by Lauren Layne
“Don’t be weird,” he muttered.
“Fine, but let’s go back to the hot guys at Oxford. Somehow I’m thinking that they’re a hell of a lot better-looking than the ones who work in the lab with me.”
He glared at her. “I wouldn’t let those guys anywhere near you.”
“Oh, come on. Set me up with one of the ones you’ve made friends with. Someone you trust.”
He looked away, and Mollie’s mouth dropped. “Jackson. You have made friends, right?”
“I mostly keep to myself,” he muttered.
“Do they keep to themselves?”
“Hell no. They’re always all up in everybody’s business. Especially mine.”
“Well, man up! Let them in. You need friends. Non-football friends for your non-football life.”
His eyes lit with anger, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. She’d meant to. He was too good a guy to become a hermit in his thirties.
“I’m not setting you up with one of them,” he said again as he took a sip of beer.
“But if you were going to set me up . . .”
“God. I’d forgotten how incapable you were of dropping stuff. Okay, fine. There’s a guy with dark hair and blue eyes, and his jaw could be considered . . . chiseled.”
Mollie fanned herself. “Name?”
“Lincoln Mathis.”
“Marital status?”
“Single. Jesus, you think I’d set you up with a married man?”
“Handsome?”
“Sure, Mollie. A total dreamboat.”
“Dreamboat, Burke?”
She could have sworn she saw him flush. “My mom uses the phrase.”
Oh my God, you’re cute. “Speaking of your mom, did she tell you that she dyed her hair pink for a day after losing a bet to one of her bridge friends?”
Jackson blinked in surprise. “Sure she told me, but how do you know about that?”
Mollie shrugged. “She mentioned it on the phone the other day.”
“You talk to my mom on the phone?” He looked stunned.
“Well, not like every day or anything,” she said, feeling uncomfortable. “But we keep in touch. I like her.”
Jackson was staring at her, and Mollie squirmed. “I guess I can stop if that’s weird for you.”
“No,” he said quickly. “It’s just . . . I didn’t know. I bet she loves that. She always wanted a daughter, and it’s not like . . . you know.”
Mollie did know. It wasn’t like Madison had been much of a daughter.
Mollie hadn’t witnessed much of Madison and Jackson’s early courtship; her sister had always made a big deal about not wanting to introduce a man into Mollie’s life until Madison was sure the man was there to stay. Back then, Mollie had thought this was sweet—had bought into her sister’s pretty words that Mollie had had too many people abandon her for Madison to put her through it again. It wasn’t until years later that Mollie wondered if Madison hadn’t merely been trying to plant put-a-ring-on-it thoughts in Jackson’s head.
But regardless of Madison’s motives, Mollie knew that in those early years Madison had been perfect, doting daughter-in-law material. But Jackson’s mother had once let it slip after one too many lemon drops that Madison had changed once the ring was on her finger. Subtly at first, being a little less considerate, a little more impatient. By the time Jackson and Madison had reached their three-year anniversary, Maddie had taken to claiming a “stomach bug” on major holidays to avoid the Burkes.
Jackson had tried to pretend that he was okay with it—that he understood family dynamics were hard for Madison because of the way she’d grown up. But Mollie knew it ate at him, knew that he desperately wished that the three most important people in his life had gotten along.
“Thanks,” Jackson said gruffly.
Mollie’s head shot up. “What?”
He lifted a shoulder. “For staying in touch with my mom. She always liked you. Although why she didn’t tell me you guys were all chatty is interesting.”
“She probably knew you were going to get weird about it,” Mollie said pointedly. “As far as her liking me, what can I say? I’ve got a knack with the sixty-and-older set,” she said with a little wink. “Now, if only the twenty-something guys were as easy to charm as your father. Say, like these Oxford guys.”
He groaned. “Drop it.”
“Fine. But if my eggs dry up, it’s on you.”
“You’ll find someone, Molls,” he said, his voice a little gruff. “Your mate-for-life worm, or whatever is out there.”
“Eh.” She waved her hand. “I’m guessing I’m going to have to relax my stance on that.”
Jackson frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that my eyes are open on that whole mate-for-life thing. I mean, when I was twenty, it was easier to focus on the scant few species that are loyal, but I’m twenty-eight . . .” She shrugged. “I just don’t know that monogamy’s all that realistic an expectation.”
He stared at her for several moments. “That’s bullshit. And pardon me if I want to pound every single jackass who’s had you believing you’re not deserving of a man’s loyalty.”
Um, what? This, from him? Really?
Mollie’s hand faltered a little as she reached for her beer, and his eyes narrowed. “What? What’s that look?”
She bit her lip and waited until the movers, who’d just reentered the apartment carrying a stack of boxes, had gone down the hall to her room.
“What, Mollie?”
She blew out a breath. Other than the wee crush on him she’d had back in the day, Mollie had never kept a secret from this man, and she wasn’t inclined to start now.
“Okay, it’s just . . . it seems a little hypocritical coming from you,” she said, the last words coming out in a nervous rush.
Jackson shook his head to indicate he didn’t understand, and Mollie felt a little stab of irritation. Was the man being deliberately obtuse?
“I mean . . . your own marriage wasn’t the most faithful. Yes, Madison had the affair first, and I’m sure you were hurt and pissed, and maybe a little vengeful, but, well, you weren’t exactly the worm.”
Jackson’s head snapped back. “You think I cheated on Madison?”
Mollie stilled, the sheer rage in his eyes freezing her in place. “I—”
Of course he had. Hell, Mollie wasn’t even sure she blamed him. She knew he’d tried desperately to get out of his marriage. Knew that in the last year he and Madison had barely been speaking, much less sharing a bed. It wasn’t that Mollie was cavalier about monogamy so much as realistic, and realistically, she couldn’t imagine him staying celibate while his estranged wife slept with half of Houston.
But the look on his face told her that perhaps she was dead wrong on that.
Jackson very slowly rounded the counter and moved toward her. Instinctively she leaned away. Not that she thought for a second that Jackson would hurt her, but he was mad. Really mad.
“You think I cheated on Madison,” he repeated, his voice little more than a growl.
She looked at him helplessly. “Well, sort of. I mean, I assumed, especially when all of those pictures and rumors about you and those women, and . . . well, you never denied it.”
“I shouldn’t have to!” he shouted, coming to stop just inches away from her. “Not to you, Mollie.”
Her lips parted, and she was saved from having to respond as the movers headed back out the front door to get another load. Mollie and Jackson stood silently, their eyes locked on each other, as they waited for the movers to retreat into the hallway and toward the service elevator.
“You didn’t cheat?” Mollie asked quietly.
“No.” His voice was clipped.
Mollie lifted her fingers to her lips, her mind reeling.
Jackson hadn’t cheated on Madison.
He wasn’t a cheater. Her heart jumped for joy, even as her mind tried to accept the fact that her sister had outright lied to her—to everyone.
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br /> But worse than any of that, Mollie had doubted him. And even now it was a struggle to wrap her mind around the fact that he had been loyal to a woman who long before had stopped acting like a wife.
She had doubted one of the people she cared about most.
Mollie’s eyes closed, struggling to sort everything out.
“You believed the media,” Jackson said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “You didn’t even ask me.”
Her eyes opened and she reached out a hand. “Jackson—”
He backed away from her touch. “Don’t, Mollie. Just fucking don’t.”
“But wait, I didn’t know—”
“You should have.”
He walked away then, retreating down the hall toward his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click.
“Well,” she said to a silent room, “this is off to a great start.”
Chapter 8
It was official. Jackson was avoiding her.
They’d been roommates for nearly a week now, and ever since their sort-of fight in the kitchen, she’d barely seen the guy.
He was gone before she got up. This morning she’d even been out of bed by five-thirty, hoping to coax him into coffee with her, but she’d opened the door to her bedroom just in time to see him disappear out the front door with both gym bag and laptop bag in hand.
And since her workweek had turned unexpectedly crazy, she was lucky to make it home by eight, at which time he’d force a tight smile, give her a cursory “How was your day?” and then retreat to his bedroom to watch TV, only to have the same stifled routine repeat the next day.
But by Friday Mollie had decided she’d had enough. Not only were they not acting like friends, they were barely acting like adults. It was long past time she fixed it. Fixed them.
Thanks to an extra-early morning and skipping lunch, Mollie was able to get out of the lab by a reasonable hour, determined to beat Jackson back to their place. She’d just made it home and changed into the comfy sweatpants and T-shirt that were all part of the plan when he walked in the door a little after six.
Jackson froze when he saw her pouring herself a glass of wine, clearly not having expected her to beat him home.
“Hey,” she said as nonchalantly as possible, considering that she was standing barefoot in his kitchen.
No, their kitchen.
The thought of sharing anything with Jackson gave her a strange little thrill, one that she immediately pushed out of her mind. The last thing either of them needed was for her to start rekindling her long-ago crush.
He dropped his keys on the table by the door, and she saw the way he glanced toward his bedroom as though wanting to retreat. But perhaps Jackson, like her, realized the ridiculousness of their situation, because he deposited both his gym bag and his work bag by the front door and joined her in the kitchen.
She held up the wine bottle in question, but he shook his head, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer instead.
“Got any plans for tonight?” she asked sweetly, knowing full well that he didn’t. Best as she could tell, the man had made zero effort to develop any kind of life in New York outside of work.
He shook his head. “You?”
Mollie glanced down at her staying-in ensemble. “I was going to do a movie night. Pizza. Popcorn. The works.”
“It’s Friday. You’re not going out?”
She didn’t miss the hopeful note in his voice. He definitely didn’t want her around, and it stung. But she pushed through with the plan anyway.
“Nope,” she said, lifting her wine and taking a sip. “That a problem?”
“Why would it be a problem?” he muttered. “You want to be a twenty-something hermit, that’s your deal.”
Mollie rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to guilt me into going out tonight just because you don’t want to deal with me. And besides, I’m not the one whose social life is in mayday status.”
“Yeah, but I’m thirty-five.”
“I know. What I don’t know is why you think that’s an appropriate age to drape an afghan over your knees while sipping Ovaltine. You’re young and, frankly, hot. You should be grabbing drinks with coworkers right now. Or getting ready for a date. Or doing something other than being a big grumpy lump.”
Jackson choked on his beer. “Grumpy lump? You know, Molls, if you’re trying to make amends for last weekend, you probably should have just stopped at the ‘hot’ part.”
Mollie pounced. “Oh, so we are going to talk about last weekend? You’re not going to just hide in the bedroom again?”
He swore softly and hooked a finger into his tie to loosen it. “How is it that you’re so much younger than me, but you manage to make me sound like a petulant child?”
Mollie set her wineglass on the counter and leaned forward, palms braced on the counter. “Look. I am sorry about last weekend. I’m sorry that I thought the rumors about the other women might be true, but you have to give me a little break here. Remember that I was on the inside track of what was happening with you and Mad. I knew how bad things were. I knew that she wasn’t faithful at the end—”
Jackson opened his mouth, but Mollie held up her hand. “Hear me out. What I’m trying to say is that even when I thought maybe you might have slept around, I never stopped being your friend. I never stopped being there for you, and I never will. That’s what real friends are. Not the ones who have blind faith, but the ones who are still there even when you falter. I’m here, Jackson. I’ll always be here, so for the love of God, will you stop pushing me away?”
His hazel eyes narrowed. “I feel like that was the worst apology ever.”
She gave him a wide smile and held her arms out. “Would it help if we hugged it out?”
He shook his head with a small smile as he lifted his beer. “Go away, Molls.”
She wiggled her fingers and moved toward him. “Come on. One hug.”
He laughed and tried to push her away. “Don’t be weird. I’m still annoyed at you.”
Ignoring this, Mollie wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, although it was a bit like embracing a redwood trunk. The man was thick and solid and hard.
“I’m sorry,” she said against the lapel of his suit jacket. “I’m really, really sorry.”
He stiffened for a moment before some of the tension finally seemed to seep out of him. She heard the clank of his beer bottle against the counter, and slowly his big arms came around her, engulfing her in a warm embrace.
She’d meant the hug to be friendly. Heck, it was friendly, in that it was a hug between friends. But as they stood there, lingering perhaps a bit longer than they should have, the hug started to feel different . . .
His head came down to rest on the top of hers, and she felt the slight pull as his stubble rasped against her hair. Mollie suddenly became aware of her hands—aware of the way his hard back felt against her palms, the way his muscles bunched as he pulled her closer against him.
Even the air felt thicker, or maybe it was just that both of their breathing seemed to have quickened.
Jackson’s hands moved just slightly, first upward toward her shoulders and then sliding down until his fingers rested at the small of her back, as though exploring her shape.
And suddenly Mollie wanted him to explore more. Wanted his hands to drift down farther, over her butt, and then around to the front.
Oh God!
Mollie’s hands found his broad shoulders as she pushed back abruptly.
Jackson blinked in surprise at the sudden movement before his arms dropped slowly to his sides. Their eyes held for a second too long, as though searching to see if the other had answers for what had just happened.
He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat before he reached for his beer once more.
“So what’s your big couch potato plan tonight? Chick flicks?” he asked.
Mollie grasped at the change of subject like it was a conversational lifeline. And actually, his question could not have
been a more perfect segue into part two of her plan to get Jackson and Mollie back to normal.
“Actually, I was thinking that I’m overdue for a movie marathon.” She said it casually, picking up her wineglass as she watched him.
As she hoped, his eyes lit with excitement, reminding her for just a moment of the old Jackson, before her sister had tried to break him.
“Bourne?” he asked.
Mollie gave him a look. “Um, is there any other series worth marathoning for?”
“No,” he said with a slow grin that was maybe just a bit sexier than it should have been. “Care if I join you?”
I was counting on it. “Only if I get to pick the pizza toppings,” she teased.
He groaned. “No. No pineapple.”
“The fruit’s good for you,” she said, pulling out her phone.
“Please. You just like it because it’s sweet.”
“Like me,” she said, glancing up with a toothy smile.
He snorted, but Mollie’s heart warmed when she saw that he looked relaxed. Happy, even.
“Fine, order what you want,” he said, heading toward his bedroom. “I’m going to go change out of this damn suit.” Before he left the kitchen, he turned and gave her a thoughtful look. “You really think I’m hot?”
Mollie rolled her eyes and shooed him away. “Please. If you want an ego stroke, go look at the ‘sexiest man alive’ magazine covers you probably have stashed under the bed.”
He laughed as he walked away, the sound easy and familiar and wonderful.
Mollie hid her grin until he’d gone into his bedroom. Humming happily to herself, she ordered the pizza, extra pineapple.
Only after they’d plopped onto the couch, her bare feet propped up contentedly on his knee, his hand carelessly resting on her shin, did she realize that she hadn’t thought about what her sister would think of this cozy scenario.
Even more alarming, Mollie wasn’t sure she cared.
Chapter 9
On Monday morning, Jackson arrived in his office, like he always did.
About to close the door, like he always did.
Only to stop when he remembered his boss’s “pep talk” about him being an antisocial asshole.
