Chapter 7 #2
“I know, I’m pathetic.” I hesitate. “It’s harder than I thought, being back here,” I say softly. He’s the only person I’d admit that to.
He squeezes my hand in response, sympathy softening his eyes. I don’t need to explain; he’s had a front row seat to the story of my life.
“You look as handsome as ever,” I say, holding him at arm’s length so I can take him in.
He’s dressed all in black, in slim-cut trousers and a lightweight sweater, the sleeves hitched up on his forearms just enough to make every woman within eyeshot sweat in unmentionable places.
Unlike the stolen glances I’m used to, women gape openly at Jase, drool on their lips and a feral gleam in their eyes, and I can hardly blame them.
He’s sex on a stick, and there’s a long line of women all too eager to take a big bite.
“I swear you’re aging in reverse,” I complain playfully. It’s so outrageous that men get better looking as they age. How is it fair? “I’m gonna need you to share the location of your fountain of youth.”
He grins, the flash of white teeth against dark clothing making his brilliant smile stand out all the more—and because I know Jase, I know this wardrobe choice is no coincidence.
The man knows how to work every asset to his advantage, from his thick, tousled hair to his smoldering blue eyes to his full, pouty lips.
There are entire fan clubs dedicated to the cleft in his chin.
I probably would’ve been a card-carrying member if I hadn’t fallen for… well, him.
“Don’t worry about me, though,” I joke, punching his arm. “You keep accepting your action-hero-slash-heartthrob roles, and I’ll just be over here playing your mom.”
He guffaws. “Oh please, nice try. I’m not the one about to headline the most buzzed-about film of the year.”
I wince and hold up a hand. “Please don’t freak me out about it any more than I already am.”
“Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?”
I wave away his praise, but I’m touched. It’s so lovely to be around someone who understands the complexities of my life, who knows the real me, who genuinely wants the best for me. Having Jase in my corner, rooting me on, is the confidence boost I didn’t know I needed.
My brief moment of serenity splinters, however, when I spot Ryder striding through the door, deep in conversation with Nate.
His eyes sweep the crowd until he spots us, breaking into a grin, and when he makes a beeline for us, my breath lodges in my chest. He’s wearing a pale blue blazer that hugs his body like a second skin, a crisp white button-down underneath, the collar unbuttoned just enough to reveal a triangle of golden skin at the base of his throat.
I can’t seem to tear my eyes from that patch of exposed skin as he approaches.
It’s a ridiculous thing to be mesmerized by (a glimpse of his collarbone, really Scarlett?), but something about the subtle allure of it makes my throat go dry, stealing my speech and my sanity.
I used to wonder if I’d built him up in my head all these years, that if and when our paths ever crossed again, I’d marvel at my adolescent adoration, my rose-colored glasses ripped off to reveal a mediocre man of average looks and modest talent.
I definitely believed his effect on me would have waned over time, the way once-sharp memories dull into a hazy blur.
Another dream dashed.
“Hey buddy,” Ryder greets Jase first, and they give each other aggressive bro-hugs, replete with hearty slaps on the back.
After the way we left things last night, I’m not sure how to greet him—a tense handshake, a dismissive head nod, just turning tail and walking away?
—but he takes the decision out of my hands and wraps me in a tight bear hug like a long-lost friend.
I catch a whiff of Irish Spring, and the familiar scent hits me like a sucker punch.
Breathing it in feels like releasing a pressure valve in my chest. I have to fight to keep my fingers from curling into his collar, twining in his hair, and I realize that it’s the first time I’ve touched him—really touched him—in ten years. It’s both too much and not enough.
When he pulls back, his expression is soft, smile lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. There’s no sign of the gauntlet he threw down last night. “Scarlett.” His hand lingers on the small of my back, his piercing gaze searing my skin. “Beautiful.”
“Well, would you look at this,” Jase says, beaming at us like a proud parent at a school talent show. “It only took an act of God to get you two in the same room.”
I roll my eyes at him, though I’m secretly grateful for the levity. Been here one minute and I’m already tumbling headlong down an emotional rabbit hole.
“We actually saw each other last night,” Ryder informs Jase, his tone faintly smug, and I’m rolling my eyes all over again at his insinuation. Took all of about two seconds for them to revert back to their infantile antics.
Seeing them side by side, the contrast between the two men is stark.
Where Jase is dark, Ryder is light, from his halo of blond hair to the tips of his fawn-colored dress shoes.
Ryder is stubbled and scruffy next to Jase’s smooth and fastidiously manscaped (the better to spotlight his chiseled cheekbones, I’m sure).
Jase is brash and extroverted to Ryder’s introspective and intense.
It’s the devil-may-care, rebellious cad versus the serious, dreamy boy next door.
He’s the perfect complement to my girl next door, naturally. I’ll never escape this man.
Jase’s eyebrows shoot up. “No kidding?” He slices me a look like, And you didn’t think to mention that? I shrug a little, avoiding his penetrating stare. “And you’re both still alive to tell the tale. Interesting.”
“Look at us. Who would’ve believed it? The Three Musketeers, back together again.” Ryder throws an arm around Jase’s neck not-so-gently, yanking him into a headlock.