Page 75 of The Dating Pact

I’ll allow it since we finished that one.

Thank you for the permission, sir.

Jude

Sir. Ooh. I like that one. Might have to add it to our list.

I laughed and sent him a checkmark emoji.

Did our dating pact just become a sex pact?

Jude

Bet your sweet ass it did.

TWENTY

JUDE

Iassumed I’d be nervous. I hadn’t dressed up in a suit and tie in years. In fact, I’d had to run out to buy a new one yesterday since the one I had in the closet had been a tad bit tight when I’d tried it on. Any other time, I probably would’ve asked Brooke to come along with me, but she’d been wrapped up with the rehearsal and dinner, so it was only me and the salesguy, Ron. I’d put all my trust in him.

Consequently, here I was, knocking on my best friend’s door with the intent to take her to a wedding after we’d all but confessed our feelings to each other, in a brand new “pistachio”-colored suit, and I was totally chill.

A moment later, Brooke opened the door, and my breath caught in my throat. She grinned, brushing strands of soft brown hair away from her cheek. “Hi.”

“You look…” I allowed my gaze to wander over her face with her adorably crooked smile and chocolate-drop eyes, down her throat to the thin gold chain and single diamond, and even farther, over the pretty floral dress she wore that swayed back and forth with each of her movements. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She gestured me in. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

I tugged on the lapels of the suit jacket then smoothed my hand down my shirt, finding it to be a good omen that I’d decided to go with the patterned shirt with the fine floral print, so we matched. “Ron, the salesguy, told me I didn’t need a tie.”

She laughed, skating her hands over my shoulders, then plucked at the pocket square. “No, you don’t. You look hot, Jude.”

Taking that as an invitation, I curved my hands around her hips, pulling her to me, aiming for a kiss, but she ducked out of the way. “I just put on lip gloss.”

“I don’t care.” I closed the distance between us before she could argue. It had felt like years since I touched her, since those too few minutes in my kitchen when everything had changed. Or, really, revealed itself.

It hadn’t been like a tectonic plate shift. There was no earthquake or mind-shattering epiphany. It felt more like a curtain had been pushed to the side, and I could finally see clearly for the first time in a long time.

I combed my fingers into her hair, angling her head so I could sweep my tongue over her lips, curling around hers. Uncaring for the mess I made of her hair and lip gloss, I searched for all those sweet corners of her mouth, prompting her quiet, pleading sounds. I didn’t stop until sharp pins pressed against my calf.

I jumped back to find Dorothy clawing at me.

Brooke nodded at her cat. “She’s been jealous lately, I think. Smells you on me or something.”

I bent to pick her up, kissing the top of her head. “Sorry, girl, but you’re my second-favorite kitty.”

“Oh my god,” Brooke shrieked in laughter. I lifted my head, meeting her gaze. “You have…” She swiped her fingers over my lips, presumably to wipe off the lip gloss.

“Your hair,” I said with a tip of my chin.

She turned toward the small mirror hanging on the wall and proceeded to release the strands she’d pinned back in a sparkly barrette to redo it. Then she reapplied her lip gloss and fluffed her dress before spinning around, her focus drifting over me after I set Dorothy on the couch. “Oh. You’re all full of cat hair now.” She dug through a woven basket on her kitchen counter for a minute, brandishing a lint roller. “Come here.”

Always.

I stood patiently as she ran the sticky roller over my jacket and then pants, patting it all down when she finished, smiling. Even fixed the pocket square, though it didn’t really need it. Her familiar lavender scent wrapped around my senses, pulled me in toward her once again, but she stopped me, her hand in the middle of my chest. “I can’t be late, and if you keep kissing me, I will be.”

I heaved a sigh, eliciting another smile from her, and I didn’t think I’d ever tire of them or the sound of her laughter. She sat on the couch, double-checking her purse, large enough to fit a pair of pale-pink Converse that matched her dress. When she draped the hem of her long skirt over her thighs and opened a shoe box, revealing a pair of heels, I kneeled on the floor in front of her. “Let me.”

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