Chapter 17
She’s loading down my arms with supplies. “What do you mean by ‘practice Girls’ Day’?”
There’s barely enough room in this bathroom for the two of us, so I’m hovering half-in and half-out of the door. Evie keeps rummaging through disorganized drawers and pulling out little bags of stuff. She dumps one on the pile she’s already made in my arms, unzips it, confirms it’s full of nail polish, and zips it back up. “You know, Girls’ Day. Where you get fun drinks and do your nails and hair and go shopping and pretend the worries of the world don’t exist. It’s a whole thing, and you need to be ready for it.”
I’m Evie’s pack mule, strapped down with cosmetic bags. She squeezes past me in the doorway, her body skimming over mine before she wraps her hand around my biceps and pulls me toward her tiny kitchen island.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m still a little lost.”
“I told you. You’re going to practice on me so you can feel confident when you do it with Sam.”
She’s on the opposite side of the island and leans across it to unzip the bag and dump out at least fifteen nail polishes. They clank together as she wildly rummages through them. She’s a beautiful agent of chaos.
“You’re going to let me paint your nails?” I line up her polishes side by side. It’s a neat row of beauty soldiers.
Her hand brushes mine as she takes a pink from my grasp before I can line it up. “First, you’re going to paint your own because I think it helps you understand the flow of polish better and what you don’t want to happen when painting someone else’s nails. You can graduate to me once you’ve learned the basics.”
I give a cocky smirk. “You don’t have to worry, Evie. I’m a master at the basics. Been practicing those on myself since I was a teenager.”
She presses her lips together against a laugh—it grumbles behind her closed mouth anyway. “Interesting. I thought you would have had plenty of volunteers to help you practice,” she says with a taunting smile of her own. “Since you have four sisters and . . . oh wow . . . no, wait. That inappropriate joke really fell apart at the end.”
My face is a look of horror as I laugh. “I have found your only flaw. Evie Jones is not good at innuendo.”
“Oh, I have plenty more flaws where that one came from. Just call my mom and ask—she’ll list them off one by one for you.”
“I remember you saying you’re not close with your parents. What happened there?”
She stares at the line of nail polishes. “They’re . . . we’re just different people.” Her eyes snap back up to me and she smiles. “That’s enough about the Joneses. You can sit there.”
I pull out the small barstool and take a seat. Evie rips off a square of paper towel and sets it in front of me. A makeshift drop cloth. She selects a blue polish, shakes it, and hands it to me.
“Who’s this for?” I frown at the color.
“You. I thought you’d want it.”
I grimace. “I prefer yellow, with a glitter layer please.”
Her eyebrows raise in a look of happy approval. “Glitter is intermediate. Let’s focus on the base layer for now and see how you do.”
It takes all of ten minutes for me to screw up my fingernails. I look like an actual toddler. No—I’m sure toddlers paint nails better than I have. It’s all over my cuticles and clumped up into sticky patches that will never dry in certain places. Evie has lost it laughing at me more than once, and I blame my terrible painting skills on her distracting smile. On the fact that I can’t look away from her for more than thirty seconds before my eyes trail back in her direction.
I’m eating up every second I get alone with Evie. I never want it to end.
“Here,” she says on a laugh, making me extend my hand across the island in her direction. And then she takes my hand in hers, dips a cotton ball in some polish remover solution, and starts brushing it over my nails. “This is embarrassing. I can’t let you leave here like this. I thought architects are supposed to be good with details.”
She leans over my hand, and her messy bun of blond hair wobbles a bit to the right. Pieces are falling all around her face and down the curve of her neck. I want to trace them with my fingertips.
“I’m better with a pencil.” I’m trying to focus on my hand and not the place where her oversized shirt has fallen off her bare shoulder. Her skin looks as soft as velvet, with a light golden-brown tint that makes my mouth water. I want to kiss that patch of skin. I want to taste it.
“Let’s hope you’re better at using your basic skills on other people than you are using them on yourself.” Evie’s voice pulls my gaze from her shoulder to her laughing eyes. She’s finished removing my polish and is now holding out her fingers for me to paint.
I force myself to breathe and pick up the polish she’s chosen for herself. Hot pink. “Look at you, already improving on your dirty jokes.”
“Let’s hope you’re as quick of a learner as I am,” she says while wiggling her fingers in front of me.
Focus, Jake.
I do a pretty decent job of it this time, managing to keep most of the polish on her nail rather than her skin. And when I’m done, there’s only a few smudges. She assesses them with a smile that I want to drink up. “Much better. I think you’re ready to move on to hair.”
I frown. “I’m not even going to pretend to not be terrified of that. Last time I tried to brush Sam’s hair it ended in literal crying. Like tears pouring down her cheeks. I don’t want to put you through that—because you seem to have twice the amount of hair as Sam.” My eyes instinctively creep up to the blond bun on top of her head.
She waves me off, though. “I have a hard head. You can’t hurt me. I’m the best test subject.” Careful not to smudge her wet nails, she plucks the hairbrush from the counter. “Let’s go to the couch.”
I sit down first and then freeze as Evie steps right in front of me between my legs. For one glorious second my brain imagines all sorts of things. Placing my hands on her hips and spinning her to face me. I’d lift her shirt and kiss her stomach. I’d—
She sits on the floor, and I quickly blink the desire out of my eyes. Because I’m sure my pupils are so blown out right now I’d look like one of those vampires I’ve been reading about.
“You’ll have to take my hair tie out for me.” She holds up her nails to remind me that they’re wet.
I fill my lungs before carefully taking the scrunchie between my fingers and unraveling it from her knot of hair. It tugs once and I hiss, afraid I’ve hurt her. She just laughs. “I told you; I have a hard head. You can’t have hair as long as mine and be sensitive.”
Of course I immediately imagine dipping my lips to her neck and seeing if she’s sensitive there or not.
I swallow my attraction and get back to work. Finally, her hair loosens and falls down over her shoulders and back. It’s long and beautiful—even in this wavy, tangly state, I’m gripped by it. But to be fair, it could be any length or color and I’d still think the same thing because it’s a part of her.
A hairbrush enters my line of sight. “Here. Use this.”
I take it from her and my nerves twist. “You really want me to brush your hair? I’m telling you—”
“Stop being so timid and brush my hair, Broaden.”
I chuckle and take her challenge. Starting with the brush at the top of her head, I sink it into her hair and start pulling it down. It’s ripping through so many tangles, it sounds like Pop Rocks. I stop midway down. “I’m really so—”
“I thought so. You’re doing it wrong.”
She reaches behind her, gathers all of her hair into a ponytail, then raises it to me. “Hold this,” she says, and I just stare at it. This feels . . . intimate. Should holding all of her hair in my hand feel seductive? Has it just been that long since I’ve had sex that I’m overthinking the most basic of touches?
Trying to act as natural and unaffected as possible, I take her hair in my left hand. She then covers my right hand, holding the brush with hers, and moves it to the end of her ponytail. “If Sam has a sensitive scalp, you’re going to want to keep her hair gathered up like this in one hand while you work the tangles out from bottom to top like this.” She guides my hand through the movement as she talks—and damn this is hot when it absolutely shouldn’t be. It’s not sexual in the least, but it feels like the most sensual thing that’s ever happened to me.
“Okay, I got it,” I tell her after a minute, gaining confidence and guiding her hand away so I can do it myself. And now that I’m getting the hang of it, working in small sections up her hair like she suggested, I’m able to just enjoy the experience. I soak in the sweet scent of her shampoo. I’ll be smelling it all night in my dreams.
“Jake,” Evie says, when her hair is nearly free of tangles. “You may feel like you’re in over your head with Sam, but you’re not. You’re a fantastic dad to her. I hope you know that.”
I pause, feeling her words like an arrow to the heart. “I’m trying.”
“And that’s what sets you apart from the rest.” Her voice sounds sad. I wish I could see her face. “My dad would never have cared enough about me to learn to brush my hair the right way. I’m not even sure he knows what color my eyes are. But he definitely knows when I’m going to say something to anger my mom, and he leaves the room before that happens.”
I set the brush aside and run my fingers through her hair—feeling the silken locks slide through like water. The backs of my knuckles brush her warm neck, and I notice she tilts her head a little, arching against my touch.
“I pity him. He’s a fool to have missed out on getting to know you.”
She turns her face to me over her shoulder and our eyes connect. I smile warmly and she returns it. I’m still playing with a lock of her hair, running it back and forth between my thumb and index finger. But something about her look is undoing me slowly. Effortlessly drawing me in.
Before I can stop myself, I push all of her soft hair over her shoulder, exposing the side of her face that’s turned to me. I’m not totally sure what I’m intending here—my body seems to be on autopilot.
I touch the bottom of her chin, tilting her face up.
“Evie.” I whisper her name like a question. Silently begging her to stop this if it’s a bad idea. I’m hoping she’s thinking rationally, because I’m not. I’m drunk on her attention.
But she doesn’t stop me; she twists her body a little more in my direction. My hand slides from her chin, down her jaw, to cup behind her neck. I brush my thumb over her pulse and feel it hammering under her skin. She doesn’t know it, but the rhythm of my heart matches hers. It’s frantic.
I dip a little closer, giving her all the time in the world to pull away, but she doesn’t. Her lips part as her gaze drops to my mouth. There’s fire in her eyes that ignites my skin.
“I owe you a compliment,” I say quietly. Almost afraid if I speak too loudly it’ll burst this moment.
“A compliment?” she asks, her voice little more than a breath too.
“The other night. You said you wanted to know what it was like to get one from me. And I changed the subject because I was too scared to tell you what I was really thinking.” She waits, her chest rising and falling faster as I run my thumb up and down the side of her neck. “You are so beautiful, Evie. Gorgeous, actually. But more than that—I can’t . . . I’ve never met anyone like you.”
I lean in even closer, hesitating just before my lips touch her cheek. She can ask me to stop and I will. Instead, she leans into me.
“I can’t get you out of my head.” Her skin is so warm and soft against my lips as I kiss a little closer to her mouth. “I like the way you laugh. It’s . . . mischievous almost. Like you’re always planning something.” She chuckles and I kiss the corner of her mouth—not wanting to cut off the sound of her laughter but needing to feel it against my lips.
“And your eyes. Damn, Evie, your eyes are so pretty I can’t handle it. Deep emerald green—I’ve never seen a color so vibrant before.”
“Jake . . .” she whispers, closing her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“And your mouth.” I inch my hand up so I can touch my thumb against her bottom lip—tracing it oh so lightly. I can barely contain my heartbeat now, it’s kicking against my chest so hard. “Does it freak you out to know I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since I met you?” I shouldn’t be saying any of this. But I can’t stop myself either.
“That depends.” She rises up to her knees, fully facing me, bracketed by my legs and sending a bite of need down my spine. “Does it freak you out to know I’ve been thinking of kissing you since I met you?”
“Liar.” I grin. “You hated me when you first met me.”
“You don’t have to like a person to want to kiss them. And I have dreamed of it every single time I’ve been with you. And even when I’m not with you.”
Any hesitation I have is gone. I don’t know if this is a good idea, and I don’t care anymore. All that exists is Evie. I’m not Sam’s dad right now or Natalie’s ex-husband. I’m simply Jake, the man about to kiss Evie Jones.
“Then maybe we should kiss?” I say, tilting my head. “Just once to get it out of our systems?”
Something flashes in Evie’s eyes. A small frown tugs between her brows, and before I have time to consider it she presses forward, taking the kiss I’ve been dangling in front of her for minutes. I suck in a sharp breath as her lips crush against mine. And just as quickly, she pulls back. The separation is so abrupt our lips make a popping sound, and I’m momentarily stunned.
“There,” she says, slightly breathless. “Is it out of your system now?”
Ah—I see.She called my bluff. “Point taken.”
“You’ve been holding back since you met me. Why? And why now when I know you don’t want only one kiss?”
I hold her gaze and debate just how honest to be with her. “I . . . haven’t dated anyone since Natalie. I haven’t even been with anyone else since her.” All the way honest, Jake. “It’s more than that, actually. I haven’t been with anyone at all besides her. She was my first and my last.” I push Evie’s hair behind her ear. “Those are my deep, dark secrets. And I want to kiss the hell out of you, Evie, but I don’t know if I’m ready for anything more physical than that tonight.”
Part of me expects Evie to be repulsed by that truth. To look awkward and start scooting away because that was quite the honesty bomb I just dropped on her.
Instead, she smiles one of her trademark soft smiles, puts her palms on my knees, and leans in to kiss my cheek. Just as gently as I kissed her the first time. “Thank you for telling me. We’ll go slow. Do you want to kiss a little?” she asks, and the sweetness of what she just said, how kindly she treats me, it tears me into a million pieces.
I cradle her face in my hands and kiss her. Firmly and fully. No holding back and no buildup this time. Just my mouth slanting over hers and taking the kiss I’ve wanted since I saw her walk into the coffee shop. She wraps her arms around my neck, settling in closer. My nerves rise to the surface of my skin to accept every small touch she gives me. Maybe I’m rusty—maybe my kissing is outdated. But Evie kisses well enough for the both of us. Her mouth moves against mine in seductive caresses that have me gripped with need.
I drop my hands from her face to wrap around her lower back, tugging her in close to me. Her mouth opens and I take the invitation, sliding my tongue between her lips as she sinks her hands into the back of my hair. I groan from her silkiness and how sweet she tastes. Dammit, I need more.
The tension between our bodies smolders. If our clothes don’t come off soon, they’ll set fire and burn us both to ash. Her teeth bite my lip into her mouth, and I can’t get enough of her. Her hands are on my shoulders, my neck, the back of my hair. They roam up under the back of my shirt, hot against my skin as my tongue sweeps over hers. With my hands around her back, I tug her to my chest and lift her off the ground, sweeping us both onto the couch.
She squeaks and breaks the kiss, jumping off me and pacing three steps away while pointing an accusing finger in my direction. “You said you only wanted to kiss!” Her eyes are bright with desire. I’m hypnotized.
“I changed my mind.” I stand up from the couch, and she steps backward, her back hitting the wall beside the TV. “I want more if you do.”
“Yes, I want more. I mean, no! You can’t.” She shakes her head. “I won’t let you. You’re in a sexy haze and not thinking straight.”
“I love a sexy haze.” I press her hips to the wall with my hands and drop my mouth to her neck. “I need to hear a consensual yes before I continue.”
She whimpers. “Jaaake. I’m trying to be strong for you.”
“I don’t need you to be. Yes or no, Evie?” Sure, maybe all my fears have magically disappeared now that sexual desire has taken over, but either way, I’m not worried about being with someone new anymore. The jitters are gone. The wanting is unbearable, however.
“It’s a yes from me, but . . . but I won’t be able to keep talking you out of . . . oh gosh—” Her head lulls back against the wall. “I can’t process good decisions when you are sucking my neck like that.”
I trail a line up her throat with my mouth until I make it to her lips. This kiss is hungry and frantic. Searching quickly for new angles and new parts of our bodies to touch and press together, and just as I find her hands and push them against the wall above her head, she slips out of my loose grip and out of my arms altogether.
She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet like a fighter in a ring. “A few minutes ago you sat there and told me you weren’t ready for anything more physical.” I look to the ghost of the man in question and mentally flip him the bird. “We’re not doing anything but kissing tonight, Jake. I care about you too much to wake up tomorrow and see regret in your eyes.”
I puff out a heavy breath and run my hand through my hair.
“Thank you for caring about me,” I say reluctantly, even if I’m annoyed at myself for suggesting it in the first place.
She opens her mouth to say something else when we’re interrupted by a knock at the door.
Evie frowns.