Page 13 of The Other One

“So? What’s the big deal? You should have invited her over for breakfast. I would have cooked for all of us.”

I look at him like he sprouted another head. “Are you crazy? We aren’t telling anyone about this,” I exclaim, marching back into the kitchen. I need coffee, STAT.

Jackson follows. “Why the hell not? I had a fucking amazing time last night and I know you did too. What’s the issue?”

He looks delicious in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs with his hair sticking up in all directions from me pulling at it all night, and it’s practically begging to be pulled some more. No, Abigail. Stay focused.

“The issue is this isn’t happening again. We had an itch and we scratched it. End of.”

I turn to make myself a cup of coffee and hear him go back to my room. Moments later, he’s back in the kitchen with pants and a shirt on, thank God, and he eyes me as I lean against my counter, sipping my coffee.

“Let me make this clear,” he starts before he sits down to put on his shoes. “This is not the end. Last night was fucking electric, and you damn well know it.”

“You and I both know nothing good will come of a repeat. We can barely stand each other and I’m not one for casual hookups.” He quirks his brow, and I roll my eyes. “Last night notwithstanding.”

Jackson walks up to me, crowding me against my counter before grabbing my cup from me. He takes a sip and sets it back on the counter. He studies me with a determined look on his face and leans in for a hard and fast kiss. I whimper because, damn, that man knows how to use his talented tongue. When he pulls back, I’m panting, but I refuse to budge. This isn’t going to happen, magical tongue or not. Nope. No. No way.

He shoots me one of his infuriating winks, as if I just issued him another challenge. “We’ll see, Red.”

And he saunters out the door.

What the hell have I done?

Chapter 6

Jackson

November

Threeweeks.Threefuckingweeks that Abigail has been avoiding me. Damn, it must be true what they say about redheads. Her stubborn streak is miles long and just as wide. She hasn’t returned a single phone call or text, just completely ghosted me. Even after I sent her flowers three times a week. Not a thank-you or fuck off to be had. Just nothing.

She can’t avoid me forever though, no matter how much she’s trying. Tonight is the celebration dinner for Donovan. I am now the very proud brother to the next senator of Pennsylvania. We’re all at my parents’ estate, even Lindsey and Aiden came for the event, so I know damn well Abigail won’t miss it. She sure is taking her sweet time getting here though.

Donovan asked that my parents keep it small, citing Lindsey’s fear of large crowds. I know Kasey wanted her sister here and Donovan wanted Aiden here too. There’re maybe fifty people in attendance tonight, mostly Donovan’s campaign staff and a few big donors who have known my family since we were kids. My mother is busy tending to her guests and Donovan’s staff is busy drinking the expensive and free booze. I can’t blame them, they worked their asses off to get here, and I couldn’t be happier that all their hard work resulted in my brother living his dream of being a public servant.

While I’m sitting with Aiden and Lindsey catching up on the last few weeks, I see a couple heads turn to the entrance, the men sending appreciative looks to whoever just walked in.

“Oh look, Abigail just got here,” Lindsey tells us.

I turn my head and the wind is practically knocked out of me by the stunning vision in front of me. Abigail is standing at the entrance of the room, taking a glass of champagne from a passing server as she scans the large space, probably looking for Kasey. Her dress is a deep ruby red that contrasts perfectly with her smooth, milky skin, skimming the top of her knees. The long silky waves of her fiery red hair rest just above the plump breasts that I feasted on not too long ago. It’s only been three weeks, but it feels more like three years the way my body desperately yearns to be up close and personal with hers again.

I blink and swallow the urge to march up to her and pull her in for a very indecent hello by way of my mouth devouring hers where she stands.

Get your shit together, Hayes.

When I turn back to Lindsey, she’s staring at me with squinted eyes, looking at Abigail, then back to me. Why did I ever say I liked being an older brother now? I certainly don’t appreciate the microscope I feel like I’m under right now.

“What’s going on?” she asks curiously, quirking her brow.

“Nothing. What’s going on with you?”

Nice deflection, idiot.

“Why are you staring at Abigail like you wish there was no one else around?” She reaches over with a napkin in her hand and wipes my mouth.

I yank my head back. “What are you doing?”

“You had a little drool there,” she replies, tossing the napkin on the table. “Now answer my question.”

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