Page 23 of His Pickle Her Jam

Yesterday didn’t exactly go as planned, but having Jan’s sweet lips submitting to the pressure of mine reminded me of an endgame I’d all but forgotten about.

Mainly, it was to get that tasty little body of hers in my bed and make her totally addicted to me.

Good plan.

Of course, watching her try to ignore me after both passionate kisses was just too much fun. Plus, I was pretty sure I was obsessed at this point.

I mean, I hadn’t dated anyone for months. Actually, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t even flirted with anyone with any serious intent in a while.

Not since the first time Jan came bouncing into the Whiskey Bar with Delani with a pair of ankle boots on her feet and a pair of tight jeans that left nothing to the imagination.

Now, when I said bouncing, I meant bouncing.

The woman had the most incredible walk. Caught somewhere between sex kitten and excited preschooler. But that was just Jan.

She was a passionate person. Whether she was discussing politics or debating the benefits of women’s shapewear, which I was firmly against by the way, she just had this way about her.

She was strong-minded, brilliant, funny, sweet, and so damn pretty it hurt to look at her sometimes. Her wide, amber eyes, the short soft waves of her hair, and her smooth skin combined to make up a magazine worthy face.

Then there was her body. Now, I didn’t have a fucking clue why the world thought as it did, but I was never one to chase fads. Jan was full of delicious curves that wiggled and jiggled in all the right places.

She was a knockout. A showstopper. An eleven out of ten.

But my interest in Jan wasn’t purely physical. If anything, our months of verbal sparring had only increased my esteem for her.

She had this magnificent energy about her. And fuck, I was mesmerized ever since the first day. I just never admitted it before.

I wanted Jan, but I needed her to want me just as much. She’d walked away far too easily from our little session at the wedding.

Not this time. Not ever again.

Today, I was upping the ante.

Jones’ Grocery was a lot bigger inside than I originally thought, even the kitchen space. But I still managed to brush against Jan’s body every time I passed her.

I placed my hand lightly on her back, just to let her know I was behind her.

When I was divvying up the blueberries and bringing her half over to her, I made sure to press my hip against hers, bending close to her ear when I whispered thanks.

And when I handed her a bucket with half her share of cherries, I ran my fingertips over her arm, offered her a wink and smile before turning back to my station.

And so on and so forth.

It was the sweetest damn torture I could ever imagine. The only problem was, she wasn’t the only one affected.

My cock seemed to be stuck at permanent half-mast. Until I touched her. Then I was just rocking a straight on boner.

Fuck. Me.

I wanted Jan.

It was simple as that.

But would she be willing to have a little fun with someone like me?

Yesterday, when I kissed her, she blurted a bunch of questions, and I realized after she never meant to say them aloud.

But after I got home, I thought about it. Jan always seemed so confident and self-assured, but with me she seemed shy, uncertain even. Maybe I was assuming a lot because of her typically contentious nature.

---