Straight Up Love Page 11

  “I promise, Ava, but that goes both ways, right?”

  She nods tentatively. “Are you sure, Jake?”

  I arch a brow. “Did you miss the part of this conversation about the months and months of hot sex?”

  Laughing, she releases my shirt and backs away. “We both know you could have hot sex with whomever you wanted whenever you wanted.”

  “You say that with such conviction, and yet you’ve never been in my bed.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s right. Turn on the charm now. Maybe I’ll eventually buy your lines.” She eyes the door before swinging her gaze back to meet mine. “I bet the girls are jumping to all kinds of conclusions about what we’re doing up here, so I should probably get down there. Talk to you tomorrow?”

  I nod. “Night, Av.”

  I stare at the door long after she goes, willing my racing heart to calm.

  Ava

  I’ve never been so grateful to see the end of a school week.

  Billy Joel Christianson—who was absolutely named after the singer—made my day hellish. Not only did he plagiarize his research paper, he tried to blame me for it. I told him his sources were acceptable; therefore, it was entirely my fault that he copied and pasted from them into his paper. Never mind the fact that we had a whole unit on avoiding plagiarism and how to appropriately paraphrase, summarize, quote, and cite your sources.

  Billy Joel hasn’t given me anything I haven’t seen before, but his parents are big donors to the school. The cherry on my crap day sundae was being called down to Mr. Mooney’s office and told I wasn’t handling the matter delicately enough.

  By the time I get home, I’m contemplating the merits of spending my evening with the punching bag at the gym or the world’s largest glass of wine on my couch. But when I pull up, I see Jake on a ladder tinkering with the gutters and realize neither of those plans are in the cards.

  At the sight of Jake, my work stress reaches out to hold hands with my real-life stress, and they become one happy, united front, making me want to curl under a blanket and hide. I forgot he was coming over tonight. I put our agreement from my mind and forgot about having someone in my bed for the first time since my divorce.

  Dread pricks at the back of my neck, and my stomach twists.

  This will change everything.

  No girl in her right mind would dread having sex with Jake Jackson. But no girl other than me is his best friend.

  It’s just sex, right? Our bodies were made to do this. I can lie back and think of England, as they say. Just get it done.

  Except it’s not that simple. I’ve never been one who could turn on sexually without turning on emotionally. And turning on emotionally with Jake is dangerous. I let myself think of him as more than a friend before and regretted it. What a sticky situation I’ve gotten myself into.

  I pull my car into the garage and leave the door open so I can go outside and see what Jake’s up to.

  He sees me and flashes his signature panty-dropping grin. It’s taken years of practice to become immune to that smile. I trained myself not to think about what it would be like to have him want me, worked hard to never wonder what he did with his dates when he took them home, or how it would feel to be one of those women. Am I ready to break down that wall? To let those thoughts creep into my consciousness? And if I do, will I ever be able to turn them back off?

  The deluge of self-doubt makes me want to change our plans. I don’t want to spend my Friday seducing Jake Jackson only to have him discover that I’m a dud between the sheets. I want him to stay for a movie and popcorn so we can talk trash about the eighteen-year-old trust-fund kid who thinks he can skirt the rules because his parents have money. But we have an arrangement. A deal that gives me what I want most. It’s time for me to pull on my big-girl panties—or maybe time to pull them off.

  “Hey, Jake.” I offer a smile—not nearly as carefree as his.

  He looks me over, head to toe. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

  I shake my head and wave away his concern. “Just a crap day. But it’s Friday, so I have a couple of days to pretend asshole students don’t exist. I’ll be better.” I scan the gutter he was working on. “What are you doing up there?”

  “It was falling off again. Your soffit’s rotting out. I’ll get the materials and take care of it this weekend.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “With the rain we’re expecting this week, I really do. If I don’t, best-case scenario, you’re going to have a lake in your flowerbeds. Worst, a flooded basement.” He climbs down the ladder and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Stop looking at me like I’m offering you a kidney. I don’t mind the work. The fresh air is good for me.”

  My belly warms. Jake has always been the kind of friend who takes care of me. I like to think it goes both ways, but I know I benefit more from his friendship than he ever has from mine. And we’re about to take that to a whole new level. “I can hire someone. You can get your fresh air doing something more fun.”

  “Av, I really don’t mind. I know this isn’t where you want to spend your money anyway.”

  I press my lips together. The truth is, he’s right. And a job that’ll take a couple of hours of Jake’s weekend and fifty dollars in materials would otherwise cost me several hundred. “Thank you,” I say. “It means a lot. It really does. How was your day?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing special. Inventory at the bar, meeting with Brayden about getting some of the new brews bottled for distribution.”

  I grin. “Between your brewing and his business sense, Jackson Brews will be all over the country soon.”

  “Hope so. Want to order a pizza?”

  Order a pizza. As in, spend our evening in. Together. Alone.

  The warmth in my stomach cools then ties itself into a bunch of ugly knots. Is it just me, or does this suddenly feel awkward? Like everything either of us says is loaded with suggestion and innuendo?

  Of course we’re going to start trying. The whole idea behind Jake’s plan is regular sex. I agreed to this. I wanted this. “Sure.”

  He steps forward and tucks my hair behind my ear, his eyes scanning my face. “Relax,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna tie you to the bed and fuck you till you’re pregnant, okay?” He drops his gaze to my mouth, and his lips part. “No matter how much I might enjoy that.”

  The knots in my stomach shimmy with delight at his words. I step back, swallowing. “I’m not worried.”

  Jake

  Ava came home wound as tight as I’ve ever seen her. She had a shit day at work, but it wasn’t just that. She was spooked by seeing me at her house. I brought a growler of her favorite imperial stout from the bar, and after a couple of glasses, half a loaded veggie pizza, and three-quarters of a movie, she’s on the couch smiling and relaxed, like she has not a care in the world.

  And I can’t stop staring at her.

  Ava’s curled up on one end of the couch, me on the other, her eyes on the movie, and mine on her. Attraction is such a strange thing. It seems impossible to me that I could have such an instinctive pull to her—that I could be gutted with wanting her when she’s around—and she doesn’t feel any of that for me. Something so elemental shouldn’t be unrequited. I guess I don’t believe it is. After all, here we are, planning to make a baby together. She wouldn’t have agreed if she didn’t feel something. And I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t believe I stood a chance.

  She changed into pajamas while I ordered the pizza. While the black yoga pants and pink tank top wouldn’t be considered seduction attire in any other circumstance, for me, right here, right now, I can’t imagine her looking sexier.

  “You have a busy weekend?” I ask, more to distract myself from my thoughts than anything else. “I noticed Cindy’s covering your shifts the next two days.”

  She nods. “Yeah. Dinner at Dad’s tomorrow and then Harrison’s baby shower Sunday afternoon.”

  I cough. “You’re act
ually going to that thing?” Jesus. It was a dick move for Harrison to invite her to begin with, but I never imagined she’d feel compelled to go.

  “I don’t see how I could get out of it without looking like the jealous ex. Then Dad had Jill double-check to make sure I hadn’t forgotten to RSVP, and I knew I didn’t really have a choice.” She frowns. “It might not be so bad, but it’s a co-ed shower, so I’ll have to see Harrison. That might be the part I’m dreading most.”

  If seeing the invitation screwed her up, I can’t imagine how much an afternoon with the happy expecting couple will mess with her. “I want to go with you.”

  She laughs, as if my offer is a joke. “Yeah, sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s a co-ed baby shower, isn’t it?”

  “You’d seriously go with me to this thing?” She rolls to her back and blinks at me, as if trying to process what I’m saying, then shakes her head. “I would have thought a baby shower with my ex-husband would be the equivalent of one of Dante’s circles of Hell for you.”

  I grin. “Oh, it is, but it might be a little enjoyable, too . . . assuming I get to play the part of your boyfriend.”

  She grunts. “Why would you want to do that?”

  I can only think of two hundred reasons off the top of my head, including but not limited to any excuse to touch you. “He was always jealous of me, Ava. He couldn’t stand how close we were. You know he invited you to this thing to be a dick, so I say we strike back. I’ll go with you and we’ll pretend we’re together. It’ll make him crazy.” Pretend we’re together seems like such an odd thing to say to a woman who I’m planning to make a baby with, but that’s par for the course in our relationship right now.

  “I’d love for you to go with me, Jake, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

  “Don’t say another word,” I say. “I’ll be your plus one.” Her feet are by my legs, and I pull them into my lap.

  She arches a brow as my thumbs dig into the pad of her heel. “A date to a miserable baby shower and a foot rub? What did I do to deserve this?”

  “Who said you deserved it?”

  She yanks her foot from my hand and kicks my thigh playfully. “I absolutely do. I’ve had a long day.”

  “In that case, relax.”

  With a sigh, she slides her attention back to the TV. There are certain things I’ve gotten away with in my years as Ava’s best friend, and one of them is the occasional foot rub. While I’ve never been a foot guy, with Ava, any sort of contact gets me hard.

  The first time I had an excuse to do this was after I forced her to do a 5k race with me. I hadn’t realized she was wearing crappy five-year-old tennis shoes, and her feet were wrecked afterward. The foot rub was the obvious way to apologize for making her do something she hadn’t wanted to do in the first place.

  After that, the door was open, and from time to time I’d rub her feet after a long day at work or after she pulled a double at the bar for me. I never let it go any further than that. Never let my hand slide up her leg to work out the knots in her calves or feel the soft skin at the back of her thigh just above her knee.

  But tonight, things are different. Tonight, I work my way up, rubbing her delicate ankles before kneading the muscle of her calf. I hold my breath, waiting to see how she’ll react to my touch. She gasps when my hand goes a little higher and sweeps behind her knee. Then she flips from her side to her back, and the positioning gives me better access.

  “You seriously could have been a massage therapist,” she says, scooting toward me.

  Her calf sweeps over my crotch and the really fucking obvious erection I have happening there, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s gotta be tough for guys who do that for a living,” she says. “Rubbing on naked women all day.”

  “Yeah, sounds really tough.” I trail my hand up to the back of her thigh and run my thumb along the outside of her hip—a spot I know gets tight on her because she’s always fighting to get it stretched out.

  She gasps, but this time it’s not just a surprised gasp. This time it comes with that look of fear in her eyes. As if she’s not sure what comes next and she’s not sure she’s okay with it.

  “Relax.” I don’t want her to be scared. I want her to be as hungry for me as I am for her.

  She pushes herself up with one hand and grabs my shirt with the other. When she tugs me down so I’m lying over her on the couch, it’s my turn to draw in a sharp breath. Because she’s pulling my mouth to hers. Ava’s soft lips under mine. Ava’s body under mine.

  I follow her lead—first, just a brush of lips as I shift my position. She draws up a knee, allowing my body to settle over hers. She slides a hand into my hair and sweeps her tongue over my lips.

  Fucking hell.

  She could make me come undone so easily.

  “Ava,” I whisper against her lips, and her body trembles under my hands. I love this—her reactions, her uneven breaths. I want more. So much more.

  My brain is trying to get too many steps ahead—undressing her, touching her everywhere, kissing her everywhere, laying her out on her bed and memorizing the way she looks tangled in sheets.

  I push all that away and focus on now. The soft sweep of her lips against my mouth, her hands pressed against my chest and working their way down my body until— “What are you doing?” I still have my fucking shoes and shirt on, and she’s unbuttoning my jeans.

  “I’m ready,” she says, then her hands go to her pants and she pushes them down her hips, exposing her pink cotton panties.

  I climb off her and hold up my hands. “You’re what?”

  She sits up, her cheeks going pink. “I’m ready to have sex.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Are you even turned on?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve got some lubricant in the bedroom. It’s fine. Let’s not make a big deal about this. Let’s just get it over with.”

  I zip and button my jeans. Get it over with. Fuck. I’m ready to spend the night tasting every inch of her and seeing how many ways I can make her come, and she just wants me to get it over with.

  How delusional was I to think this might have actually worked the way I wanted?

  I drag a hand through my hair. “I think I should go.”

  “What?” She shakes her head. “Jake, I’m sorry. If you don’t want to do this, I don’t want you to—”

  “That’s not it.”

  She tugs her pants back in place, sits up, and looks at her lap. “I’m so bad at this,” she whispers.

  I feel like an ass.

  I sink down to the couch next to her and tilt her chin until she meets my eyes. “When I’m finally inside you, it’ll be because you want me there, because you’re begging to have me there for reasons that have nothing to do with having a baby.” Her lips part at my words, and her eyes go darker. “When I get inside you, you’re going to forget why we even started this, and you’re sure as fuck not going to need any lube. Got it?”

  She nods, and her gaze drops to my mouth. Fuck yeah, it does.

  I slide a hand into her hair and lower my mouth to hers. Her hands go to my shoulders, tentatively at first, then with more conviction, pulling me closer as the tension leaves her body. I suck on her bottom lip and she shudders, her nails curling into my shoulder blades. I slant my mouth over hers one last time, taking one more taste before pulling away. “See you in the morning.”

  Then I walk away, which is really fucking hard. But necessary.

  Ava

  I park in the circle drive of the McKinley McMansion and scowl at the house.

  I cut the engine and force myself to climb out of the car. It’s only a couple of hours. I can get through this.

  “Ava!” Jill greets me on the front porch, her blond hair falling gracefully around her shoulders. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “I always do.” Internally, I kick myself for that little jab at her daughter. I missed family dinner once, and Dad held it against me fo
r months. Colton rarely bothers, but he and Dad are total oil and vinegar. My stepsister, on the other hand, can get away with missing whenever she chooses, and all is forgiven. Hell, Molly didn’t even bother making it to my wedding. Not that I’m still bitter.

  Jill wraps her arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my forehead. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. What about you?”

  “I’m great. Molly will be here any minute.”

  “How exciting!” I squeeze Jill’s arm. I might not be excited about Molly’s visit, but I am happy for Jill. I know she wishes she could see her daughter more often.

  I follow Jill into the house, and the second my feet hit the marble foyer, I’m slammed with memories. My first Christmas here after the divorce, sitting in a corner with Colton and wishing we could have stayed home in our PJs with Mom. My thirteenth birthday party that I only had here because I thought it would impress the cool girls, and then feeling like a fake when it worked and they were so much nicer to me after. Then the eighteen months before college that I lived here and felt like an unwanted guest the entire time. I can’t blame them. Jill, Dad, and Molly had been a family of three for seven years before I came along and rocked the boat.

  “Too bad Colton can’t make it tonight,” Jill says over her shoulder. She leads the way into the dining room. “Your father is disappointed, but we understand that Colton’s training is his priority right now.”

  “His priority should be finding a real job,” Dad says from the hall.

  Jill gives him a cautious smile as he barrels into the dining room and grabs the bottle of wine from the bucket where it’s chilling and pours himself a glass. “Motocross is a real job, Nelson. Colton’s doing great and has a whole team behind him.” She takes the bottle from him and looks at me. “Wine, Ava?”

  I nod. Judging by the volume of Dad’s voice, I’m already a few drinks behind. “Sure. Thanks.”