Jacqueline

My nerves melt away the second Vince puts his lips on mine. The only melting I’m doing is into him. My hands around his biceps, I squeeze his impressive muscles. He ends the kiss and smiles down at me, and I’m aware of the slight scratch of stubble he sports and the feel of it against my lips.

Kissing Vince is thrilling.

Lately every part of me springs to high alert when he’s near, whether it’s to tease me or to talk to me at work, but oh, wow, when he kisses me…

“I had no idea you were this good of a kisser.” I’m tipping my hand, but because it’s Vince I don’t care.

“Well, you never asked.”

His response is casual, and so him, that I relax more. There’s nothing to be afraid of or nervous about. I’m not in danger of being taken advantage of with him.

Except for work. Things could get choppy.

“Now what?”

“How about we take a walk?” He smiles, his eyes reflecting the streetlights.

“A walk?”

“Yeah. Get to know each other.” He nods down the street.

We’re in an artsy district where twinkle lights are strung outside various shops and restaurants—most of them with their doors propped open by sandwich board–style signage inviting passersby inside. Across the street is a huge fountain in the center of the square, beyond that the river and highway. It’s a gorgeous, warm-breezed, clear summer night—my favorite time of year to be downtown.

“I need to walk off that fattening duck dish I ate.” He pulls a hand over his taut stomach as we amble along the bike path to the fountain.

“We already know each other,” I say instead of addressing Vince’s waistline concerns—of which he has none. We share a lingering gaze and I look away, suddenly shy. The wind kicks my hair in front of my face. Before I can, Vince lifts a hand and sweeps it aside.

“I didn’t know how soft your hair was until I kissed you that first time,” he says. “And I didn’t know how cute you were when you eat filet mignon until tonight. We have plenty to learn about each other, Butler.”

I guess we do. He lets the serious moment drop and offers an impish grin. “Maybe later we can share dessert.”

My stomach flutters at the prospect of what Vince’s “dessert” might include. At the same time, guilt stabs me. I’m having “dessert” with two guys. True, it’s not sex, but dating them both is strange. Especially since I’ve barely managed to date one underwhelming prospect at a time in the past. It goes against everything I thought I believed, but then, so does kissing the formerly untouchable Vince Carson.

He clasps my hand again, and my smile returns. I’ve touched him often, but it’s never crossed the friend line until recently. It’s kind of exciting. And, in the way exciting things often are, it’s also kind of scary.

I’m going to take Bethany’s advice and live in the now. Go with my gut. Right now my gut says to hold Vince’s hand and stroll over to the fountain. Throw in a few pennies and make a wish. And then maybe find out what his version of dessert is like.

The hulking, square fountain is so big that several couples lounge on the ledge and are far enough away that we can’t hear their hushed conversations. Or their face sucking. I blink in stunned silence. Two of them are going at it.

I clear my throat, suddenly conscious that Vince might want to do the same thing.

He cornered me about J.T. and I was honest—J.T. and I kissed a lot in his apartment. J.T. is a good kisser. Not too much tongue, just the right amount of touching. He didn’t go right for the breasts or try to topple me over while we were on his sofa. I appreciated his polite advances as much as I appreciated his not pushing me for more.

When Vince kisses me, however, it’s me who needs a lesson in being polite. His lips touch mine and I want to wrap my legs around his hips. That last brief meeting of our mouths had me imagining us on the couch and him on top, grinding into me while I clawed at his clothes.

“Why are you shivering? It’s not cold out here at all.” Vince tsks, pulling me closer by our linked hands and rubbing his other palm up and down one of my bare arms. I don’t have the guts to tell him I’m not the least bit cold. That instead I was imagining all the ways he could turn me on…well, not all the ways. I’m sure he has tricks up his sleeve I can’t imagine. I smirk. I definitely can’t tell him that.

See, that’s what’s not adding up. If you’re dating two people, it’s because you like them both, right? And I do…but this pact I’ve made with myself about not having sex with either of them until I decide is set up to fail. I have a feeling Vince, whom I’ve known for years, will have a better shot at breaking through that wall before J.T. does.

Sex.

It complicates everything.

“Okay, Butler. Let’s hear it.” Vince pulls me out of yet another deep thought.

“I have nothing to say.” I shrug, an exaggerated motion I hope will make him forget that I’m dodging his question.

“Liar! Something is going on in that brain of yours. We’re standing here under a full moon, twinkle lights everywhere, a fountain with coins in the bottom where at least two people are making out so hard they might fall in”—I laugh at that—“and you’re not here with me. Talk to me. What’s the deal?”

My mouth goes dry and then drier as I watch the water spout from the fountain and splash into the pool below. I can’t tell Vince I’m sexually attracted to him and that he puts J.T. to shame in that department, so I bring up the only topic that will shut him up.

“Those girls you dated after your divorce,” I start, and Vince’s mouth slides into a frown. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”

He pulls in a deep breath, then studies the aforementioned full moon. He licks his lips, and unwanted images pop into my brain of who else kissed those lips before I did. Like the blonde from the bar that night—Polly. It’s a petty, unfair, jealous thought, but it’s exactly the distraction my hormones need. I’m no longer picturing him naked.

“We’re friends. You could tell me something like that. Why didn’t you?” I press.

Vince lets go of my hand and gestures for me to sit. I lower myself to the concrete ledge and he does the same.

He faces me. “Truth?”

I bite my lip, unsure. Do I want to know?

“It’s dude logic,” he warns. “It ain’t pretty.”

“So help me, if you say you have needs, I’ll never forgive you.” It’s a clichéd excuse and a downright disgusting one, since that’s the exact excuse Lex used when he told me he’d slept with his assistant.

“I would never say that because it’s bullshit.” Vince knows my damage with my ex, thanks to my sympathizing during the aftermath of his and Leslie’s divorce.

“I thought you were healing before you started dating,” I continue. Petulantly. The fact that he’d slept with girls I didn’t know about shouldn’t matter, but evidently it does. The idea of another woman in his bedroom the night before I came over to watch movies makes my skin crawl. “Did you bring any of them to your house?”

“Butler.” He looks away, which means yes.

“Oh, God,” I mutter, having an unwanted epiphany. “You didn’t sleep with any of them on your couch, did you?” I cringe, which is not a good look for me, but I can’t help myself.

“Jackie.” Vince chuckles in that deep, comforting way he has.

“Now you’re laughing at me?” And I’m whining. I shut my eyes and play with the ends of my hair in frustration. “You know what? I don’t want to know. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business. I have no reason to behave like a jealous—”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d lecture me and I didn’t want to be talked out of it.”

“It”? Does he mean sex or dating? Are they interchangeable to him? I don’t know how I feel about that.

“I care what you think of me, Butler.” He takes my hand, interrupting my hair twirling, and rubs his thumb over mine. “It mattered that you didn’t look at me any differently.”

Isn’t it amazing how men can separate sex from relationships?

Completely confounding.

Vince palms my cheek and I blink up at him. “I’m not Lex. I didn’t cheat on my wife. I didn’t cheat on anybody. I went on a few dates that didn’t pan out. Now I’m on a date with you, and trust me when I tell you you’re the only woman on my mind.”

A smile carves a path through the scruff on his jaw and then he’s leaning in close. There, under the moonlight in the center of Columbus’s Rogue Square, we kiss while sitting on the fountain as the people around us fade into the background.

Vince

Neither of us was hungry for it, but we went for dessert. Reason being: The fountain kisses were edging into public indecency territory. I pulled away first, which was a testament to how much I respect Jackie. She’s just this side of reserved. Super crazy PDA on a first date is well outside her comfort zone.

Me? I’d have happily kept kissing her until we wound up making out in the damn water. And that’s not typical for me. Yes, a few past first dates ended up in bed—only one of them in my bed—Jackie sure as hell doesn’t need to know that—but those dates were never more than one-night distractions. I learned quickly that as helpful as those hookups were at getting me over my pain-filled divorce, they were also unsatisfying. The awkward morning after was so strange I amended my sex rule to “her place, not mine,” and I morphed into one of those guys who favored leaving in the middle of the night.

I’m not like that anymore. And I’m not like that with Jackie. I’d never leave her in bed while I sneaked downstairs without my shoes. I haven’t felt this way since I dated Leslie. That thought introduces the smallest kernel of doubt. I shove it aside and hang a left on Cross Street.

“Vince.”

“Yeah?”

Jackie glances to the side mirror. “You turned the wrong way on Cross.”

“Not true.” I flex my hand on the steering wheel, weirdly nervous. “This is the way to my house.”

“I know, but…”

Sigh.

“But you don’t want to go back to my house,” I finish for her.

“Well…”

“It’s Friday,” I say, as if that’s reason enough to take her home. “You come over almost every weekend for movie night.” Or she did, until she started dating Jaundice.

“That’s true, but…”

Another “but.” I can guess what comes next, so I stop acting like an ass and give her hand a squeeze. “But that was before we made out hot and heavy on our first date.”

She doesn’t respond and there’s no need. The kernel of doubt develops into a sprout. Everything between us has changed, even though I didn’t mean for it to. I wanted things to change. I wanted to add kissing to our friendship, not swap one for the other.

I pump the brakes—both literally and mentally—and turn into a random driveway, checking behind me for traffic so I can set the course for Jackie’s apartment.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Taking you home.” I see my opening, reverse out, and drive toward her place. A palpable hesitation from her reminds me how complicated things have become. “It’s not a big deal. I should have asked.”

“But you normally wouldn’t have to ask,” she says matter-of-factly. She’s figured out our conundrum too.

“It’s okay,” I say, because if I keep saying it, hopefully it will be.

I weave around the main road in her complex. The guest parking spaces are full save for a few in the back, and I silently swear. Dropping her off in front of her porch means our kiss goodbye will be in the car. I’d prefer walking her up and pressing her back to the door. Since I don’t see any other cars…

“I’ll get your door.” I leave the keys in the ignition, the engine idling, and I’m out of the car before I hear what might be her protests. I suddenly don’t like sensible Jackie. She’s already outside the car when I reach her, a smile spreading the lips I want another taste of before I leave.

“How did you do it?” She beams up at me, her eyes so filled with naked approval, I pull my shoulders back.

“Do what?” I’m grinning too, and hoping her question is something along the lines of How did you make me want to invite you in and kiss you until you’re ready to explode?

Instead she says, “The flowers,” and starts for her stoop.

Huh?

I turn my head and realize that Jaundice has fucked me over, and I’ll bet he didn’t do it on purpose. There is a huge bouquet of daisies stuck in her mailbox by the door, note attached.

Leaving my idling car behind, I follow her to the door, because leaping into my car and peeling out of the parking lot would be rude. Before I can explain the daisies aren’t from me, she shows me the card. I read it, anger throttling me.

Because roses are generic. ~J.T.

“Daisies aren’t much better,” I tell her. Like a jerk.

Jackie’s eyes flit across the street toward the other apartments. I can’t exactly tell which is J.T.’s, but I know that’s why she’s looking over there. She cradles the bouquet and licks her lips in a nervous gesture.

“Listen. Vince.” Her creased brow tells me all I need to know. She’d invite me in, but it’s too soon—or hell, maybe too late. She’d kiss me goodbye on the stoop, but J.T. might be watching out the windows and she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Guess what? I don’t care about J.T.’s feelings. Or his stupid show-Vince-up flowers.

“I had a nice time tonight,” she says, her smile returning. But it’s a distant smile—bordering on flat. It’s not hard to decipher that those words are a brush-off. They weren’t original. I’ve heard them before. They just never hurt as much as they do right now.

“I noticed.” I step out of my space and into hers. So close I crinkle the cellophane of her bouquet between our bodies. I thumb her bottom lip and lean closer.

She stops me by wrapping a hand around my wrist.

“See you Monday.” Jackie lets go of me and produces a house key. She’s addressing me from the interior of her apartment before I can blink. “Thanks again for dinner. We’ll do this again.”

Her door shuts in my face and I stare at the panel, stupefied.

Did that really happen?

I turn and walk down the steps to my car, and it takes every ounce of resistance in my body not to glare in the direction of J.T.’s window—wherever the hell he is.

I sink into my driver’s seat, head shaking at my awkward departure. And realizing belatedly that Jackie once again threw the “See you Monday” at me, which means she’s not planning on seeing me again this weekend.