Page 7 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)

Chapter seven

JAKE

M aya has always been good under pressure.

The kind of calm that doesn’t just show up when the sky is falling—it thrives there. She’s cool, confident, and way too composed for someone who voluntarily signed up to wrangle bouquets and seating charts like it’s a competitive sport.

So when she meets up with me, Liam, and Ethan to go over the revised wedding plans, clipboard in hand and pen tucked behind her ear like a general surveying a battlefield, I already know what kind of game she’s playing.

Professional. Polished. Unshakable.

Which, of course, makes it way too tempting not to mess with her.

“So, what you’re saying,” I begin, stretching my arms behind my head like I’ve got all the time in the world, “is you need someone to taste test all the cake samples.”

I force a laugh, but inside, my brain is already running a mile a minute.

Maya doesn’t look up from her notes. “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard, though,” I say, flashing her a grin. “And as someone with an incredibly refined palate and absolutely no dignity, I humbly volunteer as tribute.”

She snorts. Snorts. And then tries to cover it up with a fake cough, which only makes it better.

“That laugh,” I say, eyes narrowing. “That was real.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she replies, but she’s already losing the battle. Her lips curve, her eyes crinkle at the corners, and then that full, sun-warm laugh bubbles up, filling the space like the room itself is exhaling.

God, I forgot how good that laugh is. How easy it makes everything feel.

But even as she laughs, there’s this… edge to her. Like she’s running a marathon in heels—smiling through it, but one wrong step away from collapse.

And I don’t know what’s worse: that I can see it, or that I don’t know how to help ease the weight she’s carrying.

“It’s a brunch menu tasting,” she says, finally managing some semblance of control. “Eggs. Fruit. Mini pastries. Not exactly your wheelhouse unless you’ve recently developed a thing for spinach quiche.”

I shrug. “I contain multitudes. I’m a mystery. A breakfast-loving enigma.”

“More like a human garbage disposal,” Ethan mutters from the other end of the table without looking up from his notes.

“Hey, some people find that charming,” I shoot back.

“Who?” Liam asks, deadpan.

I gesture toward Maya. “She’s clearly charmed.”

Maya arches a brow. “Clearly,” she says dryly, but she’s smiling again—and not the polite, let’s-move-on kind. It’s the real kind. The kind that lights her up from the inside. The kind I always found myself chasing back when I had any excuse to be around her.

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of logistics and lists, Ethan actually taking notes, Liam fielding calls from the DJ, and Maya commanding chaos with a clipboard and calm precision.

I keep at it. Little jabs, dumb puns, flirty comments designed with one goal in mind: Get her to laugh again.

And it works. Every time. And every time she laughs, I feel it in my chest. Like a punch I didn’t brace for. Like a memory that stings in the best way.

By the time we’re wrapping up, she’s standing next to me, going over final confirmations, and I realize she’s close. Really close.

I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, the faint smudge of ink on her wrist from jotting notes too fast, the way her hair slips from behind her ear when she tilts her head slightly toward me.

She glances up, catching me staring. “You okay?”

I clear my throat. “Yup. Just… thinking about quiche.”

She laughs again, and damn it, there it is. That warmth. That pull.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head.

“Guilty,” I murmur, and I don’t mean it as a joke this time.

Because the longer I stand here, the more dangerous it feels. The more my mind wanders— what if I leaned in a little closer? What if I touched her hand, just to see if she still pulls away, or maybe… doesn’t?

It’s ridiculous. I know that.

But so is she—standing here all calm and glowing, like she doesn’t have a clue how wrecked I still am for her.

And that clipboard she’s holding? Not half as dangerous as what she’s doing to my self-control.

***

That night, I’m sprawled in bed, one arm tucked behind my head, the other scrolling absently through my phone—but my eyes aren’t really on the screen.

I’m hearing her laugh again, that rich, warm sound like it’s echoing right next to me. I see her eyes light up, the way they catch the light with flecks of gold. I remember the way her lips parted when she smiled, soft and easy, like the world paused for a second.

And yeah—now my mind is going there. No use pretending otherwise.

I let myself sink into it, eyes closed, replaying every detail, letting it wash over me like a slow burn.

The way she brushed her fingers through her hair when she was thinking, twisting the strands between her fingers, and part of me wants to reach out and run my hands through those silky locks.

I imagine what it might feel like if we were alone. Really alone. No wedding chaos, no Nick scowling in the background like he’s keeping score, no rules or reasons not to touch.

Just us…

Before I know it, I’m drifting off to sleep, thoughts of Maya swirling in my head.

***

I’m sitting on the edge of her bed. Maya’s sitting close, her fingers tracing lazy patterns down my arm. The air hums with something unsaid, a tension that’s both electric and soothing.

Her eyes catch mine, dark and serious, and she leans in a fraction—close enough for me to feel her breath, warm and steady. I reach up, my hand trembling a little, and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Her lips part, and she whispers, “Jake…”

The sound is soft, a spark lighting a slow fire in my chest.

Without thinking, I close the distance. Our lips meet, tentative at first, tasting, exploring. Then more urgently—like we’re both trying to make up for lost time, for every second we pretended this wasn’t what we wanted.

Her hands find their way into my hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, pulling me closer. My heart thunders in my ears, loud and impossible to ignore.

She pulls back enough to look at me, her eyes heavy-lidded and warm. “This is the part where you tell me you’re not afraid.”

I smile against her mouth. “I’m not.”

And then she’s kissing me again, softer this time, like she’s promising something I never knew I needed.

***

I wake up, heart pounding, breath coming fast and shallow. My sheets are twisted, my body aching in ways that make it clear this wasn’t a dream I could brush off. And damn it, she’s lodged under my skin now—more real, more urgent than I expected.

I roll over and try to shake it off, but the heat in my chest tells me it’s not going anywhere.

Maya’s got me good.

***

The next morning, I stroll into the conference room like nothing happened. Cool. Chill. Like I’m totally not still wrecked by that dream—her skin against mine, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her everywhere until the sun came up.”

The room smells faintly of stale coffee and air freshener, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. A whiteboard is already cluttered with notes and deadlines, and laptops hum quietly on the long oak table where everyone’s gathered.

But Liam and Ethan keep throwing me these sidelong glances, barely concealing their smirks. Like they both know something I’m desperately trying to keep under wraps. Like I’ve got a giant, flashing neon sign blinking right above my head:

THINKING ABOUT MAYA INCOMPATIBLE WITH BASIC FUNCTION

Liam leans over, voice low but loud enough for me to hear. “Rough night?”

Ethan snorts, shaking his head. “You look like you lost a fight with your pillow.”

I force a grin. “You two wish.”

Liam grins back, eyes twinkling. “Or maybe you’re thinking about someone…”

Ethan raises an eyebrow. “Maya, perhaps?”

I clear my throat, trying to play it cool. “Please. I’m a professional.”

“Sure, sure,” Liam says with a smirk. “Professional enough to blush every time she talks?”

I glare at them both, but it’s useless. They know. And they’re definitely enjoying it.