TWO JADE
TWO
JADE
This is awkward as hell.
More uncomfortable than walking into Expedition Brewing with Brian last month. On a date. In the same place my ex-boyfriend frequents.
In his defense, Shep’s best friend owns the bar. Where else would he go?
In my defense, this is a small town. And I’ve lived here longer. Also, he broke up with me. Not the other way around. Why should I feel uncomfortable being on a date in front of Shep?
Might be because he is even hotter than Hades in a heat wave.
It had been uncomfortable. I had felt like I was doing something wrong. But on the outside, I pretended that Shep didn’t exist. That should count for something.
More uncomfortable than when the reunion attendees had taken a group tour of the high school yesterday, the day before the reunion dinner.
I’d managed to be professional as I showed them around.
It was easier for me to do it since I worked there.
At least that’s what Danielle had told me when she cornered me at the grocery store to volun-tell me.
Being tour guide meant I got a distraction from Shep.
I was at the front of the group. Per his usual, Shep lingered at the back with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops while he swaggered through the school.
I wasn’t looking…it was just hard not to notice.
Sure. Whatever you say.
But the situation that tops them all? The one that makes me wish I had caught the worst case of stomach flu ever to avoid?
The reunion mixer at Glacier Basin. The dinner is done—thank God, Shep was at a different table—but Danielle has hired a DJ to “take us back in time to the best days of our life.”
I barely refrain from an eye roll. High school was full of great memories. And the not-so-great big one. But I certainly would never refer to them as the best days of my life.
“Isn’t that right?” Brian looks at me expectantly.
What are we talking about? Guilt pricks at my conscience because I’ve tuned the whole conversation out—too focused on Shep talking with Jagger at the edge of the dance floor. The way that he leaned his head back when he laughed with abandon.
“Jade?”
Shit.
What were we talking about?
“Ummm…I suppose?”
“That’s what I’ve tried to tell the parents. I don’t assign homework, because they need to be able to decompress.”
Why are we talking about homework policies in the middle of summer? Granted, we’ll be back to work in two weeks, but we’ve also talked about our agreement on homework before. I only assign one large paper as a semester project. The students can then divvy the time up as they see fit.
Just like I know Brian gives homework problems but then gives the students twenty minutes at the end of class to work through them.
“Alright, guys and gals, we’re going to slow it down now with a love song you may remember pretty well.”
The opening strains of “Don’t You Wanna Stay” by Jason Aldean and Kelly Clarkson starts and I freeze. I know this song. I’ve played it hundreds of times and listened to Shep murmur it in my ear. It’s our song.
Does he remember?
My gaze finds his and a faint smile plays on his lips. It’s all the answer I need. Heat—a mix of memories and embarrassment that he can still make me flustered with just a look—spreads through me and makes me lightheaded in the wake of the overwhelming sensation.
“I…excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
I shoot up from my chair and don’t wait for Brian’s response.
“Are you okay?” His words barely register.
I wave him away.
“I’m fine. Just need a minute.”
More like I need the rest of the night to lock all my Shep-shaped feelings in the box they seem to have broken out of. But I’ll take the few minutes’ reprieve in the women’s restroom.
Fortunately, Brian doesn’t follow me, and the bathroom is empty when I swing open the door. Staring at myself in the mirror, I note the wide eyes and flushed cheeks. The rapid breathing.
Brian doesn’t inspire this reaction. No one has. Except Shep.
“Stop. Get yourself together,” I lecture my reflection and crank on the cold water.
I lower my hands one at a time in the stream, watching the water slide over the overheated skin of my wrist before it drains lazily down the sink. It’s almost hypnotic and successfully does the job of returning both my breathing and my heartbeat to a regular rhythm.
My turn on the handle is less vicious, and the water slows to a stop.
I grab a paper towel from the bin beside me and blot at my damp wrists.
There. That’s better. All those emotions are no longer pushing to the surface, even if they are still trying to run amok through my brain. But I’ll deal with that—
“Gah! Shep, you scared the shit out of me.”
I had turned for the door, barely catching his reflection in the mirror. Jumping back, I bump against the granite counter with a wince.
He shrugs. “Sorry.”
“You don’t sound…wait a minute. This is the women’s restroom. What are you doing in here?”
I glance around, but the bathroom is still blessedly empty, save for the hulk of a man in front of me who smells intoxicatingly of leather and vanilla and something more. Something uniquely Shep.
Hold your breath.
He doesn’t say anything. Just studies me with those dark brown eyes that have haunted me for far too long.
The breath explodes audibly from my lungs, and I have to gulp in more oxygen and more of his delicious scent.
One corner of his mouth quirks up. It’s the side with the small scar at the corner—he accidentally hooked himself fishing once at Misty Lake, cussing a blue streak until I offered to play nurse and kiss it better.
Hello! Memory Lane is closed! Permanently.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You’ve had plenty of opportunities,” I huff and cross my arms over my chest.
“It wasn’t the right time.”
“And the women’s bathroom at our reunion while my date is outside is?”
I try to ignore the zip of a thrill when I see a muscle tics in his jaw on the word “date.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your date,” he growls.
He steps closer, and the heat of his body reaches out to mine in the small distance. I could feel him again with just the smallest step on my part.
This is wrong. What about Brian? Remember him? He’s your date.
Steel snaps back into my spine, and I shift to the side only for him to follow me.
“Excuse me,” I tell him with a glare.
“Don’t go. Just a few minutes. Please?”
He was always hard to stay mad at. Especially when he turned on the smile he’s sporting now and said things like please.
“Maybe we should go somewhere a little less…”
“Public?” he suggests with a waggle of his brows.
“Inappropriate,” I correct.
He shrugs.
“I’m serious. Someone could walk in at any minute—”
“Worried to be caught with me, Jade?” His voice drops an octave, and a pulse starts low in my core.
“N-no.”
“Liar, liar, sweetheart.” He moves closer and I step back, but there’s no more floor space to retreat.
“What do you want, Shepard?”
He smirks.
“My full name, huh?”
I roll my eyes and fix him with a glare.
“What do you want?” I repeat.
“To talk about us.”
“There is no us. There hasn’t been in twelve years.”
A flash of pain shoots through his expression but is gone before I can confirm it was there.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve apologized already.”
My mind flashes back to the horrible Saturday night before I left for college that I would rather forget.
“I miss you.”
Is it possible to feel yourself softening toward someone? Asking for a friend.
It’s me. I’m the friend.
“Shep.”
“Do you miss me, Jade?” he murmurs.
He closes the distance and aligns our bodies the best way he can given our significant difference in height. Almost a foot.
Say yes, stupid!
“I…”
“You…?” he prompts.
“I…I don’t even know if you brought a date tonight,” I tell him and shake my head in an attempt to clear it.
“I did.”
Jealousy is a green-eyed bitch.
“Jagger.”
It takes a minute for his response to register.
His full lips twitch before they stretch into a broad smile.
“You’re awful,” I groan and push at his chest.
He captures my wrist and holds my palm against his racing heart.
“You’re the only one who’s ever done this to me.”
His words echo my thoughts from earlier and drag me back under his spell.
I clench my hand, flexing my fingers against the soft fabric of his button-down shirt.
It’s a big deal for a man used to T-shirts and jeans.
I should push him away, pull my arm back, something.
Anything. But all I can do is stay locked in his gaze, our eyes having a conversation all by themselves.
“I…”
I should go. Those words flit in and out of my mind faster than a hummingbird. I don’t want to go. Not yet.
Boosting myself onto the counter, I have a moment of gratitude it’s not wet before I cup the back of his neck and tug him down.
“What are you doing?” The words mingle in the breath between us.
“Kissing you.”
“I’m really fucking glad I locked that door.”
He barely finishes the words before his lips are on mine. It’s a claiming, a reacquaintance, a dance of lips and tongues that is both new and achingly familiar.
His tongue tangles with mine, and he deepens the kiss while his hands knead my hips and light a fire that filters through my blood.
I tangle my fingers in his too-long hair, the feel of the thick strands tickling me as they glide along my palms. Thank God I wore a flowy dress tonight and can widen my legs as he steps between them.
My breasts ache, begging for his touch that stays frustratingly at my hips. For my part, my legs and arms are wrapped around him like a barnacle in a desperate need to move closer and feed the fire he’s sparked.
“Fuck.” His fingers tighten almost painfully and grip the fabric that prevents skin-on-skin contact.
At the first rattle of the door in the jamb, we break apart like guilty teenagers. It’s a familiar look given how often my parents, his mom, or his Uncle Joe interrupted a kiss.
“Hello? Anyone in there? Why is this door locked?”
I turn panic-stricken eyes on Shep.
Shit, shit, shit. It’s the last person I want to catch me in a locked bathroom with my ex-boyfriend.
Danielle Owens-Hart.
Shep lifts a finger to his lips and I nod. He doesn’t have to worry. I don’t plan on saying a fucking word.
“Hello?”
The door rattles again, and I swear the loud pounding of my heart is going to give us away. After several agonizing seconds, the clack of her heels fades away.
Confident that she’s gone, I push Shep far enough back for me to hop off the counter. I plead temporary insanity for the last few minutes. I’ll blame the nostalgia of the song, the reunion, anything I can.
I’m not waiting for Danielle to come back with a member of the staff who has a key for the bathroom. I move fast and slide the lock back to the unlocked position.
Shep’s fingers wrap around my wrist and foil my attempt at a speedy escape.
“We’re not done with this conversation,” he tells me.
I yank my wrist free of his grasp.
“I know.”
“Later then.”
It’s more than just a phrase.
It’s a promise.
But the question is, am I looking forward to later? Or not?