Page 9 of Charming Like Us

He lets go of his camera, letting it hang. “I’m confirmed Catholic, but I don’t go to church as often as I did as a kid.” He pauses like he’s gauging my reaction. Maybe he cares what I think.

“Same here,” I tell him.

We both nod, recognizing in a quiet moment that we have shit in common. More than I think we’ve both ever even explored or given breath to.

Jack runs his fingers across his strong jaw, slight stubble coming in. Making him look a little older than twenty-seven.

I usually go for people my age or older. I also would usually never even drawtowardsa straight guy like I am him. Look at me, making exceptions left and right for Jack Highland.

“It fit well,” I tell him, motioning to the belt threaded through his white slacks. “What would you have done if our measurements were off? Belt was too big for your scrawny waist?”

He smiles. “First off, I’d never be scrawny. Have you seen me swim?”

“I’m suddenly having a hard time remembering. You’ll have to show me again.”

“Make the date, I’ll be there.”

Date.

Jack doesn’t give the offer time to breathe. “And I knew your belt would fit me. Your other clothes have.” He means my bandana and sweatshirt.

I could joke about how the bandana would fit anyone, but he’s not Donnelly or Farrow. I don’t want to rib him like I would a friend. “If you ever need or want more, I have a whole closet full of pants and tees.”

“Just pants and tees?” he jokes with a smile that captivates, that could make the saddest motherfucker on this planet feel some kind of happiness.

“I’ve already given you more than that, Highland. You think I’d stop there?”

He laughs into a bigger smile. “Maybe I’ll just quit packing for these trips. Your clothes always smell good, and you probably have better underwear than me, anyway.”

My blood pumps. “Always trying to pad egos,” I grin.

He looks me up and down, the suggestion clear to me. “Is it working?”

Yeah.My defenses fluctuate between high and low.“You’re doing your LA networking best, bro, but I’m not someone who has anything to offer you professionally.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. He’s rethinking something. And Jack isn’t a guy that overthinks what he’s about to say. He has the charisma of the fuckingsun.That big blazing ball that is hoisted in the sky and everyone leaves their house to bask in its rays.

It’s magnetic energy.

But something traps his words, stumbles him up.

After a second, Jack says, “It’s not that…I’m not trying to schmooze you for work or to join the docuseries—though, you’d begreatin it.” He smiles.

I shake my head with a matching grin. “Still never happening.” I like maintainingsomeanonymity in the public, and that’s already hard these days.

“Really, I just enjoy this,” Jack says more quietly, our gazes latched with seriousness. “You and me and…” He breathes in but doesn’t breathe out. Our eyes dance along each other, and I find myself stepping closer.

His chest rises in a headier inhale.

My lungs inflate, and I want to take my hand and clutch the back of his neck. To let my fingers thread through his dark hair and up the back of his skull.

For our lips to find each other in a slow, scaldingacheof a kiss.I want that.Warm summer wind whips around us, and tension mounts while we linger, an inch away.

I glance at his mouth. My voice husky as I ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Jack stiffens.

And not like a dick-stiffening kind of way. He morphs into a stone statue, which rocks me back.