I snap back and look at the straw as if it’s my enemy.
She sucks again.
I grab my phone and text her.
Jay: Keep that up, and I’ll bend you over the Zamboni.
Her phone buzzes in her lap, and when she reads it, I swear her pupils dilate. A slow smirk unfurls across her lips as she types back.
Rosie: Promises, promises.
Then, deliberately, she swipes her tongue over the rim of her glass, catching a stray drop of pineapple juice. Her gaze flicks to mine, all sweet and innocent, but I know better. She’s staying sober for me tonight, sipping on virgin cocktails like the perfect little angel. Except she’s making it look so fucking dirty for me.
Stop it , I mouth at her, checking on everyone, but they are knee deep in conversations.
She tilts her head, all mock confusion, before her foot slides up my leg under the table. Slow. Teasing. Toes grazing the inside of my thigh, and fucking fuck. My stomach drops, and I have to choke down the groan that threatens to slip out. What is this woman doing to me? I shift, adjusting myself as subtly as possible, but she knows. The way she licks her lips tells me she fucking knows I’m horny for her. Only her.
“Hey, everything okay?” Colton asks, raising a brow.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.” Barely.
Rosie takes another sip of her drink, eyes locked on mine, her foot still pressing dangerously high. My self-control is hanging by a thread, and she’s sawing through it with every calculated move.
I grab my phone again and text her.
Jay: Take your fucking foot away. I’m seconds from dragging you out of here.
“What’s wrong, Jay?” she fucking dares to say out loud.
I check if anyone heard her, but no. Everyone is still talking about their dogs and cats or whatever, I have no idea and do not care a bit.
So I take her damn foot and press it against my boner under the table and type.
Jay: That’s what’s wrong. Stop it.
She reads it. Doesn’t move an inch. Just smiles.
The music changes and the room gets darker.
People are moving around us, but I just watch her.
Instead of stopping, she leans in, her breath just above a whisper, “Make me.”
I push back my chair.
She chuckles and basically runs.
And fuck me, I chase.