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.