Page 76 of Failure to Match

When the giggles finally subsided, I straightened again, wiping at my cheeks. There was a good chance I had makeup smeared all over them.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Jackson said, a smile in his voice.

“I cry pretty easily when I laugh. It’s a curse.” I owned an ungodly amount of waterproof makeup, none of which I was wearing today.

“Is my makeup smeared?” I swiveled in my chair, presenting my face to him for inspection. What were friends for, after all, if not this?

Jackson’s light gaze slid over my features slowly, his smile dampening a touch as he brushed a knuckle over my cheekbone, wiping away a lingering tear. The caress was so feather-light and gentle that I barely felt it.

So why did sparks trickle down my spine when he did it? Why did it make my toes curl?

“You’re good.” His hand dropped.

An oddly misplaced emotion tugged at the base of my ribs, and I realized I was tilting forward, shortening the already limited distance between our bodies.

I stiffened, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Thanks,” I muttered as I straightened again. It was his damn cologne. It was like catnip to me. I wanted to roll around in it.

Was that weird? I’d never had the desire to roll around in someone’s scent before. Then again, I’d never met anyone that smelled so intoxicatingly incredible.

“Jamie.”

Damn it, I loved how he said my name, too. His stupid voice was just as seductive as his stupid cologne.

“Are we still on for drinks tonight?” he asked.

What did he meanstill? “I never agreed to drinks.”

“You also never disagreed.”

My mouth twitched. “We don’t need to do a third evaluation. You pass. We can axe the coaching and supervised dates.”

I expected him to throw at least one I-told-you-so smirk in my face (and then hopefully leave me alone). Instead, he said, “What? Friends can’t have drinks together?”

That was it?

Thatwas his reaction to being told he didn’t have to do all the coaching he’d been fighting me on all week?

My eyes narrowed as I studied him. This was the official cherry on top of his weird-behavior cake. “What’s going on with you?”

His shrug was almosttoocasual. “Nothing. Why? What’s going on with you?”

“Allergies,” I muttered without thinking. My mind was busy formulating an experimental test of sorts. One that I decided to conduct right away. “You know what, though? In my professional opinion, I still think you’d really benefit from coaching. Just because it’s not mandatory, doesn’t mean?—”

His brows scrunched together. “What allergies?”

Huh.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. Why were your allergies not disclosed to me before you moved in? Is it the roses?”

What? “No. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“What are you allergic to, then?”

“Nothing.”

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