It’s also hard not to picture a toddler with jet-black hair and ice blue eyes when my mind wanders to that particular daydream, and it makes me wish someone would shake me until my brain rattles loose inside my skull.
“She’s the sweetest, but I bet you’re exhausted,” I say, propping my feet up on the coffee table, pointedly ignoring my traitorous, borderline bizarre thoughts. “Running around after her all day? I’d pass out by 8 p.m.”
Quinn snorts. “Yeah. But Jack’s amazing. He handles so much, and honestly, he makes it all so easy.”
“Of course, he does,” I say, shooting her a look of mock annoyance. Jack is perfect for Quinn in every way, and if you ask her, he’s just plain perfect.
And honestly? I can’t say he’s ever given me a reason to believe otherwise.
Before Quinn can reply, Sienna toddles into the room, her tiny hands clinging to Jack’s shirt as he scoops her up. She giggles and wiggles in his arms, reaching for Quinn with a wide, innocent grin.
“Momom!” Sienna’s voice is sweet as she reaches for her mama. It’s just as cute when she repeats every single curse word uttered in front of her, which happens most often when Uncle Ezra is around andshit, fuck, shit,why can I not go three seconds without thinking about him?
Jack chuckles, as he leans down to kiss Quinn’s cheek, and Quinn hugs and kisses Sienna goodnight.
“Night, night, Sienna!” I wave as Jack carries her toward the staircase.
It’s amazing to me, the way Jack has this balance of being the dad, the husband, and still so, so effortlessly the person Quinn needs him to be.
He looks at her like she’s the reason he breathes.
It’s both so comforting knowing my best friend has someone who adores her this much, and also a bit jealousy-inducing, mainly because the only person I have ever wanted a relationship like thiswithis simply out of the question. But, damn, the way they fit together is something special.
“Ezra is such a pain,” I grumble, my mood turning sour as I flop back against the pillows. I don’t want to think about why my mind immediately goes to him every time I think of the wordrelationship, because it’s obviously something I will never have with him. Nor is it something I think him capable of with anyone.
Thatthought makes me want to barf, imagining what it would be like if I had to see him around town with someone he was truly in love with. Someone whom he felt comfortable opening up to. Someone he didn’t feel the need to keep a secret.
Someone who was notme.
Quinn smirks, clearly ready for this conversation. She knows how I really feel, what I reallywantbeneath all my many complaints. “He’s always a pain. What did he do this time?” She knows how I feel, but never pushes me about it.
“Ugh, what didn’t he do?” I groan, gesturing dramatically with my wine glass. “First, he hit the class with this absurd groupthink assignment, like they’re mind readers who can conjure deep analyses out of nowhere. Then he made me stay late to grade papers—again. It’s like he doesn’t even pretend to have a reason anymore. He just says, ‘Oh, Kruz, you’re so good at this,’ and then dumps half the stack on me.” All of that was weeks ago, and we both know that neither of those things is the reason why I am currently a mess over him.
Who am I kidding? I’m always a mess over him.
Quinn raises a brow. “He said you’re good at it? Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”
My stomach flips when I think of all theotherthings he’s told me I’m good at, but I don’t go there.
“Don’t even start,” I warn her, pointing my glass at her. “That’s how he gets you. He compliments you, and then bam! You’re stuck grading papers for three hours while he critiques your ‘methodology.’”
She laughs, taking a sip of her wine. “Maybe he just likes having you around.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter, a bit grumpily. “If by ‘likes having me around,’ you mean ‘enjoys watching me suffer.’”
Quinn leans back, looking entirely too amused. “So, what you’re saying is... Ezra’s your nemesis and your biggest fan?”
“Exactly,” I say, pointing at her. “Finally, someone gets it… Wait, what?”
She grins. “Glad to be of service.”
We both end up laughing so hard that we can barely breathe, the wine making everything feel lighter, like the whole world has softened around the edges. Every little thing sets us off—half-finished sentences, exaggerated gestures, the way Quinn nearly tips over reaching for her glass. Eventually, Jack checks on us, leaning against the doorframe with that emotionless face of his. But I catch it—the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes linger on our ridiculous state. He’s definitely trying not to laugh at how absurd we’ve gotten.
He makes sure we’re comfortable, adjusting the pillows behind us with the kind of patience that makes it clear he’s used to dealing with chaos, though probably not the kind that involves two wine-drunk idiots slouched on his couch. “You two need anything else?” he asks, his voice still soft, even as I can tell he’s itching to get back to whatever work he left behind in his office.
“Maybe just keep the wine coming?” Quinn suggests with a grin, holding out her glass like a queen making a royal decree.
Jack raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. “How about a cheese board with fruit and crackers to soak up some of the alcohol so you two aren’t miserable tomorrow morning?”
