Page 37 of Mr. Brightside
“Jake…”
He raises one eyebrow in a move that I swear he must have practiced in front of a mirror. The effect is instant. I shut my mouth and feel my eyes go wide at his opposition.
As if sensing that he’s disarmed me—again—his expression softens. “Look, it could take weeks or maybe even a few months, for my inheritance to make its way to us. I went into this assuming we’d take care of your tuition before anything got sorted out with my dad’s will. I have the money. I’ll pay for it.”
Everything he’s saying makes sense. But doesn’t he see the vulnerability in his plan? “Don’t you want to wait until after tomorrow?”
That would be the sensible thing to do. The smart move. The way I’d expect him, or anyone in this situation, to play it.But Jake’s not just anyone.
He scoffs, then assesses me like I’m dense. “Cory, you agreed to marry me. You asked me to be faithful. We already decided this was going to be real. I trust you.”
I say nothing, turning my head to avoid his gaze.
He’s so damn charming. I love and hate the way I feel around this man.
“Don’t believe me?” he challenges, forcing me to meet his gaze. He’s still got that eyebrow cocked up again, his expression hiding nothing as he shows me his truth. “Here’s what I’ve been up to today.” He turns on his heel, grabs a manilla envelope near the POS computer, then comes back to stand in front of me. He keeps his attention fixed on me as he pries open the little metal closure, then dumps out the contents with a flourish.
I don’t know where to look first. Which is fine, because Jake takes over right away.
He moves things around, lining them up in order as he points and explains. “Condo key. Mailbox key. Garage door opener. Keys to both my Jeeps.”
I do a double take at the identical keys—he has two of the same car?
“Storage unit key. Master key for Clinton’s and The Oak. Damn… I should have bought you a key ring for all these.” He chuckles as he pushes the small pile of metal toward me.
His tone changes from amused to serious in the next beat.
“In case it wasn’t clear, I’m all in with you. And I take care of what’s mine. Your new credit and debit cards have been ordered. You’re officially on all my accounts. We’re getting married tomorrow: what’s mine is yours, in every way. So you’ll either use my card and get your tuition taken care of tonight, or I’ll write a check and we can drop it off tomorrow. But just so we’re clear: there is no choice when it comes to me taking care of you.”
I don’t know what to say. Or how to react. There’s this relief and this magic coursing through me, because as crazy as it sounds, I believe every word out of his mouth. It’s beguiling to think so highly of someone, then find out that they’re even more perfect than you imagined.
Arguing is futile. So I circle the bar, peeling one of his arms off the edge and forcing him to let me into his space.
He lets me in, all right. He lets me slip between him in the bar, then he settles his hand right back where it was, essentially locking me between his arms.
“Thank you,” I whisper, resting my hand on his chest, right over his heart. That little bit of contact sends a zing through me that starts in my brain and travels all the way to my balls. I’m so gone for this guy. He has no idea. For someone who supposedly doesn’t do relationships, he’s nailing it so far.
He gives me a little smirk. Without overthinking it, I rise up on my toes and kiss him. It’s just a peck—an admission of what I’ve wanted to do all week, and for much longer if I’m honest with myself. But I want him to know I’m all in, too. How did he put it? In every way?
He bows his head and gets so close we’re sharing breath. There’s this virility to him that sparks each and every one of my nerve endings. I’m practically panting as I wait to see if he’ll kiss me back.
I startle when his hand works its way between my back and the bar. He spreads his fingers wide, digging in and using his grip to pull me closer. His hold is everything. It’s also the only thing. I realize he’s only touching me on my back—making a concerted effort to keep his body and that delicious mouth hovering just out of reach.
“I want to kiss you, Cory. Is that okay?” he asks without a hint of his usual playfulness.
If I wasn’t pinned between his body and the bar, I’d probably drop to my knees and swoon. The only thing hotter than a secretly rich, genuinely nice fuckboy is one who confirms consent.
“Kiss me,” I beg.
And then he does.
His mouth crashes into mine, consuming me as he tilts his head to get a better angle. His lips—God, his lips—they map across my mouth like he’s memorizing every inch of me. He licks the seam of my lips and hums quietly, again with his hot-as-hell permission seeking. I eagerly let him in. His free hand grips the back of my head and moves it where he wants it, granting him deeper access. I see constellations form and universes burst into existence as he hypnotizes me with his mouth. I’m instantly addicted to the feeling he inspires in my body. In my mind. In my heart.
I’ve waited for this for days. I’ve secretly wanted this for years. Because even when we hooked up before, it was casual. Transactional. Sure, we’ve kissed, but never like this.
This is the type of kiss people write songs about. The type of kiss that makes you forget your own name. The type of kiss I never want to end.
But it does. Jake breaks it off first, abandoning my mouth to pepper my jawline with little pecks. When he reaches my neck, he doubles down, eliciting a moan that takes both of us by surprise.