“He’s nice, right?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
“What happened to the no-athlete rule?” He meets my gaze again.
“Misty says I need to have casual relationships for a while, so I figure, if it’s going to be casual anyway, who cares?” I shrug. “Kind of like what you and that girl have going on.”
“You mean Jessa?”
“Yep.” Now it’s me who looks away. “You brought her as your date though so maybe it’s more than casual.”
“It’s not.”
“Not yet.”
“It never will be.”
“How do you know?” I look at him again. “Things change and sometimes it does become more.”
“In order for it to become more, both people would have to want that, which is not the case with Jessa.”
“It is for her.”
“How would you know?”
“I saw her crying. She left in an Uber. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know something happened.” I search his eyes.
“We hooked up once.” He moves closer. My pulse leaps.
“Once,” I whisper.
“That worked out fine.”
“Did it?”
“It seemed to. You got what you wanted out of it, didn’t you? You moved on rather quickly, too.”
“He was very persistent.” I swallow. “You weren’t.”
“What would have happened if I had been?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a total lie. I one thousand percent would have dated him, but he never chased, never showed interest. It was a one and done for him.
“Did you want me to chase you? Were you waiting for me to?” He takes another step forward, completely engulfing the distance between us.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I guess a part of me wanted you to, but I knew deep down that you weren’t the chasing type. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Why doesn’t it matter?
“You would have broken me.”
“I would never hurt you. That’s why I never chased. I regretted it though. I regretted it more when you moved on with him.” He searches my eyes. “You’ve been tearing me up inside for years.”
“I didn’t know you felt anything.” I can barely breathe, but somehow I speak the words.
“Of course you didn’t.” He scoffs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You haven’t even been around. You’ve spent so much of your time at Duke freaking parties.” He makes a face as he says the words, as if merely speaking it aloud leaves a taste in his mouth. “How would you know? You dropped classes I was in. You walked away from parties we both attended—”
“Because even though we both know you’re not the chasing type and you’re definitely not the settling down type, you kept coming on to me at those parties!”
“Because I wanted you.” He takes one last step forward with the force of his words and closes the remaining distance between us. My heart leaps into my throat as I stare into his thunderous gaze. He looks like he’s looking for a fight, or worse, like he might devour me right here. He takes a breath and lowers his voice, and the timbre does absolutely nothing to calm my emotions. “I’ve wanted you since we were teenagers. I wanted you at that party and after I had you, I knew it would never be enough.” His words are a low growl, a harsh whisper against my lips. “I’ve wanted you every day since and seeing you with him was like eating glass. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what it’ll take for you to finally pick me?”
“You’re an idiot, Jagger Cruz. I would have picked you from day one and you know it.”
“Day one doesn’t count.”
“Day one meant everything to me.” I lift a hand and run it up his torso, setting it on his shoulder. “You were my first, you know.”
“I remember.” His gaze darkens. I swear I feel him shaking beneath my hand. “Fuck, Josephine. Just . . . ”
I stand on the tips of my toes and move my hand so that it’s on the back of his neck and kiss him. In my mind, I’m in control of this kiss, but when he moves into it and his large hands finally touch me, I feel myself unravel and when he backs me into the wall behind me and presses into me, his mouth devouring mine, I know I’m not in control of anything at all. I realize that this is what I crave and am afraid of. Memories of our hookup flood back to me and I know that underneath all of the lust there’s a genuine fear of what would happen if things don’t work out. We weren’t just friends. Our parents are friends, almost like family in the sense that when shit goes sideways they always count on each other to be there. A relationship between us would carry the weight of the responsibility that if we didn’t work out, we’d still see each other and be expected to act cordial. With a shuddering breath, I pull away from the kiss, drunk from it, and look into his eyes. He looks wild, barely contained, his breathing heavy as if he’d been on the field.