52. Chapter 52
He’d kissed her. Today. Sober.
It didn’t matter. Jase said it himself. What happened last night was no big deal.
Or, it wouldn’t have been if Lindsey got on the bus, not into the back seat with Jase, who was already asleep against his door.
The kiss, however small and unimportant, was easier to dwell on than the lovers holding hands in the front seat.
I got your back, babe, Jase said, and she believed him, but he couldn’t protect her from all the moments passing between Graham and Helen when they thought no one was watching.
The stolen glances across the front seat as if they were amazed to see each other there, the irritated flick of Helen’s eyes over her shoulder at Lindsey, the kiss Graham pressed to Helen’s knuckles before he put both hands on the wheel.
She turned to Jase, her only ally. He looked sweet and unassuming asleep with his mouth slightly open. Lindsey knew better. His entire body was ribbed for her pleasure. He’d probably think it was funny if she told him.
And an invitation.
She’d meant what she said. They couldn’t sleep together again if she hoped to finish the trip for Jason’s sake. That didn’t mean today’s kiss or last night’s adventures weren’t living rent-free inside her head, scrolling in an endless highlight reel.
His long legs stretched into her side of the car. If she ran a hand up his thigh, she’d feel the muscles tighten beneath his jeans.
What would Graham think if he looked in the rearview mirror and found her on top of his brother?
What would Jase think if he woke up to Lindsey in his lap?
She dug in her shoulder bag for the red leather journal she hadn’t opened in days, turned to a fresh page, and wrote at the top: Austin.
The pages she filled didn’t mention Graham.
After she finished recapping reality, from the tug beneath her zipper from the finger through her belt loop at the bar, to collapsing in a heap of Jase’s lean muscles and twisted sheets, Lindsey imagined crossing the back seat.
His sleepy eyes opening, his tongue wetting his lips, preparing for her kiss.
Jase’s hands, crossed harmlessly across his chest now, skimming up her legs, underneath her dress.
His firm grip would guide her onto his perpetual erection (he’d been hard for hours last night) and he’d look at her through those dark lashes, eyes sleepy and heavy with want while she slowly rode him.
Slowly rode him? She actually wrote those words.
Far from literary gold, the line could’ve been plucked from Lovers Who Wander, the spicy relic now safely back in her shoulder bag.
Lindsey laughed to herself—what was she even doing, writing smut in the journal Jason gave her to chronicle the trip?
—and glanced at Jase. His arms had come uncrossed, one hand resting on the seat near her.
The ache between her thighs intensified remembering the first touch of his fingers last night.
He had asked if she wanted him. She told him she would beg.
She wrote that down too.
Smut, both real and imagined, was the first real writing she’d done in months. Maybe that was why Jason Sr. left her his book and somehow got it back into her hands today. For inspiration.
She closed the journal, planning to re-read it later alone, when she could do something about the ache, and let her head fall back against the seat.
Outside, the Texas sky changed from gray to purple to black. Then it opened.