Page 22 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)

Chapter twenty-two

JAKE

A n hour into the rehearsal dinner, I can’t find Maya so I go looking for her.

I haven’t actually seen her since she came back inside the venue with Ethan after the incident with Nick, and I’m a little worried.

I find her outside the back entrance, half-hidden behind one of the stone columns that lines the patio.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself.

She doesn’t see me at first.

Her head is tilted back against the cool stone, eyes closed, breathing in slow, measured pulls. I know that look. I’ve worn it too many times myself.

“Maya,” I say gently.

Her eyes snap open. For a second, she looks startled. Then she sees me, and her shoulders fall like she’s been holding a breath for hours and finally let it go.

“Hey,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey.” I take a step closer, careful not to crowd her. “You okay?”

She gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

I arch a brow, silent.

She huffs a laugh, short and dry. “I swear, I’m going to start charging people every time they ask me that tonight.”

“I’d pay,” I murmur, and offer my arm. “Come walk with me.”

For a moment, I think she’ll say no, but then she exhales and threads her arm through mine. Her fingers graze my sleeve, lingering, and together we start down the gravel path that leads into the garden.

The noise of the rehearsal dinner fades behind us—clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, the faint hum of music swallowed by the night.

Out here, it’s quiet. Just the chirping of crickets, the whisper of the breeze through the trees, and the soft crunch of our steps on the path.

For a while, we don’t say anything.

Just walk.

We reach the edge of the garden, near the old trellis that’s half-covered in ivy and moonlight. A few fairy lights still glow along the fence, forgotten but stubbornly clinging to their purpose.

She stops, arms folding across her chest again.

“Nick was drunk,” she says suddenly. “And loud. And awful. And somehow still smug.”

“I noticed,” I say quietly.

She exhales a sharp breath through her nose. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize for him.”

“I know,” she says, but her voice is small. Tired. “It’s just… exhausting, you know? Always having to be the one who keeps it together. Even when people like him make it impossible.”

I turn to her, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her cheek. “I know Nick can be a lot, but I’m sure he’ll be fine again once we get through this weekend. Emotions are high.”

Her eyes meet mine, and they’re shining in the low light. Not with tears—not yet—but with something raw. Unguarded.

Like for once, she’s not holding everything so tightly inside.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re fine,” I say. “Not with me.”

I want to reach for her. To close the space and wrap her in something safer than words. But I hold back—because sometimes, the people holding on the hardest are the ones who can’t ask for help out loud, and I’m not sure I have the right to be her knight in shining armor yet.

She swallows. Her breath shakes a little as she exhales.

Suddenly, her arms are around me, tight and fierce, like she’s been holding herself together all night and is finally lets go. I wrap my arms around her without hesitation, pressing my face against her hair.

She’s warm. Solid. Real.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you.”

Her brow furrows slightly, like the idea of someone staying—really staying—is both beautiful and terrifying. “But why? You don’t have to carry my baggage, Jake.”

“It’s not baggage,” I say. “It’s part of you, and I… I want all of it.”

She goes still.

Her hands tremble slightly against my chest, and I cover them with mine. “You don’t have to be perfect around me, Maya. You can be messy. Loud. Quiet. Angry. Whatever you need.”

She blinks, then lets out a laugh—this shaky, half-sobbing laugh that breaks something open inside me.

“God,” she murmurs. “You make it so hard not to fall for you.”

I smile softly. “Then don’t fight it.”

For a moment, neither of us breathes.

I don’t mean to kiss her. I swear I don’t.

But the way she looks at me—those eyes, wide and shimmering in the moonlight—the way her lips part a fraction, warm breath mingling with mine like a secret invitation…

It’s impossible to resist.

My hand slides up slowly, almost reverently, until it cups the side of her jaw. Her skin is soft beneath my palm, and when I tilt her face toward me, her pulse flutters under my fingertips like it’s racing ahead of my own.

I lean in and kiss her.

It’s not soft.

It’s not tentative.

It’s every moment I’ve denied myself, every quiet ache shoved down since the second I realized how badly I wanted her—how much I still want her.

She kisses me back instantly, fierce and sure. Her fingers dig into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer, tighter, like she’s afraid I might disappear if she doesn’t.

I grip her hips and press tight against her body. The night air is cool, but she’s burning against me, and I want more.

Her hands trace up my chest, fingers slipping around my neck, tangling in my hair. I groan softly, low in my throat, when she rises on her toes, pressing every inch of her body against mine like we’re trying to fuse into one.

“You have no idea,” I murmur against her lips, breath ragged, “how much I want you.”

Her fingers glide over my jawline, sending sparks straight to my core. Her voice is a breathy whisper. “Jake…”

I pull back enough to catch her eyes—deep and bright, unguarded.

“Say it,” I challenge softly.

She blinks, surprised. “Say what?”

“That you want this too.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to mine, steady and sure.

“I do,” she says.

The relief that floods through me is immediate and overwhelming. I try to slow the pounding rush in my veins, the way my heart hammers as if it’s desperate to leap from my chest into hers.

Her thumb brushes my bottom lip gently, a delicate touch that somehow sets my whole body on fire.

“You kissed me like you meant it,” she murmurs.

“I did,” I whisper back. “I do.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth—soft, like a secret shared just between us.

Then, almost like it’s the quietest truth in the world, she says, “You always make me feel safe.”

I kiss her again—this time slower, softer, with reverence instead of desperation, like she’s something fragile and rare that I’m lucky enough to hold, even if only for a moment.

When we finally pull apart, breathless and silent, I reach down and thread our fingers together.

We stand there, the sounds of the distant party drifting faintly through the night, but neither of us says a word.

Not that words are necessary, though. I can tell exactly what she’s feeling and thinking, and I know she can say the same for me.

This girl is it for me, I’m certain of that. And if I have to share to have her, then that’s a small price I’m more than willing to pay.