Page 58 of Twins For My Bestie's Brother

“What? You and me?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve got your act together, and I’ve—”

“Don’t do that, Lil.”

“I’m just saying. I mean, I barely have a job. I’m—”

Jackson cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “You were waylaid. That’s temporary. That happens to everyone.”

“Even you?”

“Oh, especially. You think the capital gains are always gaining? No.”

I wag my finger. “See, you have capital gains. I have a tattoo gun. There’s the difference.” A chasm of difference.

Jackson places his fingertips of one hand in the middle of my collarbone, then slides them across the bone, careful not to stray any lower. His touch is featherlight and sends prickles of electricity down my spine. He stops on the line tattoo of the Olympic Mountain Range, one of the tattoos I have come to regret because of how it represents the past and, unfortunately, one visible often when I look in the mirror. “Is different bad?”

“Not bad,” I say, trying not to let my voice sound ragged though his touch is creating warmth between my legs.

He spreads his fingertips out until his palms rest on my chest too. “I like your wild, Lily. I like you exactly the way you are. If anyone should be worried, it’s me. I’m too normal for you.”

“No, you’re . . . grounding,” I say. “I need someone to keep my feet on the ground.”

“And I need someone to pull me up so my head’s in the clouds from time to time. That’s a good balance, I think.”

I smile up at him. “I didn’t know you were so good with words, Jackson.”

“I try. You make it easy.”

I push him away, not meaningfully, though. “And you’re a flirt.”

He cups my shoulder and pulls me back. “And that’s a bad thing?”

I tip my head back. “No, but if I’m not careful, I’ll fall.”

“Then you’ll catch up to me because I’ve already fallen.”

I grip the collar of Jackson’s shirt and pull him into a kiss. I can’t help myself. It’s too easy being with him. I’m falling. Falling fast. When I hit the ground, I’ll be done for. I don’t think I’d mind that.

A loud thunk of something hitting the bar interrupts our kiss. I turn quickly and am horrified when I find myself face-to-face with Will. He’s standing next to my stool, his hand on an empty beer glass he used as a gavel against the bar.

He stares me down, nostrils flared. “We get it.”

I’m speechless as I stare back at the man I used to call mine. He doesn’t even look like himself. He’s transformed into something hideous like his feelings inside are eating away at him on the outside.

Jackson’s hand tightens on my shoulder, pulling me under his arm and away from Will, if that’s even possible. “Will, it’s good to see you. You having a nice night?”

“Cut the fucking shit, Roy,” Will growls.

Jackson is composed. Calm and even-keeled, thank God, because I’m close to trembling. “You’re going to have to use your words and be more specific. You came over and interruptedourconversation.”

“Conversation?! You two are practically fucking at the bar!”

“We’re not!” I snap in response. The fire comes in fits and starts with him. I’m never able to stand up for myself long enough to change anything with him. I lost years of my life bending to his temper. “Leave. Us. Alone.”

Will’s demeanor changes now that I’m talking to him. He gets that glistening sad look in his eye, the one that he’d put on when he was apologizing. He leans closer to me, invading my personal space. “Are you done torturing me?”

His breath reeks of alcohol. I almost feel bad for him. Almost. I turn away from him, disgust infusing my expression.

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