Page 35 of Twins For My Bestie's Brother

“Blueberry? With something else?”

I smile. “Yes. Blueberry cheesecake.”

“Ah . . . that’s the tanginess. Right.”

The only thing that would make the picnic better is alcohol. Maybe that would settle my nerves. But drinking in the park is forbidden. I stretch my legs out long past him, “accidentally” brushing up against his knee.

Jackson lifts his hand, hesitating. “Should I . . . touch you?”

I roll my eyes. “How romantic.”

“No one said anything about actually being romantic,” Jackson says.

No, no one did. And yet so many moments between us have felt like the height of romance. Just walking over here hand in hand felt more swoon-worthy than anything I’ve experienced in years. “Yeah, you can touch me.”

Jackson delicately places his hand on my calf. Our eyes meet briefly before he looks away. “The Sullivans were looking at us.”

“Ah, have to perform for the Sullivans.”

“They’re friends with the Worthings, aren’t they?”

“Are you trying to get a rumor about us started?”

Jackson’s face grows red under his beard. “Well, there are already rumors about us?”

I’ve heard as much. And yet . . . “Are there?”

“Tia. Of course. Telling people we were all over each other at the reunion. That’s what Kayla heard, apparently.”

“All over each other? That’s a bit dramatic.”

“That’s Tia, isn’t it?”

I scan the park, spotting a few people around our age taking an evening walk with their children. It’s strange to get to be this age and see people you grew up with having babies when you still feel like a baby yourself. “Okay, there’s Mark and Gina. What are we going to do for them?”

“I think it’s your turn. I did touch your calf after all.”

“Yes, the drama of a calf touch.”

Jackson grins. “Back in the day, this was as good as sex.”

My stomach flips. Not just back in the day. Right now too. Just as good as sex. “Well, I’m kind of cold,” I say, tipping my shoulder up.

“Yeah, serves you right for your outfit.” It’s an excuse to let his eyes roam downward. It’s funny how being objectified by a person you want doesn’t feel like objectification at all.

“I wanted to look cute,” I defend.

Jackson chuckles to himself and picks up the bomber jacket he sloughed off earlier. “You know what I’m going to say to that, right?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Do I?”

Jackson pulls himself forward on the blanket so his hip is against my thigh now. The place where I tattooed myselfemanates with warmth. It’s still healing. But I think his closeness has something to do with it too. He wraps the jacket around me, but instead of letting the fabric drape over my shoulder, he pulls himself into me. “You look cute all the time,” he says.

“No one is listening to our conversation, Jackson. You don’t have to . . . ” I trail off as Jackson leans over and presses a kiss to my shoulder, sending more goosebumps across my body for different reasons. “Okay, what the fuck, Jackson?”

He laughs. “Sorry, I thought asking wasn’t romantic.” He kisses the muscle leading from my shoulder to my neck.

“You’re just really committed to the bit right now.”

---