Page 77 of Failure to Match

“Jamie, we’re going to be living together for another three weeks. You should probably tell me what you’re allergic to.”

“I’m not allergic to anything.” My cheeks were on fire.

“But you just said?—”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” I repeated.

“Okay, then tell me what you meant.”

My heart was fluttering all over the place. “Nothing, just—go back to your corner,” I said. “I can’t think when you’re?—”

Fortunately, I caught myself just in time.

Unfortunately, it was still too late.

I saw the exact moment it clicked for him; watched his eyes flare with awareness. “When I’m what?”

My throat must have moved when I swallowed because it snagged his attention. And he could probably see my pulse pounding out of my neck. Maybe that was why his lips were parting like that.

“Jackson.”

His eyes snapped back to mine. They were unrecognizable, there was so little blue left.

I swallowed again. “You know how you asked about what friends don’t do?”

No answer.

“Because this would be pretty high up on that list. Friends don’t, um, sit this close to each other.”

Hypocrite. You’re leaning in more than he is.

Yet I made no moves to correct it.

“Are you sure?” Jackson teased lightly, the one corner of his mouth lifting.

“Pretty positive, yeah.”

He didn’t move. “And do friends normally evade each other’s questions the way you keep evading mine?”

The sultry tilt to his tone made the air grow thick. As if I wasn’t already having a hard time breathing.

“I can’t do drinks tonight,” I said. “Toebeans is still pissed about the glass incident and needs a solid four hours of cuddling to get over the trauma.”

This was all lies. He’d gotten over the whole thing pretty damn quickly. I mean, he’d half-sat on my face while he licked his butt bright and early this morning but, you know, it could have been a lot worse.

“Why can’t the pet sitter do the cuddling?” Jackson asked, not sounding at all like he was joking. “Adrien, I think you said his name was.”

I huffed another laugh. “My god, you’re obsessed with him.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Heisquite dreamy.”

Jackson scoffed. “You know, most women—and even some men—would say the same about me.”

“That doesn’t sound correct.”

His eyes practically twinkled when his grin reached them. He chuckled.

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