Chapter 18 Jonathan
Jonathan
I’ve got to admit, the evening went pretty damn smoothly. Cocktail hour was actually fun. Manny took way too many shots and AJ even downed one herself, which honestly shocked me. Who knew she had a wild streak buried under all that schedule-obsessed perfectionism?
Shots, sexy dresses that show off her sneaky-hot body and kissing me in front of her ex like it was just part of the outfit? Yeah, that girl has layers.
Dinner was solid, too. Victoria and Marcus clearly spared no expense.
Prime rib, chicken Marsala, shrimp cocktail, more salads than anyone asked for and two types of dessert, cheesecake and some rich chocolate mousse thing that made people moan at the table.
Good food, good vibes and one kiss from AJ? My kind of night.
Okay, so the kiss was small, just a quick one, but her lips were soft as hell. My mouth is still tingling like I touched an electric fence and liked it too much.
The best part of the evening was when Marcus spent the whole night practically drooling over her. He even pulled her aside to check if our relationship was “serious.” Yeah, right. That wasn’t his concern, that was his busted-ass attempt at recon. A Hail-Mary pass to see if he still had a shot.
AJ laughed when I mentioned it, brushed it off like I was being dramatic, but I know what I saw.
I know how men think, especially narcissistic ones.
It takes one to know one. It’s no surprise I can be a narcissist. At least I know I can be.
I turn it on when I want and reel it back when I don’t.
Marcus, though, he is it. It oozes out of him like expensive cologne.
And I don’t love that he’s got eyes on AJ.
Not because I’m jealous or territorial. Okay, maybe a little.
It’s mostly because I want her to be happy and I know his type.
He’ll charm her, chew her up and spit her out the second she stops being shiny.
Just like he did to her on their wedding day all those years ago.
It’s a weird feeling, caring this much. But spending time with AJ tonight, seeing her relax and laugh and actually have fun without biting my head off, it’s been…
nice. I want to keep it that way. Especially if I get the promotion over her.
I’ll technically be her overseeing manager and the last thing I want is to go from fake dating back to full-on work enemies.
Even though let’s be honest, that’s probably inevitable.
She’s still AJ. Annoying, obsessive and always needs to be right.
And somehow still has the most insane cleavage I’ve ever seen in my life. Jesus, Jonathan, reel it in.
When we leave the dinner hall, a few people head toward the small bar on the property for more drinks. AJ looks like she’s starting to crash; her posture softening, eyes a little sleepy but I still ask anyway, just in case. “You coming?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m done. But I’ll walk back. You can take the golf cart.”
As if I’m about to let her walk alone in that dress, at night, on a dark wooded path. Not happening.
“I’ll drive you,” I say, already climbing in the golf cart.
She doesn’t argue. But just before we pull away, I see Marcus lean in and press a kiss to her cheek.
The blush that rises to her face is instant and all-consuming and something irritating and constricting happens in my chest. Jealousy?
Could be. I don’t know. I’m not super well-versed in the feeling.
I will say these feelings have been popping up more often than I’d like to admit.
We ride in silence for a bit, the air cooler now, AJ kicking off her heels and letting out a satisfied sigh.
“What are you gonna do now?” I ask.
She lifts her bare feet and crosses her legs in the seat. “Take a long, hot shower. Put on the biggest hoodie and sweats I brought. Then veg out on the couch and binge Love Island.” She grins like she just described a perfect Friday night, which, honestly, she kind of did.
I laugh. “Sounds like a solid plan.”
“Remember we have to be at the main house at seven a.m. for that team-building hike,” she says with a giggle.
Right. The hike. The mandatory sunrise bonding activity that sounds like it was dreamed up by someone who’s never hiked a day in their life. I glance at the time, it’s just after 10 p.m.
We reach our cabin and I pause for a second, then kill the engine on the cart.
“What are you doing?” she asks, watching me pocket the key.
“You made a strong case. I’m joining you,” I shoot back.
Her brows lift. “Sucker for Love Island, huh?”
“And room service ice cream,” I add with a wink.
She squeals. “Ooh, great idea.”
AJ jumps in the shower first. It takes every ounce of blood and basic decency in me not to knock on the door and ask if she needs help reaching her back.
But I rein it in. I don’t cross the line.
I don’t make it weird. Now, if she had asked me to join her?
Lately, with how things have been between us, I wouldn’t have hesitated.
While she’s in there, I order dessert: two scoops of vanilla with rainbow sprinkles for her and two scoops of chocolate with hot fudge for me. I quickly shower after she gets out and by the time I step out, towel-drying my hair, the ice cream’s been delivered.
AJ moves toward the door to tip the guy, but I beat her to it, pulling a twenty from my wallet and handing it over.
“Wow,” she says, clearly impressed. “I like Gentleman Jonathan.”
I smirk. “He comes in other versions too.”
“Oh yeah?” she teases, eyebrow arched.
“Yeah. There’s the version who devours ice cream and binge-watches drama-fueled British dating shows.”
She laughs. “Love Island is for men and women, thank you very much.”
“Sure it is,” I say, straight-faced. “Just don’t tell Manny. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
We settle onto the couch. I hand her the vanilla with sprinkles and she beams as she takes it and grabs the remote. The flat screen clicks on and she scrolls to find the latest episode.
We’re tucked into the corner of the couch now. Two bowls of ice cream. One reality show. And a whole lot of tension neither of us seems ready to name… yet.
We end up eating our ice cream and watching Love Island like we’re filming a two-person podcast. We discuss our own rankings within the show with the occasional gasp when someone gets dumped. AJ has strong opinions about the show, the cast, the villa décor, obviously.
“I think I’d be terrible at it,” she says, giggling, “but I’d join the cast in a heartbeat just to be there.”
She grins at me like it’s the most ridiculous dream she’s ever confessed and for some reason, I can totally see it. AJ in a neon bikini, yelling at a guy named Bradley because he forgot their matching bracelets.
Time slips away. At some point, the bowls are empty and the cozy buzz of exhaustion starts to settle in. Her head dips against the couch cushion as she says, “I think I’m done once this episode’s over.”
She leans forward to collect our empty cups, but then stops, covering her mouth, her whole face turning red as she starts laughing and snorts.
“Oh my God,” she wheezes, still snorting, “you’ve had this on your face forever.”
I blink. “What?”
She reaches over and wipes a streak of hot fudge from the corner of my mouth. I go to lick my lip, self-conscious now, then I pause and watch her as she licks the fudge from her own finger.
“Tastes good,” she says, shooting me a smirk.
And suddenly, the air shifts. The room goes quiet in that pressure-cooker kind of way. The kind that tells you something is about to happen. Or should happen. And if you don’t move soon, you’ll regret it. So I follow my gut. I smile and take her hand in mine.
She smiles back and starts to lean in. Her lower lip trembles slightly before she bites it, like she’s trying to keep it still.
My eyes flick to her mouth, then her body.
Even swallowed in an oversized hoodie, she still looks unfairly sexy.
The kind of sexy that sneaks up on you and wrecks your week.
She moves closer and I can smell her shampoo, it’s a lavender combination with a hint of clean linen.
My fingers reach up to her hair and she doesn’t pull away.
In fact, she leans into my touch, resting her cheek against my hand like it belongs there.
After what seems to be the longest I’ve ever gone and touched a woman without making a move, I lose all patience. No more waiting. No more stalling. I lean in, ready to kiss her like I did that night at The Yank. Maybe even harder this time.
But the universe, in all its cruel, badly timed glory, has other plans and my phone rings loudly. Like obnoxiously, unnecessarily loud, because I cranked the volume earlier in case a client called during the cocktail party.
We both jolt back like we’ve been slapped. AJ’s hand drops to her lap and my heart pounds like it’s trying to stage a jailbreak. So much for perfect timing.
She smiles and says, “I think that’s your phone,” then looks down.
I grab it from the coffee table. “Yeah. Of course it is,” I mutter with a mild, sad half-smile.
She stands, scoops up the empty dishes and walks to the kitchen.
I glance at the screen; it’s Manny. He texted too, but I didn’t hear it, probably because I was mid-horny spiral, pretending to be effortlessly cool.
I answer, already annoyed. “What, bro?” I snap, irritated he interrupted me and AJ’s almost-kiss.
“Oh. Hey… it’s Tanya, actually,” she says, anxiously.
“Oh,” I reply, immediately softening. “Sorry. I thought this was Manny.” I glance down again, yep, still his name on the screen.
“I’m calling from his cell. Can you come help us?” Tanya sounds concerned, maybe even panicked. “Manny’s drunk and won’t stop dancing on the tables. The staff doesn’t want to kick us out, but they’re closing and he won’t listen. He keeps asking for you.”
I drag a hand over my face and let out a deep breath. “Yeah, Tanya. I’m on my way.” I hang up.