Page 71 of Charming Like Us
I frown. No fucking way. “You’re not driving.”
Wrinkles crease his forehead. “It’s only a couple hours.”
“Onlya couple hours,” I say. “Bro, you look like you’re twominutesaway from collapsing on the floor.”
Jack laughs exhaustedly into a wide smile. “Some of my best work is done on the floor.”
Instantly, I picture fucking him on the floor.
Fuck me,flirting while fatigued should be a crime. Someone needs to come restrain Highland. And I’ll be the first volunteer.
I’m the only one handling this guy tonight.
I walk closer. “How about the couch? You can crash here.”
He tries to stand fully upright. “Are you sure?”
“You’re not driving to Philly tonight, and a two-hour Uber ride is too expensive. So either you spend the night at my place or I’ll drive you home.”
He mumbles something about it not being that pricey but he’s nodding. “I’ll stay.” He pockets his keys, a smile in his eyes. “You put all the guys you like on the couch?”
“Honestly? Usually they’re in the bed with me.”
His smile is gone. “Yeah?” He’s nodding a lot, too much, and my muscles constrict.Didn’t mean to hurt him.But fuckingugh, I can’t lie, and I don’t want to rush into sex with Jack.
The bed seems like a danger zone.
I nod back. “You know I can take the couch and you can take the—”
“The couch is perfect,” Jack says, hunching again. He winces as he tries to straighten up, and he explains before I ask, “My back is so tight, dude. I should’ve stretched this morning before handling equipment.”
His choice of words drops my eyes.
Dropshiseyes.
I recall the feeling of his erection brushing against mine in the elevator. “You handle equipment often?” I joke.
Jack wears a forty-watt,tiredsmile. “Yeah. When can I handle yours?” He knows the double-meaning of all his words as he says them, and it makes me think all the times he’s joked with me, like about “top” and “bottom” Jenga pieces at Farrow’s bachelor party—he wasn’t that innocent.
“When you aren’t falling over.”
He stretches his arms behind his back.
“You still feeling strain?”
“Mmmh, yeah. Right here.” He taps his upper back.
“You want me to crack it?” I ask.
“You know how?”
I nod. “I studied Kinesiology. Sports medicine. It’s actually how I met Farrow. We had some classes together at Yale since the sciences overlap.”
Jack quickly agrees to let me help him out, and I tell him to rotate. His back to me, he faces the kitchen, and I come behind his lopsided stance. “Stand straight. Cross your arms over your chest,” I instruct.
He crosses them.
I never considered cracking someone’s back an intimate affair. But as I press my chest up against his shoulder blades, my jaw teasingly near his jaw—I’m distinctly in tune with how my breath warms his skin and how I can hear andfeelthe beat of our hearts. Heavy, loud.
