More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Is it good, though? That’s up for debate.” “What did the sun do to piss you off?” “Exist,” he draws out. “Are you a vampire?” I ask. “Also up for debate.”
It’s been two years of this, of us existing in an awkward limbo, stuck somewhere between friends and acquaintances.
What’s that song about asses in the sand?
“How much fun is it really to sit in the sand?” I ask. “It’s kind of a mess, if you ask me.”
“What if I told you the coffee cups are the highlight of my week?” he asks. His voice is soft, hesitant. There’s a low timbre to his question, like he’s afraid to keep talking, fearful of what else he might say. “Maybe I like the way your bottom lip sticks out when I take a sip of my drink. The way you’re worried about what I might think. Did you know your eyes change color depending on your mood? From emerald green to—” His mouth snaps closed. His eyes widen. He pulls back.
‘Yeah, I work in insurance. By the way, here’s a picture of my junk you didn’t ask for. Enjoy!’”
The only thing I know about Jack is how he takes his coffee. Black, if you’re wondering. Oh, and on Thursdays, he wears a blue shirt. Different shades, but always blue.”
“So you have his wardrobe memorized,” Abby says. “Not intentionally. It’s obvious when he wears the same color on the same day, every week, without fail.” And how the shirt perfectly matches his eyes.
“Is he hot?” she asks. “Maybe you two need to jump in bed together, bang it out, and get rid of this tension between you.”
work. Jack strikes me as someone who’s greedy and likes to get off first. He takes all that he can get then leaves you staring at the ceiling, unsatisfied and wanting more. He’d probably scowl when you were close, irritated and annoyed you haven’t finished yet. My vibrator could do a better job.”
“So he is hot.” “Who’s hot?” The deep voice behind us startles me. I know that voice. I know that voice well. That voice calls me Josephine when everyone else in my life calls me Jo.
It’s the same one that chastised me earlier, and I kind of like when he fights back.
“I always let the woman finish first,” he says. His voice is husky and rough, but soft enough for only me to hear. “No one leaves unsatisfied.”
I was expecting a lot of reactions from Josephine after making that smartass comment. A drink to be thrown in my face. A swat across my wrist and curse words hurled my way. But that gasp? It’s a total surprise. I try not to react to the sound, but it’s inevitable. The walls feel like they’re caving in. My mouth is dry. My body buzzes, excitement coursing through my veins like I’ve spent the night throwing back shots of vodka but drunk off her.
I think I’m seconds away from grabbing her by the belt loop and dragging her toward me. God dammit.
Jack Lancaster, deceased because a woman breathed.
It feels like a fire is burning inside of me the longer I look at her. I need to get out of here.
“She’s really pretty.” “I know,” I grumble. I take a sip of my drink, then another. “It’s irritating.”
“Holy shit. Now she’s thinking about you two doing it,” he exclaims.
His friends welcomed me with open arms, and now they’re my friends, too. They are men who drop everything to help each other, unafraid to share feelings and big, scary emotions. We talk through crises and moments of fear. The good things, and the bad ones too.
When you’re used to shielding yourself and keeping things locked inside, it’s weird to have people who support you. People at your side, cheering you on. Wanting the best for you because they care about you and love you.
Did she move closer to you after she gasped?” “Yes.” “Did her pupils dilate?” “I’m not answering that.” “I bet her breathing changed.” “Oh, fuck you,” I snap.
“How is going on a trip with the woman you so clearly have a crush on a problem?” “Because she could never like me back. She’s bright and beautiful and nothing, nothing like the broken person I am,” I blurt out. “Spending time with her terrifies the hell out of me because I’m inevitably going to screw up whatever… whatever friendship we could try to have. That’s what I do. I ruin things, and I don’t want to ruin someone as wonderful as her.”
“Being around her is confusing.” I scrub a hand over my face, trying to find the right words to describe what I’m feeling. “I don’t know if I’m five seconds away from yelling at her for being too damn nice or pushing her against a wall and asking if I can kiss her.”
Josephine goddamn Bowen. She’s the day. Sunshine. Brightness. All-encompassing warmth. Lending a helping hand whenever needed. Someone people look to for solace, for comfort and joy.
“Thatta boy. Fewer scowls, more smiles. It makes you less intimidating. More approachable. It also wouldn’t hurt you to laugh,” Noah says. He leans over and pokes my side.
It’s Josephine’s hair haunting my thoughts in the afternoon, the curls I want to wrap around my fist and yank—hard—that’s an issue. It’s the coffee cups with half-hearted insults on them that give me butterflies. Fucking. Butterflies.
I can’t stop thinking about her. I’ve tried. Really hard. But the most horrible, fucked up part about all of this is I don’t want to stop thinking about her. Not for a second.
“Have you checked your email?” “No. I just got back from a meeting, then I was busy watching you. Priorities.” “Hopefully your meeting was the more riveting one between the two,” I say. Jack’s lips twitch,
“I don’t even use social media and they want me to give a presentation on it?” “That’s not true,” I say. “You have an Instagram.”
“Are there things in life you don’t despise?” I ask. “Of course.” He closes his laptop. “My friends. Warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Holding the elevator doors for someone when they ask you to. That positively invigorates me,” he says, and his eyes sparkle. “Asshole.” I groan at the callback to the first time we met.
“Sorry,” Jack says. “It’s fun to see how fidgety you get when I mention Elevatorgate.” “Stop talking,” I plead. “I have held onto that sin for years and you’re going to tarnish it with a name like Elevatorgate? I won’t allow it.”
“No. Whatever is easiest. I just don’t like mushrooms.” “Mushrooms are the fucking worst,” Jack agrees.
“Cool. Have a good rest of your day, Jack.” “You too, Josephine. Also, if it makes you feel better about your stalker ways, I accidentally found your Instagram. That picture of you on the sailboat is beautiful. It’s my favorite one of you.”
He found the one where I was healing, where I was still broken. Not totally whole but working on it, and called it beautiful.
Maybe Jack is a little broken, too. Maybe we’re two people who have gone through life wondering if we’re good enough. Maybe we’re not as different as I thought we were.
He keeps the cups.
“What did you bring?” “Tacos. I heard you mention you liked Mexican food one day and thought it was a safe option,” Jack says, and his shoulders relax. “When was this?” “A year ago, maybe? I don’t remember.” He shrugs and gestures to the chairs. “It was when we were doing icebreakers.”
“Hard shell tacos are superior to soft shell tacos,”
wrong
Jack follows my movements, his gaze lingering on my hips.
I shouldn’t care that Josephine’s interested in hearing about my job, but pride simmers in my chest with her question.
“Jack Lancaster. Are you turning soft on me?” “No,” I grunt. This conversation is treading dangerously close to personal information territory. A discussion that goes well past coworkers and turns to I’d like to get to know you. Maybe we could get dinner sometime? Which, yeah, I really fucking do, but now’s not the time or the place. “Are you sure about that?” she asks. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” I would like to get to know Josephine Bowen. I’d like to hear about her dreams and her fears. Learn what keeps her up at night, because lately, she’s on my mind when I fall asleep, and I don’t know
...more
“Wow,” Josephine breathes out. She sounds impressed, and I experience that burst of pride again. “Jack, your job is so cool.”
Thankfulness. Appreciation. An exhaustion of carrying around burdens I don’t know the stories of, but I want to learn about. She perks up, her smile wide and her gaze soft. I have the sudden urge to wrap my arms around her. Pull her into a hug and hold her close, a display of affection I never usually want to show.
It's overwhelming how reckless she makes me feel.
There’s a shift in the air. It’s chemical, almost, altering my brain to think that she’s moving even closer, her gaze unwavering. I don’t want to be the first to look away, but staring at Josephine is catastrophic. It’s noticing the freckles across her nose. It’s realizing her eyes have flecks of blue in them, the bright color mixed in with a sea of devastating green. It’s understanding she’s without a doubt the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. It’s recognizing for the first time that there’s a reason I can’t get this woman out of my head. An explanation as to why I go out of my way to
...more
think you haven’t had a lot of opportunities to show that gentleness, but I know it’s there. I can see it in the way you look at me. In the way you care for your friends. I’m sorry you feel you have to hide it.”
I want to melt. I want to uncork myself and spill my deepest, darkest secrets to the woman sitting across from me. I want her to be my friend and I want her to compliment me again, because it’s been so fucking long since a woman treated me like… like I was worthy of her attention.
“Maybe one day,” I say. My throat is as dry as sand and my words are brittle on my tongue. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you everything. You can see if you still think I’m gentle and kind.”
Jack’s palm twitches on the table. For a second, I think he’s going to reach over and hold my hand. For a second, I want him to.
