Jackson knocks on the door and I only have the banana bread left. Banana bread is fine, right? Savory, plain, and unimpressive. The un-sexiest of all the baked goods.
I open the door and nearly swallow my tongue. How can this man look like a wet dream when he’s literally dressed in a t-shirt and jeans?
“Hi,” I say, adjusting my glasses.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he steps inside with a smile.
“How—” I swallow against my dry throat. “How was your week?”
Jackson sighs. “Long. I’ve been waiting all week for this.”
I gulp.
“I can’t wait to see Thatcher take on the American Jive.”
An awkward laugh bubbles out of me. Of course. He’s talking about the show.Get a grip, Rosie.
We’ve had an easy repertoire the last few months, though we haven’t been able to see each other this week thanks to his busy schedule. I usually welcome him like a typical human would and not a walking lust ball that over bakes sweet treats and hides the evidence.
Thankfully, Jackson is acting like normal, wandering into the living room and taking a seat on the sofa.
I head back to the kitchen, needing to take a minute to gather myself. I move the pot of veggie pasta to the oven to bake and take a few calming breaths.
This is fine. We just need to reestablish some boundaries. The best thing for the baby is for us to remain friends. Just two friends raising a baby together. Just two friends who talk every day and cuddle watching Saturday night television. Just two friends who occasionally share mutually beneficial orgasms…
No, Rosie, I mentally scold myself.Stop thinking about orgasms!
“Rosie, can you come in here for a minute?” I jerk, his stern voice making me feel like I’ve done something naughty that I’m about to be punished for. I swallow, my chest heaving. My brain is officially lust-addled.
As soon as I walk back inside, my confused lust filled lizard brain leaps.
Jackson lounges on the sofa, his big arm along the back rest. He’s staring at me, his familiar smirk hardly present, replaced by a heated look in his eyes.
“How wasyourweek?” he asks.
Is that what he wanted me in here for?
“Uh—” Torture. “Yeah, it was fine.” I rub one sock clad foot against the other like a cricket.
“Hmm,” he says, rubbing his beard and drawing my attention back to the mouth that I’ve been dreaming about for days on end.
“Did you have any fun?”
I blink, “Uh?—”
Before I can string more than a sound together, Jackson holds up my small pink vibrator.
My cheeks burn. Humiliation and arousal flood my body, warring for attention. I must have left it there last night. I can’t believe I forgot it.
But the image of Jackson, sprawled out on my sofa with that look in his eye, his huge hands clutching my favoritevibrator, will be burned into my mind for the rest of my life. Which will hopefully end within the next thirty seconds.
I shake myself awake and cross the room to him, snatching it out of his hands.
“I don’t—” I stumble, shaking my head fruitlessly. “I—uh.”
Before I can turn away, Jackson’s hand catches my thigh. He sits up straighter, tugging me closer until I’m cradled between his open legs.
My brain switches off, the room closing in. I can’t see anything but the hungry look on his face and the crinkle in the corner of his eye.
