Chapter 21 Abby
Abby
Another almost-amazing kiss… ruined. Again.
After we leave the hot tub, Jonathan barely says two words to me on the drive back to the cabin to get ready for dinner.
No flirty banter, no shoulder brushes, not even a cocky grin.
Just… silence. I let him take a shower first because I have to hop on a call with an anxious client and put out a few metaphorical fires.
The kind of fires where everyone’s panicking over something that could’ve been solved with a simple email.
By the time I’m off the phone, he’s out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair.
His phone starts to ring and he glances at the screen.
The face he makes tells me everything. Whoever’s calling isn’t just anyone, it’s someone.
Someone he doesn’t want to talk to in front of me.
He mutters something vague, like he’s taking it outside and steps onto the porch.
I guess he needs total privacy. The call’s probably from one of his tall, impossibly perfect girls, no doubt.
The type with sculpted cheekbones, fashion degrees and “brand collaborations” that involve sipping matcha on yachts.
Girls he’s always wining and dining around the city like it’s his full-time job.
It’s not like I care. If he’s into picture-perfect, airbrushed women with symmetrical faces and fashion-week outfits, that’s his choice.
Cool. Whatever. He can do what he wants. I don’t care…
Once he disappears, I shower, blow-dry my hair and decide to leave it a little curly tonight.
Eased waves that highlight the gold in my blonde strands and look just messy enough to feel effortless, just done enough to feel sexy.
Because tonight, I want to feel like that girl.
One of those modelesque women Jonathan and Marcus, for that matter, always seem to orbit.
Girls who walk into a room and own it. Even if I don’t care what those men do. Obviously.
By the time I finish my hair, I spritz on my Gucci perfume.
One thing I’ll never skimp on is fragrance.
If I’m going to walk into a room, I want the scent to do half the talking.
Jonathan wears Armani, because of course he does.
I recognized it the second I met him six years ago.
It’s a sophisticated, self-assured and expensive scent. Classic Jonathan.
When I step out of the bedroom, he’s already dressed and sitting at the counter, sipping from a to-go coffee cup you can get at the front lobby.
“You went to the front desk?” I ask, unable to keep the slight jealousy out of my tone. Caffeine envy is real.
“Yeah,” he says, casually gesturing to his ears. “Needed Q-tips.”
“Oh.” I nod.
“I got you a coffee, too,” he adds, sliding a second cup toward me.
My eyes soften instantly. “Thank you,” I say, smiling as I take it. That was thoughtful. I definitely needed the brain fuel. If I ever get a paper cut, there’s a solid chance it’ll bleed dark roast.
I step a little closer and immediately notice something. He’s distracted. His phone’s in his hand and he hasn’t even looked up at me.
“I just have to put on my makeup and then we can go,” I say, trying not to sound weirdly deflated.
“Okay,” he says, finally glancing up. His eyes widen a little and he straightens in his seat.
“You look…” He pauses, struggling for words, which is rare for him. “Really… really pretty.”
“Thanks,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear to hide the stupid grin threatening to break through.
I’m wearing light blue skinny jeans and black heels, with a black halter top that shows off my newly sun-kissed shoulders and my bare back. No bra required, thankfully, because this top is doing all the work. The girls are cradled high, tall and proud.
Jonathan stands, walks over and takes my hand, twirling me gently. I laugh in surprise as he grabs my other hand and starts swaying with me like we’re already on a dance floor.
He looks down at me, smiling that signature smile that turns my stomach inside out. “You better save a dance for me,” he playfully demands.
I nod, already blushing. “Of course.”
Then I twist out of his arms before I turn fully into mush and head for the mirror to do my makeup.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re off in the golf cart heading to the main dinner hall for cocktails. The air is cooler now, wind brushing against my skin as the sun dips lower behind the trees.
As we drive, I get this boiling urge to ask if he’s alright. It’s been sitting in my chest since before we left the cabin and I can’t shake it.
“Are you okay?” I ask, carefully hesitant. I don’t know if he’ll answer truthfully or shut down and throw a wall up like he sometimes does.
He keeps his eyes forward. “Yeah,” he huffs.
I let the silence ride. Give him space with his own thoughts. The tires crunch over the gravel path and just when I think that’s all he’s going to say, he shocks me.
“My mom called,” he admits.
“And you don’t get along?” I ask, reading into his tone.
“No, we get along fine,” he says quickly, but there’s something under it.
“It’s just… every time I talk to her, it reminds me that my dad’s gone.
And she’s just so…” He trails off, struggling to finish.
He swallows hard and lifts a hand, running it through his hair, the wind tugging at the strands as he exhales.
“It’s like she doesn’t care he’s gone. Or maybe she’s just…
past it.” He doesn’t say it with anger. More like quiet confusion. Hurt, maybe.
“Maybe she does think of him often,” I say tenderly, “but she doesn’t bring it up to you because she doesn’t want to upset you.”
He doesn’t respond right away, so I glance over at him. He suddenly pulls the golf cart over and shifts it into park.
I blink, confused. “What are you—”
He turns toward me, his whole body angling like he’s about to say something important.
“You know,” he starts, his voice low, “I’ve gone to therapy.
I’ve talked to my brother. Even Manny. Hell, probably some random woman I was drunk around.
” He lets out a heavy breath. “And I’ve told all of them this same thing.
Over and over.” He looks at me, really looks at me.
“And none of them have ever said what you just did. Not once.”
There’s something calm in his eyes. A flicker of glossiness that catches the dimming light and my heart catches a little. Jonathan Slack showing me his deepest feelings. I reach over and take his hand, even if I feel a little unstable myself with the rush of emotions from him.
“Jonathan,” I say quietly, “people grieve in their own ways. I’m sure your mom thinks about your dad all the time. How could she not?”
He watches me, listening without interrupting.
“But maybe she doesn’t bring him up because she’s trying to protect you. Maybe she thinks it’ll make you sad. And she doesn’t want that for you.” I give his hand a squeeze. “It makes sense to me, how she acts. It really does.”
He looks down at our hands, his inside mine and then places his other one over the top, enclosing me.
“Why do you always seem to help me when I can’t even help myself?” he asks, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Maybe I just know you too well,” I say, letting out a chuckle, my cheeks already flushing.
I feel the warmth rise up my neck, part comfort, part…
something else entirely. I’m half emotionally fulfilled that I helped him open up…
and half distracted by the fact that his lips and bone structure are doing unspeakable things to my self-control.
His hand moves to my face and his thumb grazes my cheek, then trails down to my lips. He strokes my bottom lip back and forth before tugging it down slightly, pulling it toward him.
My heart kicks into high gear. The touch is so small, so subtle, but it sends sparks zipping through every nerve ending I have. I’m going to get whiplash from the emotional ping-pong game this man has me playing.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, rough but not in an aggressive way, “and I don’t care if a fucking bear comes barreling out of those woods. Nothing is stopping me this time.”
I nod, giving him the green light, my throat tightening as I swallow.
Then he makes good on his promise. He leans in and kisses me and it’s immediate, deep and hungry. His tongue slides against mine, unhurried but possessive. I taste his mint toothpaste and the warmth of leftover coffee and somehow, it’s a ridiculously perfect combination.
I slide closer, wrapping my arms around his neck, meeting him kiss for kiss.
He pulls me onto his lap, one arm around my waist as his other hand cups the back of my head.
The angle deepens, the kiss growing hotter and more intense.
I tighten my hold on him and shift my hips, grinding instinctively.
I can feel him hard beneath me and the pulse of arousal it sends through me is near blinding.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe against my mouth and I moan into the sliver of air he leaves behind. His grip on my face tightens and he kisses me again, more sensual this time. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are, who’s around, or what time it even is.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way.
Sure, I’ve had a few casual hook-ups over the last few years, mostly just to remind myself I’m still a breathing woman with hormones, but this?
This is something different. This is seductive and safe.
Electric and easy. And, holy hell, I think I might combust if we keep going.
After what’s probably only a few minutes but feels like an eternity of heat and hunger, he pulls back, one hand resting on the back of my neck.
“You are so amazing, AJ,” he says, his voice almost submissive. Then he smiles and it’s that boyish, slightly crooked grin that makes my heart lurch.
He doesn’t wait for my response, leaning in and kissing me again.
His hands glide down my back, then lower, tracing the curve of my hips and squeezing fiercely.
His fingers dig in as he groans into my mouth.
He pulls away from my lips, tilting my head back so he can trail kisses along the sensitive line of my neck.
I moan again, louder this time and I can feel his breath growing faster, his restraint unraveling.
There’s a kind of frenzy to it now, like we’re both seconds from completely losing control.
It’s going to take a natural disaster to kill this momentum.
Just as he comes back up to my lips, mouth inches away, his phone blares from the back of his jeans.
So, apparently, a phone call can kill this momentum.
Out of breath, both of us still buzzing from the make-out rage, we stop kissing, stop grinding, stop moaning. He lifts up, still holding onto my butt and reaches into his pocket for his phone. The screen lights up with Manny.
“I think we’re late,” he says, glancing at me. He doesn’t answer the call. Just shoots off a quick text, then shoves the phone back into his jeans.
I smooth my hair, swallowing hard and trying to catch my breath. “Yeah,” I breathe. “We probably should go.”
“Yeah,” he echoes. But before he slides me back over to the passenger seat, he cups my face one last time, kissing me on the lips, then moving to brush his mouth to the tip of my nose. He smiles, his voice dazed. “That was… wow.”
“I know,” I say, still breathless.
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into a hug, resting his chin against my shoulder as he breathes in my hair. “Mmm,” he murmurs. Then, after a few seconds, he pulls back just enough to smirk. “Okay, temptress. Let’s go.”
I laugh as he lets me go, both of us still a little drunk on the moment.
I slide back over to the passenger seat and start adjusting my top and jeans, trying to tame the aftermath of the whirlwind that just happened.
Beside me, Jonathan shifts and readjusts his…
well, let’s just say his very enthusiastic friend down in his pants.
Which, by the way, feels pretty impressive, like I needed more reasons to be into this man.
He glances at me. “You good?”
I nod, still a little short-winded. “Yeah.”
He puts the golf cart back in motion and we head toward the clubhouse like two totally normal coworkers who absolutely did not just dry-hump in the middle of the woods.
Did Jonathan and I just have one of the hottest make-out sessions of my life, surrounded by pine trees and potential bear attacks?
Yes. Yes, we freaking did. And it was mind-blowing.