The Soulmate Equation

by Christina Lauren

JESSICA DAVIS USED to think it was an honest-to-God tragedy that only twenty-six percent of women believed in true love.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re answering my questions,” Jess grumbled, “or continuing an ongoing conversation in your head.”

THE PROBLEM WITH epiphanies: they never arrived at a convenient time.

gave herself two deep breaths to wish he were here, before remembering that she hadn’t loved him in a long time and didn’t need his help. Empty companionship was lonelier than being alone.

“You’ve chosen your circumstances, Jess. I like that about you. You take what you want and leave the rest behind. You decide.”

River bent to kiss her powder-soft cheek. “Johan, Dotty, this is my Jessica.” My Jessica. Her heart fell in a swoon, from her chest to her feet.

Together, they exhaled in relief, and everything fell away: sound, light, other people. She felt the sag in him, too, the confirmation that they were right to think it would feel this good. One short kiss, and then a longer one, just his mouth covering hers and then coming back to taste again. Just to see.

“I’d suspect most people comment on your eyes,” he said quietly, running a fingertip across her collarbone. “That startling, bright blue.” Surely he could feel her heart scaling her windpipe. He didn’t seem to remember there was anyone else in the room. “But I prefer your mouth.” “You do?” Jess managed. “I do,” he said, and bent, kissing her forehead. “You don’t give those smiles away for free.”

There are quiet moments, too. Good moments. Moments when we can ask for more.”

“I want to be here to bring you coffee. I want to take you out to dinner and order the same food and hear you recite the odds that we would have met. I want to hate-attend fancy social events together.” Jess laughed, a surprised burst of sound, and his tone softened. “I want you to call me for help—without an apology already on the tip of your tongue. I want to feel like I can kiss you again by your car at the end of the night.” He swallowed. “I want you in my bed.”

“I haven’t been home in years, but I feel that way with you.”

‘Statistics can’t tell us what will happen, they can only tell us what might happen.’

“Jess.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he eased her back onto the bed. “I’m saying I want to get her. Let me help you.” And then he ran his hands through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “If that’s okay. I’ve got to fix things with both of my girls today.”

Destiny could also be a choice, she’d realized. To believe or not, to be vulnerable or not, to go all in or not.

What do you want?” “You.” He let the syllable hang for a meaningful beat. River wanted her, and he wanted her. His whiskey-brown eyes held the same heat they had in the middle of the night, when he’d woken her with a kiss and turned on the muted bedside lamp before guiding her over him. But then his intensity broke, and he continued with quiet sincerity, “And Juno. Maybe a dog.” He peeked over her shoulder. “I want Fizzy’s insanity and Jo’s cooking. Fishing on weekends with Ron. I know it’s too early to really decide anything, but when you’re ready to take the next step—whatever it is—I’m in.”

Ask for all of it. What do you have to lose?

her legs. Making love to her was the only time a window in River’s mind ever opened to the possibility of religion.

In the end, is it science or is it spiritual? he wondered. Why does my chemistry alter so profoundly with them and no one else?

But then, for the time being, he made himself stop wondering at all. He simply let himself be what he always was when he was in the moment with Juno and Jess: perfectly, wholly, forever happy.