“And now you’re wildly successful, so your parents must be very pleased.”
He sets his fork on his plate. “I’m not sure I’d say I’m wildly successful. I’m lucky that I get paid to write and play music, and I’m one of the rare people who can live off my passion. That’s all I can really ask for.”
As Jacob leans back on my couch and props one foot on his opposite knee, I’m struck by his quiet confidence. How is it possible that I ever thought this man was weird or awkward? He knows exactly who he is, and he doesn’t need to apologize or change to please anyone. I wish I could be more like that.
Jacob slowly lowers his plate to the coffee table, and I realize I’m staring. He gazes back at me, and there’s something charged in the air between us. My heart rattles in my chest, and his breath hitches, telling me he feels it too.
At that moment, Gio wanders out of the closet and hops up on the couch, breaking the spell. I’m not sure if I’m glad about that or not. Jacob reaches out to scratch him between his ears and, sensing an easy mark, Gio rubs his head on Jacob’s leg.
“Oh, sorry about the cat fur,” I say, setting my plate on the side table. “I can get him off you.”
“It’s fine.” Jacob smiles as Gio turns up the purr. “How’s it going, living with Giocoso?”
“He’s the love of my life, and no man will ever live up to him.”
Jacob’s face turns serious. “I’m sorry about Alex. You guys were together a long time.”
“Three years.”
“You want to talk about it?” Jacob leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Gio wanders off to check out his food bowl.
I stare down at my hands. I’m not even sure what to say about what went wrong with Alex. What went wrong with everything. “Have you ever wished for something so badly, only to finally get it and realize it’s maybe not what you wanted after all?”
Jacob is silent for a moment, lips pressed together. “At least,” he finally says in a low voice. “You can say you tried. Whatever it is. You gave it a shot.”
“I guess. But I should have it all together by now. Like Owen does… and you.”
He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head, and he seems almost bitter. “I’ve wanted the same thing all my life. But…” His expression darkens. “I’ve never had the courage to reach out and grab it.”
Our eyes meet, and I don’t think we’re talking about his music anymore. The heat that was rising between us all evening suddenly cranks up to a broil. “Why not?” I manage.
Jacob lifts a shoulder. “I guess it’s easier to hold on to hope than it is to try and fail.” His face is tipped up at me, dark hair tousled and slanting across his forehead, one lock teasing the top edge of his glasses.
And—Oh my.
I don’t want to be talking about his music anymore.
“But you could try and not fail,” I whisper. I grab one hand with the other to stop them from shaking. “How will you ever know?”
He pauses, and my heart is pounding so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it.
And then he stands up from the couch.
Crosses the room.
Sinks down on the bed next to me.
Slides one hand behind my head.
And he kisses me.
Chapter 22
It’s gentle at first. Our mouths come together, apart, back together again. He slides a hand up to my cheek and sits back to look at me like he can’t believe I’m real. I’m shaking a little. And then he leans in again, and I’m grabbing his shirt, his hands are tangled in my hair, and our bodies are pressed together.
I thought our last kiss was intense—that kiss on his couch during my Very Bad Year—but it was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to kissing him when I know him so much better and see him so much clearer. He shifts his weight, lowering me onto the bed and pressing my body into the mattress. I clutch his shoulders as his lips explore the sensitive skin on my jaw, my neck, behind my earlobe. His mouth finds mine again, and we kiss until my lips are swollen and my cheeks are marked from the stubble on his chin.
With every kiss, with every touch I want more. More of him. Desperately, I grasp the hard muscles of his shoulders and tug his shirt over his head. And it’s cliché, I know it is, but the motion is a bucket of ice water dumped right over us. He freezes with his arms propped on either side of my head, blinking down at me in a daze, like he just woke up from a dream.
Or maybe it was a nightmare. Because the next thing I know, he’s rolled off me, and the chilled air from the AC unit in the window blows across my heated skin. I shiver, and not in a good way.
Jacob slides to the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands. “Shit. I can’t do this.”
I struggle to sit up. “What?”
He looks everywhere but at me. “I’m so sorry.”
And just like that, all the oxygen goes out of the room. Oh my God. He’s sorry. He’s sorry. Is this really happening again?
“What the hell?” I stare at his back.
Finally, he turns to me, and the regret on his face is so agonizing that I have to look away.
“Sadie,” he says. “You just broke up with your boyfriend of three years. You’re upset about your parents. I came up here because you were crying and distraught. And then I made a move on you.”
“I was over the crying when you made a move on me. I’m not crying now.” Except I kind of am, but it has nothing to do with Alex or my parents, and everything to do with the humiliation I’m experiencing.
His head shakes back and forth. “Owen would kill me if he knew I took advantage of you when you were vulnerable.”
My mouth drops open. “Excuse me? I do have some agency here. I don’t need my brother to decide when I’m allowed to make out with someone.”
“I know that. But I’m trying to be your friend.”
I get off the bed and stomp to the other side of the room. “Maybe I don’t want to be your friend.”
Jacob slowly shakes his head. “I get it that this seemed like a good idea at the time, but I saw you crying out there on the street. This isn’t—” He runs a hand through his hair. “We shouldn’t start something like this. Not now when you’re—”
“When I’m what?” Except I already know. I turn away, pressing a hand over my eyes. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening again.”
“Again?”
How many times am I going to do this? What’s it going to take for me to realize that Jacob isn’t interested in me? He’s Owen’s best friend, and I’m Owen’s pathetic, sad sister, and he feels sorry for me. And the worst part is that despite all of that, the sight of his messy hair and the broad chest that pressed me down into the mattress still has my heart turning to butterscotch pudding. “I think you need to leave, Jacob.”
He hesitates, and then finally nods. “Can I call you tomorrow? To see if you’re okay?”
I felt humiliated before, but that was nothing compared to the thought of him calling to make sure I’m not drowning my sorrows in a vat of raw cookie dough. I close my eyes. “Oh my God, please don’t call me. Please just… go.” I sink down on the bed, facing the wall.