Professor Feelgood (Page 68)

“Are those my only options?” he asks quietly. “At the end of most stories, doesn’t the hero usually get the girl?”

I blink for a few seconds, certain I’m misconstruing what he’s saying. “Well … if you’ve rethought your decision to not contact Ingrid, then ––”

“I’m not talking about Ingrid, and you know it.”

Heat starts at the base of my neck and begins to climb. I don’t want to keep staring at him, but I can’t seem to look away. He’s not touching me. He’s not even standing particularly close. And yet, every hair on my body is standing on end as a shiver of possibility prickles my skin.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His voice is low, but there’s a hint of demand. “For once, let’s just both be honest about what we want.”

My lungs feel tight. Admitting what I want is difficult. I might not be the only one with something to lose here, but I’m the one who’ll lose the most. At worst, I’m a rebound. At best, second choice. Neither option is great.

When I continue to hesitate, he comes over and stands in front of me, so close I can feel his warmth and smell his shampoo.

“Do you know what I’d like to talk about?” He moves closer, just inches away. As he looks at me, his jaw flexes, and the tension in his body mirrors my own. “Let’s address the absolutely fucking insane chemistry we have. We can’t keep ignoring it, Asha. You know it as well as I do.” He drops his head, and for the first time, I notice how tired he seems. “Every day when you walk through that door, it takes more and more effort for me to stay away from you, and I can’t keep doing it. It’s too goddamn draining.”

He looks at me then cups my cheek, and I suck in a shallow breath as his thumb draws a soft arc across my skin.

“If you want me to stop, say the word. If you think I’m wrong, tell me. But if you feel the same way and want to quit fighting this, then … talk to me.”

“We talked at the HEA party.” I try not to lean into his hand, but it’s warm, and I want to. “We agreed it was a bad idea. We had our reasons.”

“They don’t apply anymore, Ash. You broke up with your boyfriend. The book is going well. There are no excuses now.”

“You’re not over Ingrid.”

He pauses, and I think I die a little in that moment. “I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He locks eyes with me and takes a breath. “I swear to you, I am. Can’t you tell that when I’m with you, no one else exists? Not even Ingrid.”

I take his hand from my face and hold it. “But she’ll always have a part of you.”

“Well, you had part of me first.” He puts his hand on my neck and leans his forehead against mine. “Remember when we found that old pocket dictionary in Mrs. Garcia’s trash? We’d flip through it together, amazed how circular it was? That every word needed other words to describe it.”

I don’t trust my voice right now, so I nod.

“That’s how I feel when I’m with you. You’re the person who describes me. You give me meaning. Even when we were fighting, I felt it. You’re the one thing in the world that helps me make sense.”

He slides his other arm around my waist and pulls me closer. When my breasts brush against his chest, his mouth drops open as he inhales.

“What if this doesn’t work out?” I whisper.

He shakes his head like I’m not seeing the most obvious outcome. “What if it does? We’ve tried being enemies. It sucked. We’ve tried being friends, and it’s not enough. The way I feel about you isn’t platonic anymore. It’s primal. And no matter how much I try to talk myself out of it and rationalize it away, I can’t. Can you?”

I put my hands flat on his chest, and his t-shirt is soft, but the muscles underneath are thrumming with a heavy, hammering pulse. “No.” It feels so good to let myself touch him, my breath catches.

Nothing hollows out a heart more thoroughly than regret. That’s the message he sent when we were online strangers.

“If I’m going to have regrets,” I say. “I want it to be about things I’ve done, not things I wish I had.”

I put my arms around his neck, and we both feel a shift. All the restraint we’ve been clinging to for the past few weeks is dissolving, and the raw, overwhelming suppressed need is rising and replacing it.

Touching him now, I don’t know why I ever thought I had the strength to fight it. Desire doesn’t care if you want it or not. It just lights up inside you, like a box full of fireworks all going off at once. And sometimes it’s like a slow-burning candle, setting fire to all your nerves ending before leaving your body a melted mess of wax.

The way Jake’s looking at me now? I’m melting.

I slide my hand up along the side of his neck and into his hair, and he pulls me closer with an impatient groan. Then he leans down and brushes his lips against mine so gently, it makes me shiver. He stays there, not quite kissing me but also not moving away. He has one hand on my face, one arm around my back. As we linger there, I drown in the exquisite sensation of wanting something so desperately, there’s pleasure wrapped in pain.

“No regrets,” he says, as if it’s a certainty.

My body is vibrating, begging me to do something. Anything. I let out a shaky breath and tighten my fingers in his hair. “No regrets.”

At last, he presses his lips to mine, and we both stop breathing as time stops. My heart is beating so hard and fast, I’m trembling.

Dear God, we’re doing this. Jacob Stone is kissing me, and I’m kissing him back. And even though I can feel the irreversible tectonic shift from the safety of our friendship to the unexplored jungle of what lies beyond, my blood is singing with the thrill of what comes next.

Jake makes a noise, and then he pulls back and kisses me again. His lips are open and soft, but everything else about him is wire-tight. I feel like he’s holding back from crushing me under the force of his need. When I feel the soft sweep of his tongue, I groan and search for more, and then, whatever tether that was holding him back snaps, and I’m hit by the full force of Jacob Stone’s passion.

Hooking his hands beneath my arms, he lifts me onto the high kitchen bench. Then he steps between my legs and kisses me, hard and deep. Our mouths tilt and slide, and his hands are everywhere, strong fingers alternating between gentle and rough. There’s so much sensation pulsing through my body, I feel dizzy and high. When he grabs my butt and pulls me tight against his erection, I gasp and wrap my legs around his waist.

This should feel strange. I’ve known this man for practically my whole life. I know he has a birth mark on his left ankle and that he got the short scar above his eyebrow running into a tree in third grade. I’ve touched and held his body a thousand times in a thousand different ways without feeling a fraction of what I’m feeling at this moment. And now, the boy I loved so dearly is a powerhouse of sexual energy who touches me like he’s always known how. Who kisses me like he’s mapping the exact shape of my mouth.

I’ve had amazing kisses during my lifetime, and others I’d rather forget. But kissing Jake … he makes me feel like everything else was pretend and this is the first time it’s been real.

“Asha …” He kisses me like it’s painful for him to stop, and then he wraps his arms around me and carries me over to his bed with long, determined strides. I unlock my legs, and he lowers me onto my knees. In a second, my hoodie is unzipped, and he pushes it down my arms. My tank is next, and I barely register he’s removed it until the cool air hits my skin.