Not him.
Not Ollie.
Me.
And the worst part about his greeting? He winked and told her that she should give him a holler if she ever got tired of me. Like that’s going to happen.The call or her getting tired of me.
“Jax, you’re not even her type. We all know your bedroom is busier than shopping malls on Black Friday, but it doesn’t mean that you can flirt with my girlfriend.” I snap and take the menu from the nearby table. The others crack up seeing my expression.
“Wait a minute, did you just call her yourgirlfriendjust like in middle school?” Jax laughs before he starts humming a popular playground song. We all know how it goes.
Rose and Eli
Sitting in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes love…
Rose mutters under her breath. “What awhippersnapper.”
I chuckle at her comment and shoot another unimpressed look at Jax’s way before continuing reading the options the new Italian place near my office has to offer. But I can’t stop secretly smiling at the fact that I just called Rose my girlfriend in front of my chosen family.
Thankfully, Ollie takes a less dramatic approach greeting her. “It’s great to see you again. It looks like time has done you well. Let’s order some food, and then we can catch up,” he suggests and hugs Rose. Over her shoulder, Ollie looks at me and tells me thatyou better keep her happywith his eyes. It’s another look I have seen before.
If flirting was typical Jax, this is typical Ollie. He’s the helper who takes care of people and makes sure everyone is happy. He does it more than Jax and me combined. Rose tried to explain to me another evening that he sounds like type 2. I have no idea what she meant, but apparently, a specific personality test puts people in nine types.
She told me my bossy ways make me type 8. She is type 5, and Jax might be type 4. Whatever that means.
We all end up ordering the daily special pasta dish and spend the next few hours talking about everything over food and wine. We share memories about our former classmates, teachers, and other things we all have in common. Even though Rose was a year below us, we still had mutual acquaintances, and she even shared a class with Jax.
“Oh, I just remembered a delightful story from ourAdult Livingclass. The one with Mrs. Erwin. Remember that one, Jax? I think I still have the cookbook we put together somewhere at my dad’s place.” Rose grins and looks at Jax.
He groans. “Of course, I remember. Who could forget the time we almost started a fire in our high school?”
We all laugh at the day they’re referencing.
Adult Livingis one of those life skills classes that everyone enjoys—unless you’re Jackson Bennett. He accidentally burned brownies because he forgot to set the timer and the teacher wasn’t too pleased when the fire department showed up.
He ended up with a B-minus in a class where most students get As.
“I still can’t believe that happened,” Ollie cracks up.
Jax isn’t pleased. “Oh, shut up, Little Poet Boy, you weren’t any better growing up. At least I know how not to bake brownies.” We all laugh even more at Jax’s reaction. He isn’t too proud of that moment. But it makes a hell of a story.
As we continue poking fun at each other, I take Rose’s hand under the table and give it a light squeeze. She squeezes back. I love having her here with my two brothers. It’s precisely what it should have been like all these years.
* * *
When we get back to my place, I motion for Rose to sit on one of the couches. My bar looks tempting, but I feel like we need something non-alcoholic for now after the drinks we had during the dinner. She mentioned liking mojitos, so I’m making her one without alcohol.
Muddling the sugar with mint leaves, I bring the flavors out. The smell is divine as it fills the air around me. I juice three fresh limes to have an even better combination of flavors.Next, I put a handful of crushed ice into two glasses. Adding the lime juice and the mint-sugar mix to the glasses, I shake them. After topping the drinks with soda water, I have a taste test with a glass straw.
Rose takes the first sip of the drink and closes her eyes. I can sense and hear the moment the flavors hit her tongue—she lets out a little moan of pleasure.
Seriously, how does she do that? She makes me think about everything I could do to her with that sound and the look on her face.
Trying my best to think of anything else, I point at my projector and tell her that we can use the added screen to watch a movie. When I moved to my place last year, I wanted a massive flat-screen TV for everyday use. I only turn on the projector and pull down the screen for movie nights. I had no idea I would be sitting here, having her moaning next to me when I planned upgrades to my place.
