“I’m fickle,” I blurt out. “And sometimes I can be selfish.” I know I should shut up, but the blunt honesty feels warranted. He needs to know exactly what he’s dealing with. I don’t want to experience another relationship with someone I’m not completely up front and open with. “I have a rebellious streak that I’m really trying to work on. I sometimes spend entire days binge-watching Netflix in my underwear. I’ve lived alone most of my adult life, so I eat ice cream out of the tub and drink straight out of the milk carton. I’ve never wanted children of my own. I kind of want a cat, but I’m too scared of the responsibility. I love show tunes and Hallmark Christmas movies and I absolutely hate Austin traffic. And I know none of that really matters because we aren’t even dating, but I feel like you should know all those things about me up front.” When I’m finished, I bite my bottom lip nervously, waiting for him to either laugh at me or run. I’d completely understand either reaction.
He reacts in a completely different way than what I expect. He sighs and tilts his head a little, resting our hands against his chest. His thumbs brush back and forth over mine.
“I internalize everything negative that happens at work,” he says. “I need solitude on the really bad days. Sometimes even from Justice. And…I’m messy. I haven’t done dishes in four days or laundry in two weeks. Most doctors are organized and their houses are spotless, but mine is chaotic most of the time. And I probably shouldn’t admit this because I’m a cardiologist, but I love fried food. I’ve watched every episode of Grey’s Anatomy, although I’ll deny it if you ever repeat that. And…I’ve only been with two women, so I don’t even know that I’m all that impressive in bed.”
The fact that he just admitted all that makes me feel like I might get a little emotional, but luckily, the last part of his admission makes me laugh. “You’re impressive, Jake. Trust me.”
He arches a brow. “Am I?”
I nod, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks just thinking about it.
“Can you be more specific?” he teases. “What was your favorite part?”
I think back on our night together, and honestly, all of it was great. But if I had to narrow it down to a favorite moment, I know exactly which one it is. “The second time. When you kept your eyes open and watched me while we…” My voice trails off. I can’t even finish that sentence.
Jake stares at me very seriously for a moment. His hands cover mine completely. “That was my favorite part, too.”
I duck my head a little, breaking eye contact with him. Not because I’m nervous anymore, but because I’m trying to prevent myself from kissing him.
He reaches out and slides his hand to the nape of my neck, pulling my gaze back to his. His other hand slides around to my lower back, pulling me closer. “There were a lot of parts I liked about that night.” He smiles as he inches his mouth closer to mine. “I liked undressing you as we stood next to your bed,” he whispers, right before he presses his lips to mine.
I close my eyes, completely weakened by his kiss, but he pulls back.
“And I liked it when I lowered you to the bed.” His lips lightly feather mine and I feel him shift as he leans forward and lowers me to the mattress. I’m no longer in the position of control, but I don’t mind it. My eyes feel heavy when I open them, looking up at him while he hovers over me. “And I really liked it the next morning when I woke up and you were wrapped around me so tight, it took me ten minutes to sneak out of the bed without waking you.”
I open my mouth slightly, preparing a response, but he doesn’t allow it. He dips his head and kisses me. As soon as his lips close over mine, I’m reminded of everything I felt the first time he kissed me. I don’t know how I was able to deny him even once, much less twice.
Sometimes I’m impressed by my own strength, because right now, there’s no way I could choose anything else over this kiss. I don’t even care if we leave this room today, because his tongue has found mine and my hands are sliding through his hair and why can’t I be in my own apartment already? I’m conscious of every noise I want to make right now.
Luckily, he stops it before more parts of us get involved in this make-out session than simply our mouths. He kisses me softly, twice, before pressing his cheek to mine and releasing a heavy sigh into my hair.
I sigh right along with him, realizing that we’re going to have to leave this room at some point. “I guess I should introduce you to my roommates now.”
His gaze scrolls my face for a moment. “Yeah. I guess so.”
I swallow, feeling the nerves start to build as I think about him meeting everyone. Specifically Warren. “Can you promise me something?”
Jake nods.
“Don’t judge me too harshly based on a couple of my roommates. Warren’s sole purpose today will be to embarrass me as much as he possibly can.”
Jake’s mouth breaks out into a devilish grin. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet him now.”
I roll my eyes and push against his chest. Jake rolls off me and onto his back. I stand up and straighten out my shirt, but he remains on the bed, staring up at me with an unusual expression.
“What?” I ask, wondering why he looks so…satiated.
He stares for a moment longer, then shakes his head and pushes off the mattress. He stands up, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he mutters, almost in passing as he grabs my hand and walks me toward my bedroom door.
That one comment completely eviscerates every hesitant, nervous feeling that remained from before he arrived. If he weren’t pulling me out of the bedroom right now to go and meet everyone, I would make him wait so that I could find a pen and add another line to my bucket list. It would only be two words.
Jake. Griffin.
It wouldn’t say, “Make love to Jake Griffin” or “Marry Jake Griffin.”
The entire tenth item on my bucket list would simply be his name, almost as if I could somehow accomplish him as a whole.
Item number ten to accomplish:
Jake Griffin.
When people ask me why I became a doctor, which is quite a common question, I give them the quintessential answer: I want to save lives. I want to make a difference. I like helping people.
It’s all bullshit.
I became a doctor because I love adrenaline.
Of course, the other answers are true as well. But the main reason is adrenaline. I love being the difference between a life or death situation. I love the rush I get when my skills are put to the test against a rapidly failing organ. I love the satisfaction I get when I win.
I was born competitive.
But there’s a difference between being competitive and being in competition with someone else. I’m not competitive against other doctors or other people. I’m only competitive against myself. I’m in a constant battle to improve my own skillset in everything I do, whether that’s in the operating room, jumping out of an airplane, or being the absolute best father I can be to Justice. I’m always on a quest to be a better me tomorrow than I was yesterday. It’s never been about competing with anyone other than myself.
Until this moment. Because in this particular moment, I find myself hoping Ridge doesn’t measure up to me. I haven’t even met him yet, but I’ve never been in a situation where I’m about to meet the ex-boyfriend of the girl I’m interested in. It’s not something I was prepared to do today. Or ever. When I started dating Chrissy in high school, I was her first legitimate boyfriend. I was her first kiss. Her first date. Her first everything. And considering we spent more than ten years together after that, I’ve never had to deal with feeling competitive with another man.
I’m not sure I like it.
When Maggie mentioned Ridge for the first time on our date, she talked about how he met someone else while he was dating her, which is ultimately what led to their breakup. I don’t know the guy, but that was an automatic strike against him in my book. She also mentioned he writes music for a band, which is another strike against him
. Not that being in a band is a bad thing, but it’s hard to compete with a musician, even when you’re a doctor.
What little she did say about Ridge gave me the impression that she doesn’t regret the demise of their relationship. But it’s still slightly uncomfortable knowing this is his apartment. Maggie is his ex. I’m about to spend the day with his friends. I can’t imagine many guys being okay with their ex bringing along a new guy, so unless he’s some kind of saint, I probably have good reason to suddenly be on edge. I don’t like that I’m experiencing jealousy over a girl for the first time, and I haven’t even met the guy who is the cause of my irrational jealousy.
But that’s about to change because we’re walking out of Maggie’s bedroom now, specifically for introductions. I open the door and step aside so that Maggie can walk out of her bedroom first. She looks up at me as she passes, and she smiles with a hint of calm appreciation in her eyes, despite her own nervousness.
It’s the same look she gave me when I was helping her with her skydiving paperwork the first day we met. She was a ball of nervous energy—enough for me to have felt it from all the way across the room. But as soon as I sat down next to her, she somehow smiled at me with an appreciative look in her eyes that made me feel as though I were in the process of jumping out of that plane with her. She says a lot without saying anything. I’ve never met anyone whose expressions hold entire conversations.
Right now, her expression is saying, “This is awkward, I know. But it’ll be fine.”
She leaves her bedroom door open and walks ahead of me across the living room. There’s a guy standing in the kitchen with his back to us. I can’t tell from this view, but it looks like he may be on his phone. There’s a blond girl standing near the bar, slipping into a pair of shoes. She glances up as soon as she hears us exiting Maggie’s bedroom. Her whole face lights up when she sees me next to Maggie.
Maggie waves her hand toward her. “Jake, this is Sydney.”
Sydney continues twisting her shoe into the carpet to get it on her foot. Once she does, she walks over to me, half-hopping as she extends her hand. “It’s so good to meet you,” she says, pulling on the other shoe.
I return her handshake. “You, too.”