Wicked (A Wicked Saga #1)(49)
Author: J. Lynn

When I woke up, all I could think about was Ren’s touch, his kisses, and I refused to cave to the aching desire. I got up and immediately went for a run, and I ran harder than I ever had before, but the twisty motion in my stomach wouldn’t fade. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant. A mixture of excitement and confusion, it actually made me feel . . . normal, and that was so stupid. My priorities were goofing off on the wrong playground. I should have been stressing over where the gate was and how we were going to stop the fae when we were only days away from the equinox. I still wanted to go to David, to try and explain what we had discovered, but Ren had been adamant on the drive back to my apartment that it was too risky. It was then that I made up my mind. If I couldn’t talk to Merle on Sunday, I was going to David, with or without Ren’s approval.

And then my thoughts had pranced right back to Ren.

I knew what the problem was. I hadn’t talked to anyone about him, and that was what I needed—to get it out of my head so I could move on and focus on more important things, like stopping a mass slaughter that was bound to happen if one single gate was opened. 

But Val bailed on our Sunday coffee and book buying tradition. She had texted that she couldn’t make it today, and I was willing to bet it had to do with the guy she was breaking beds with all across the city. I called Jo Ann, and we ended up at the coffee shop near the cemetery.

Dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt with my hair pulled up in a messy knot, I knew I looked like a hot mess compared to Jo Ann’s straight and shiny hair, her skinny jeans and blouse. Looking at her, I didn’t get why she was so damn shy when it came to boys. She was really pretty, and she was sweet, smart, and kind.

As she sipped her latte and I chugged sweet tea like it was a college drinking game, we chatted about our classes, and then I finally made myself do it. I didn’t know why it was so hard or how red my face was, but I did it.

"I met a guy," I blurted out around my straw.

Jo Ann’s brows flew up. "You did? When?"

"A couple of weeks ago. He . . . um, he works with me. From Colorado," I told her, feeling bad that there was a lot I had to keep secret.

She smiled as she sat back in the wicker chair, eyes glimmering with happiness. "Is he cute?"

"Cute?" I repeated, wanting to laugh as I toyed with my plastic cup. "I don’t think cute is a strong enough word to describe him."

"Oh! Okay, then he’s hot?"

I nodded as a small grin pulled at my lips. "Like really hot."

"Okay." She waited as she picked up her latte. "I have this feeling there’s more to it. He must be a jerk then?"

"No," I admitted, glancing up at her. "He’s actually nice . . . and kind of charming. He’s aggressive—not in a bad, creepy way," I quickly added when Jo Ann started to frown. "I mean, he’s the kind of guy that when he wants something, he lets it be known. He’s not shy about that at all."

"All right." Taking a sip, she studied me. "So, he’s hot and he’s nice. He’s a take charge kind of dude, but not in a creepy way." When I nodded, she asked, "Do you like him?"

My mouth opened, but again, I found it hard to find the right words. They were there, but there was a plug in the back of my throat.

"You like him," she teased.

I snorted. "How do you know?"

"Well, you’ve never mentioned a guy once to me, so that’s a dead giveaway," she explained. Propping her elbow on the table between us, she rested her chin in her palm. "So, you totally like him. Just admit it. Say it. Say it for me, Ivy."

I laughed as I shook my head. "Okay. God." Letting my head fall back, I groaned. "I like him. I don’t even know why, but I like him."

"You like him because apparently he’s hot, nice, and charming."

"And smart," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Jo Ann giggled. "You sound like that’s a bad thing."

"It is." Lifting my head, I exhaled loudly. "I don’t really know him."

She stared at me, expression baffled.

"I’ve only known him for a couple of weeks, and yeah, I have a mad case of insta-lust when it comes to him, but in a way, we’re kind of strangers." I shrugged one shoulder. "So it just feels weird."

Her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. "You know, I’m probably the worst person to get relationship advice from."

"True." I laughed.

Jo Ann’s eyes narrowed. "But you do know that people usually are strangers when they meet and then they get to know each other through, I don’t know, dating."

"The word ‘date’ hasn’t really come up in conversations."

"Oh." Her nose wrinkled.

"Honestly, I haven’t given him a chance to even get to that point, so I don’t know if he’s interested in . . . dating or just hooking up. I don’t even know if I’m interested in dating," I admitted. The idea terrified me because I knew what it led to. A crap ton of heartbreak.

"Then what’s the problem? If you both want it, go for it. Who knows? Maybe he wants to date. Maybe you do, and it becomes something serious." Glancing at the front door as it opened, she sighed. "I need to take my own advice."

"You do."

She grinned at me.

Tugging on the straw in my tea, I took a deep breath as my heart turned over heavily. "The last . . . the last guy I dated—the only guy I’ve been with—he died."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

Since Jo Ann knew about my foster parents’ death, I decided it was best to stick with a half-truth. The three of them had died together. "He died with my parents in the car accident." I winced, mainly because that was so not how they died. "I loved him like anyone would their first crush, and I lost him."

Understanding flickered across Jo Ann’s face, and I felt my cheeks warm. Talking about Shaun was never easy. "I get it," she said quietly. "You’re not entirely ready to move on."

I glanced at her and then at the line of people at the counter. I really didn’t see them. "It’s been over three years, and I . . . I think I’m ready to move on, but does that . . ." Chest aching, I turned my gaze to her. "Is that wrong? Am I somehow betraying him? Because it kind of feels that way, you know? Like why do I get to move on and he’s gone?"

"Oh, honey, that is not betraying him. I didn’t know him, obviously, but if he cared for you, he wouldn’t want you to never go out with another guy or fall in love again." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Moving on is the right thing to do. Deep down, you know that."