Page 53 of Jump

“Go,” he repeats, softer this time, but no less amused. “Maybe we can take turns giving a shit about each other. Make our own little tradition. Instead of each putting in fifty percent effort and being a team of equals, let’s try one of us giving a hundred percent while the other person chills the fuck out.”

He snatches up a hand towel and flips it decisively over his shoulder. “I cooked. I’ll clean. I’ll figure out dessert. I’ll pick the movie.”

He comes back to the counter, picks up my wineglass, and offers it until I take it. “Chug this. I know I’m gonna sound like an enabling monster, but I feel like you’ll relax more if you drink it. Take your time. Shower off the stench of a bad day, wash your hair, pick out a pair of fuzzy socks, then come watch a movie with me.” He looks down into my eyes and smiles. “Ten minutes. Go.”

“You said to take my time.”

“Uh-huh, which is why I gave you ten instead of five. Anything longer than that, and you’re gonna freak yourself out.”

He picks up his stool and comes around the counter to place it back where it belongs. Then grabbing my shoulders and turning me toward the door, he taps my ass so I stumble forward and my wine sloshes in the glass.

“See you soon, Anarchy.”

Ruiz

WE GOT THIS. DATE NIGHT. 100%. IT’S FINE.

She’s gone for no more than nine minutes. Because she’s a rule-follower. A sensitive soul and empathetic worrier whose heart would shrivel at the thought of me sitting out here all alone and waiting.

Anarchy, my ass.

But there isn’t a single piece of me that wants to complain as she shuffles along the hall in long pyjama pants of purple tartan—not sure which family she’s representing in battle with that color scheme—and a cute baggy shirt that would eat her up in too much fabric, if not for the slouchy collar that shows off her shoulder, and the inch of midriff I catch beneath the bottom hem.

Best of all, she wears fuzzy purple socks with little grippy dots on the bottom, so I hear her approach—schwp, schwp, schwp—long before I see her.

Her hair is damp, with a braid framing her face on each side, and her lips are a darker shade than they were ten minutes ago; not from lipstick or gloss, but because she spent her entire time away from me biting them in worry, and overthinking our ‘date night’.

Everyone is determined to insert Ainsley into every conversation and interaction we ever have. But I… just want to live. And love. And survive without sending myself insane.

So while I allow Ains’s turnouts to hang at the firehouse, and let the crew talk about her like she’s still on-duty, while I let Nixon and Axel and every other asshole in this town make a game of bringing her into as many conversations as humanly possible, none of those people are Vivian.

And Vivian is the only person I’ve met who wields the magic that allows me to relax and heal and not obsess over a tragedy I couldn’t stop.

“You look…” I study Viv from the top of her moist hair, down to the fuzz of her grippy socks. I run my tongue along my bottom lip, and revel a bit in her discomfort. “Well,” I cough and sit up taller, which only makes the woman blush. “I don’t wanna sound like a total pig, but I think you look entirely edible.”

Her cheeks burn hotter, and her hands grow more tense in front of her body. But best of all, her nipples peak beneath her shirt and give me the answer I’ve been wondering for weeks.

Was what we had strictly a one-night thing? Was her attraction for me, or for the mask, the suit, and the anonymity? Does she still vibrate for me? Does her body still speak for her, when her words can’t come out the way we both want?

I’d say I have my answer.

“You’re making it weird.” She folds her arms to cover her chest. “Stop.”

“What?” I laugh and grab the television remote, if only to allow her a moment of not being watched. “What am I making weird?”

“This!” She flings out her arms and plods across the room. Grip, release. Grip, release. Dropping onto the couch so the cushions puff up, she snatches a blanket from the back and sweeps it across her lap the way a superhero might pull on a cape. “You’re making me blush on purpose. It’s a game to you.”

“I like seeing you blush.” I turn the television on and lean forward to take one of the two bowls I already set on the coffee table. With a playful smile that turns to pursed lips, I set it on her lap and raise a brow. “Dessert.”

Arctic blue eyes drop to her lap and scour my offering. “Chocolate brownie and ice cream?”

“The ice cream’s melted a little.” I turn back to the TV and scan movie titles until I find the one I want. “The brownie is hot. Add them together and you get a mouth-gasm.”

“You baked brownies,” she challenges. “While I was in the shower?”

“No.” I hit play on the movie I selected, set down the remote, and grab my bowl before sitting back and exhaling a deep sigh. “I bought pre-made brownies from Juniper’s Bakery today, knowing I would cook tonight. And I tolerated Axel’s bullshit, his annoying questions and inability to mind his own business, since he was in his sister’s shop when I was there to get our dessert.” I dig my spoon in and slice off a corner of the brownie. Then I look to my left and study Viv’s heated face. “It might not sound like a big deal, but I endured a lot to make tonight happen.”

Finally, finally, she cracks a smile and digs into her dessert. “I would tease you about how venturing into the real world isn’t a heroic act.” She lifts her own spoon and takes a bit of chocolate between her lips. “But I don’t much enjoy the real world, either. So I appreciate your efforts and promise to put in the same, if not more, when it’s my night to put in a hundred percent.”

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