Page 95 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

“Last night at the wedding. I thought I made it pretty clear that I was talking about you and me, and it seemed like you were too, but then it just stopped. Nothing happened.” Her shoulders lift. “You didn’t say anything more, and you didn’t kiss me, and it’s fine. You don’t have to feel any of that or even want to kiss me. We’re just acting, right?”

“You think I didn’t want to kiss you?”

“Listen, we don’t have to go through this whole thing. It’s fine.”

“I wanted to kiss you, but I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to be a good guy here.”

“I don’t need you to be a good guy for me.”

“I know that, but I want to be a good guy for you. I want to show you what it’s like to have a man who respects and adores you. You deserve more than the losers you keep dating, and when you finally have a guy in front of you who does the right thing and doesn’t kiss you, you’re mad at him.”

Her brows pull together. “How is not kissing me doing the right thing?”

“There were a ton of paparazzi around. You deserve something more special than that. A kiss with you shouldn’t happen because it’s written in a script, or because someone tells you it will improve ratings for a show, or because some sleazy photographer needs a good shot.” I cup my hands on her cheeks. “When I kiss you, you shouldn’t doubt whether or not it’s real. You should know I’m doing it because I want to.”

Her green eyes scan mine. “Do you want to?”

“I’ve literally never wanted anything more in my entire life.”

“Then kiss me.” Heat and desire crackle between us as her voice lowers to a whisper. “Then kiss me, Cody.”

I don’t hesitate.

I pull Jenna in. Or maybe she pulls me in. The specifics of how we ended up with our mouths and our bodies pressed together are unknown.

We skip the polite kissing and go straight to the I’m-desperate-for-you kissing. That wasn’t originally part of my plan. I had no plan, but here we are, colliding into the table against the wall in the VIP room at Gateway Club.

There are a few minutes of fumbling and kissing until Jenna rises to her toes. I take the signal and lift her up so she’s sitting on the table while I explore her body with my hands and her lips with mine. I never knew multitasking was such a strength of mine, but in this moment, I’m killing it.

Jenna sits back, tipping over empty wine glasses, ruining the table presentation. I follow, trying not to stop our feverish momentum. She tosses table settings and plates aside while still kissing me. She’s a great multitasker as well. Once a spot has been cleared, she lies back, dragging my body on top of hers.

If we were restrained before, we’re not now.

Jenna’s fingers dig through my hair as I kiss her mouth and neck. My hand travels over her smooth leg—I’ve never loved a short dress so much in my life as I do in this moment. Surely, whoever came up with that design is a passionate man, like I am right now.

There’s no more acting or fictional pretenses. We’re both feeling the connection.

Things are getting good.

Too good.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, the upstanding version of myself, the version that wants to be the kind of man who deserves a woman like Jenna Lewis, knocks me into reality.

Jenna is worth more than an impassioned moment in a VIP lounge at a wrap party.

I want more for her than that.

I want to be more than that.

Half of me hopes I can, hopes someone like her would choose someone like me despite all my past mistakes. But the other half knows I can’t give her what she wants. Not fully.

I break the kiss, letting out the most frustrated breath of my life.

Her green eyes search mine. “What is it?”

Her breathy voice is enough to make me throw all my morals out the window, but I don’t. I crawl backward off her body until my feet hit the ground.

Jenna leans up on her elbows. “Are you okay?”

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