I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)

by Lauren Layne

  He held her gaze. “No. Once I wanted you more than I wanted football.”

  “Well, you didn’t do a very good job of showing it,” Madison snapped.

  “I know,” he said, holding her gaze. “And I’m sorry about that.”

  She blinked, clearly at a loss as to how to respond to his words. Eventually she said, “And I’m sorry about . . . everything.”

  He smiled. “Good. So we’re done, then.”

  She smiled back in relief. “Yes. Thank God. Now can we please go to the car? I’ve been here for over an hour, and it stinks in here, and—”

  “No, you misunderstood,” he broke in quietly. “We’re done. All the way done.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “But you just said—”

  Jackson leaned forward and kissed her cheek, knowing that a dozen or more spectators had just captured the moment with their iPhones and not caring. He was done caring.

  “Goodbye, Madison.”

  She spun around as he started to walk away. “Jackson! The car’s the other way.”

  He ignored her. Kept walking.

  “Jackson!”

  He didn’t stop. Not until he reached the ticket counter.

  He waited patiently in line, ignoring the stares and whispers of the people around him. Suddenly he missed New York. Missed the anonymity and the fact that he didn’t have to be Jackson Burke there. He could just be Jackson. Or Burke. He could just be one of the guys—one of the Oxford guys. But more important—most important—he could be Mollie’s.

  If she’d have him.

  “Next in line,” called a harassed-looking airline employee.

  Jackson stepped up to the counter as he pulled out his wallet. “Yes, I’d like a one-way ticket to New York, please.”

  Chapter 32

  Mollie turned up the music in Jackson’s place as loud as it would go in an attempt to drown out the silence.

  Riley had heard through the Oxford/Stiletto grapevine that he was gone for the weekend, so Mollie had headed over to pack up her stuff.

  Not that she had a place to move to yet. She was still in Riley’s guest room, still trying to navigate the crazy world of the New York rental market. But at least this way, her stuff would be packed and easy for the movers to pick up once she found a place. And this way she wouldn’t have to see him.

  Not that he was trying to see her.

  She hadn’t heard from him. Not once.

  And though her fingers had itched to text him every single one of the days they’d been apart, she’d resisted.

  She’d talk to him again someday. Hell, maybe someday they’d even be friends again. She hoped so. But until her heart healed, she needed distance. And her heart wasn’t even close to healing.

  Moving into the closet, Mollie scooped an armful of shirts off the rack and then unceremoniously dropped them into a box on the bed, hangers still attached. She repeated the move with her pants and shoved everything down. Deciding there was room for a few more things, she turned back toward the closet.

  Then she saw him and yelped.

  “Holy crap, Jackson,” she said, putting a hand over her pounding heart. “You can’t just loiter in the doorway of a woman’s bedroom.”

  His brow lifted. “Loitering? I live here.”

  She stared at him, and he stared back.

  “You’re supposed to be in Texas.”

  “I know.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t explain.

  He looked good. Better than good. Jeans, a long-sleeved white T-shirt, brown boots. He looked like a Texan. It was a good reminder. A necessary reminder, since she was this close to flinging herself into his arms and begging him to take her with him.

  She didn’t want to go with him. Even if he’d asked her to go, this was her home. This was her life.

  But it didn’t matter. Because he hadn’t asked.

  And yet he was here . . .

  Jackson moved into her bedroom, barely glancing at her as he scanned the moving boxes. He walked toward the bed and gestured at the one she had just filled.

  “This one ready to go?”

  “Um . . . ” she said, thoroughly confused. Was he seriously going to help her pack? It could have been nice—might have been, had she not recently told him she loved him, only to be met with utter, terrible silence.

  He glanced at her, pointed down at the box, and lifted his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, it’s mostly good to go. I was just—”

  She didn’t finish her sentence because he was already lifting the box and carrying it out of her bedroom.

  “Jackson!” She followed him. “Wait, your shoulder—”

  “I can handle a box of clothes,” he said, not turning around. “But for your giant vibrator, we’re calling the guys.”

  Mollie was expecting him to carry the box to the front door, as though to get her out of his home all the sooner, but instead he walked into his bedroom.

  “Wait—Jackson!”

  She dashed after him just as he carried the box into his closet. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer as he reached into the box, grabbed the hooks of a few hangers, and lifted her clothes out. Without so much as glancing at her, he hung them on the empty side of his closet as she watched with a slack jaw.

  He bent to repeat the move with more of her clothes, and she reached out, knocking them from his hand. “Stop it. What are you doing?”

  Jackson straightened, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “Moving you in.”

  “To your bedroom?”

  “Obviously.”

  He started to reach for the clothes again, and she knocked them down once more. “Would you stop? This isn’t funny. This isn’t fair.”

  Jackson picked up her clothes, and this time when her hand shot out, he was ready for it, holding her wrist with one hand as he hung her clothes with the other.

  “You’re not actually suggesting I live here after you leave, are you?” she said. “Because if this is some guilty-conscience thing, you can take your guilt and shove—”

  Jackson jerked her toward him, her knees bumping awkwardly into the moving box just moments before his mouth closed over hers.

  It wasn’t a hard kiss, but it wasn’t particularly soft either. It was just perfect. The perfect amount of sweet and hot, and . . .

  She put her hands on his chest, shoving him backward. “Please don’t mess with me. Please. Just talk to me.”

  Jackson’s eyes shadowed with regret as he slowly released her wrist, lifting a hand to her face. The back of his fingers stroked her cheek softly. “Talk to you?”

  She nodded.

  “What shall I talk about?” he whispered.

  “How about the fact that you’re supposed to be in Houston right now? It’s the only reason I came over.”

  “I was in Houston,” he said.

  “For what, an hour?” she asked.

  “Probably about that, yeah.” He was watching her mouth as his thumb brushed softly over her lips.

  Her breath caught at the tenderness in his touch—in his eyes.

  “What happened?”

  His eyes flicked up to hers. “You want the full story, or the important part?”

  “The important part,” she whispered.

  “I love you.”

  The words were so quiet, so matter-of-fact, so shocking, that Mollie couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

  “What?”

  He slid his other arm around her waist. “You heard me.”

  “I heard you, but what—”

  He kissed her again, and this time it was hard. Maybe a little desperate. “Tell me I didn’t screw it up,” he said when he pulled back. “Tell me you still love me. That I still have a chance. That you don’t hate me for being the biggest idiot on the planet.”

  When she didn’t answer, he murmured, “Mollie?” His eyes were pleading.

  “I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “But I don’t understand. What about the job? I can’t move to Texas, and y
ou can’t coach from here.”

  “I told Jerry I don’t want it.”

  She stared at him. “But Jackson, you do want it. You hate New York. And you’re a quarterback—”

  “Was a quarterback. Now I’m a fitness editor for Oxford magazine,” he said with a wink.

  “What if you change your mind? Or what if—”

  “I might change my mind about the job. Someday. Maybe I’ll realize I want to do something besides journalism. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll take over Cassidy’s job someday. Maybe I’ll become an accountant or a barista. Hell, I don’t know, Mollie. I don’t know any of that. But I do know what isn’t changing anytime soon, and that’s how I feel about you.”

  She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, talking faster now. “I messed up. I get that. I was clinging so fucking hard to what I thought I wanted that I didn’t give myself a chance to realize that what I wanted had changed. That I’d rather be a kick-ass journalist than a wannabe quarterback. That I’d rather be an awkward New Yorker than a comfortable Texan. Hell, one of these days I’ll even be able to wear a suit without feeling like I’m choking.”

  She swallowed. “Wait, so you’re . . . I’m confused.”

  He set both palms gently on her face. “You want me to talk your language? You’re my worm, Mollie. The creepy, mate-for-life variety. I’m here to stay, Mollie. Because of you. You, who’s always been there. And no, my romantic feelings for you don’t have the long roots that yours do for me, but that doesn’t make them any less intense. And they are intense, Mollie.”

  Neither one of them spoke for a while, and his eyes slowly became wary. At last he said, “Mollie, is this . . . am I way off base here? Did your feelings change?”

  She laughed softly. “Jackson, if I could change my feelings, I would have done it a long time ago. Say, like when you were married to my sister.”

  “Ah,” he said knowingly. “Is that what’s holding you back? You feel like you’re betraying Maddie?”

  “It’s just that this is complicated. I don’t even know what it would be like.”

  “So we’ll figure it out,” he said, pushing her hair back. “We’ll figure it out one day at a time. We’ll take it slow, and—”

  “Take it slow?” she interrupted. “Jackson, you’re moving my clothes into your closet.”

  “Okay, so we won’t take it that slow.”

  She started to step back, but he didn’t let her. “Mollie, I know you’re scared to death. I know you’re worried about your sister. I’m half terrified myself. But we can do this. I want to do this. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything.”

  “More than football?” she teased.

  To her surprise, he didn’t smile back. He merely stared down at her with a stunned expression. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little rough. “I want you more than football. I love you more than that too.”

  It wasn’t much of a line. But it was the exact line Mollie needed to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. Frantic, happy kisses mingled with giddy laughs.

  “I need the words, woman,” he said with a laugh as he tried to dodge her mouth.

  “What words?” She went in for another kiss.

  He gently tugged her hair, holding her still before their mouths could touch. “You know.”

  Mollie smiled up at him. “Do I?”

  “Mollie.” The pleading in his voice nearly undid her.

  “I love you,” she said softly. “I’ve always, always loved you. Even when it was a really, really bad idea.”

  “Thank you,” he said gently. “For loving me. Even if I didn’t know it, I’m honored. I’m humbled.”

  “I don’t want any of that nonsense,” she said. “I just want your love.”

  He smiled down at her. “I hope you’re sure about that. Because you’re going to have it for a long, long time to come.”

  Epilogue

  FIVE MONTHS LATER

  Stepping off the elevator onto the Oxford floor on a Friday afternoon was a bit like walking into a crowded stadium—noisy, rowdy, and filled with men.

  Although today seemed even noisier than usual, and Mollie quickly found out why when she walked into the main reception area and encountered what appeared to be the entire office surrounding a folding table.

  Mollie walked up and stood between Jake Malone and Alex Cassidy, both barely glancing at her as they muttered distracted hellos. She jerked her chin to where her boyfriend sat perfectly still holding both hands out in front of him, his fingers shaped like L’s and touching at the thumbs, as Lincoln sat across the table from him with a triangular piece of folded paper.

  Jackson glanced up, caught her eye, and winked before turning his attention back to Lincoln, who was currently having his shoulders rubbed by Cole, not unlike a trainer prepping a boxer before a match.

  “So,” she said casually, “what’s happening here?”

  “Paper football,” Jake said without looking away from the table.

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “And everyone is riveted by this third-grade phenomenon because . . .?”

  “Because whoever wins gets to be my best man,” Cassidy responded without glancing at her.

  She stared at him. “Are you serious? You’re basing your choice of best man on the winner of a game of paper football?”

  He glanced down at her with amused green eyes. “Can you think of a better way in this group? It was that or watch Jake, Lincoln, Cole, and your boy Jackson try to figure out how to do a four-way arm-wrestling match.”

  Her lips parted. “Jackson was in the running?”

  She was oddly touched, even though it wasn’t about her. Cassidy had proposed to Emma Sinclair a few months back—for the second time. Quietly, over their morning coffee, in what Emma had declared the most perfect moment of her life. As far as Mollie knew, they hadn’t set a date, but the fact that Alex Cassidy considered Jackson a good enough friend to be a part of his wedding had her eyes watering.

  “Jeez, don’t cry, Molls,” Cassidy muttered, not looking at her. “Turns out he’s a good dude. When he’s not being an ass.”

  “Well, that’s true,” she acknowledged with a little tilt of her head.

  Jake came over and shook his head. “Sucks, man. I’ve known you longest.”

  Cassidy gave him a look. “I know you lost in the first round on purpose.”

  Jake smiled guiltily. “I don’t want to wear a tux.”

  “Oh, you still have to wear a tux,” Cassidy said. “Those who aren’t best man are groomsmen.”

  “Shit,” Jake breathed. “Fine, but no boutonniere.”

  Cassidy leaned down toward Mollie. “Make sure to mention to Emma that I want boutonnieres for all the men, would you? Pink, something lavish.”

  Jake ignored this and turned his attention toward the table. “Lincoln, what in the hell are you doing? Just flick the damn thing already.”

  “Seriously,” Jackson muttered. “My hands are getting tired.”

  “Sucks for you, Molls. The man has cramping hands,” Jake said.

  “Not too cramped to do this,” Jackson said, lifting his middle finger at Jake with a grin before resuming the field goal position. “Mathis, for God’s sake, end this.”

  “If Lincoln makes this, he wins,” Cassidy explained. “Although I’m thinking I should have set a time limit.”

  “My chi has to be in the right place!” Lincoln called without looking back. “Also, hi, Mollie.”

  “Hey! How’d you know I was here?”

  “I’m in tune with female pheromones. I knew the second you walked in the building, love.”

  “Christ. Just do it already,” Jackson growled.

  Lincoln flicked the paper football. It sailed directly between Jackson’s hands, hitting him square in the tie.

  Lincoln erupted from the table, hands held victoriously in the air as though he’d just won the Super Bowl.

  Jackson cursed softly, but Mollie saw he was grinning as Lincoln burst into Queen’s “
We Are the Champions.”

  Mollie was shoved gently to the side as Lincoln came barreling at Cassidy, wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders in a comical, one-sided man hug.

  “From here on out, just call me BM,” Lincoln said, resting his head on Cassidy’s shoulder and batting his eyelashes.

  “Bowel movement?” Cole said in sham confusion.

  “Best man,” Lincoln corrected haughtily.

  “All right,” Cassidy muttered, trying to fend off Lincoln’s man hug. “That’s enough.”

  Lincoln didn’t move. “I’m honored,” Lincoln said, his voice solemn for once. “Seriously.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Cassidy said, giving Lincoln’s arm an awkward pat. “Thanks for doing this.”

  Lincoln still didn’t release him. “Say it. ‘Thanks, BM.’ ”

  “Okay, get off,” Cassidy said with a laugh as he shoved Lincoln away.

  Still grinning, Lincoln held his arms out to the side. “Burke, is this what it felt like when you won the Super Bowl? All of them?”

  “Yeah. Just like this,” Jackson said, adjusting his tie.

  Lincoln’s blue gaze zeroed in on Mollie, seeing her for the first time. “There you are, love. I haven’t greeted you properly yet.”

  “You greeted her fine,” Jackson said. “No touching!”

  Lincoln ignored this, reaching for Mollie’s hand and lifting it so he could kiss the back of it. “I know I’ve said this a million times, but if I’d met you first, you’d be so in love with me.”

  Mollie laughed and leaned toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m on to you, Lincoln Mathis. You may have this city wrapped around your finger, but I know your secret. I don’t think you want anyone to fall in love with you. I think you’re terrified.”

  Mollie meant what she said, but she’d also been teasing. So she was surprised when something sharp flashed in Lincoln’s blue eyes as he released her. “Keep my secret?” he said with a wink.

  She rolled her eyes, thinking she must have imagined whatever she saw there, but he gently touched her arm as she moved past him to get to Jackson through the throng of guys she didn’t recognize. “Seriously,” he said quietly. “Keep my secret?”