CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AUBREY
MY PHONE VIBRATED as I laid out my notes and book on the library table.
When “Winner” popped up, I smiled at his stupid way of trying to get rid of the old nickname I’d given him. I took a breath to calm my racing heart. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” His voice sounded soft, quiet. “The librarian is trying to kill me with her glare. Seems phones are frowned upon here.”
“Third floor, to your right.”
He didn’t waste time talking, just hung up.
I grumbled about how rude he was and went about setting up my laptop. The low battery had me crawling underneath the table to find an outlet. My hips did not want to wedge themselves between the chair and table leg as I reached further to get the plug in.
“I’ve got to get into better shape.” I grumbled more complaints to myself, now in a sour mood.
That’s, of course, when Jax’s head appeared at the edge of the table. “View looks great from where I’m standing.”
“Crap!” I jerked upward and my head banged into the table, causing my whole body to ricochet just enough to put me off balance. My hip rammed into the table, and I swore again.
Scrambling out from underneath the hazardous area, I glared at Jax. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”
“Hardly sneaking, Peaches. I was just on the phone with you, and now I’m enjoying what I see.” He chuckled, looking at me like I was pitiful while I rubbed my hip and my head.
He shoved a coffee cup with a lid on it into my hand. “Here, I got you some chai tea.”
I made a face. “I don’t really like chai tea anymore.”
He just nodded like he expected that response. “Sure, Peaches. Just humor me and sip on it, okay?”
Part of me wanted to throw it at him. “Fine, but next time you decide to arrive with tea, try to do it without scaring people into injury.”
He barked out a laugh that overtook him long enough for me to drink him in. Like the first bite of my favorite dessert, pleasure shot all the way through my bloodstream. I’d feel guilty later, but I indulged anyway. My eyes scanned him from head to toe, taking in everything from his messy hair to his casual running shoes. My indulging crossed the line into memories when I saw he wore dark jeans and a fitted light-blue T-shirt.
“You’re not wearing a suit,” I murmured more to myself than to him.
He quirked an eyebrow at me as if I was being silly. “It’s a library, not a conference center. You’re not wearing a dress. Don’t get me wrong, your black jeans looked great from where I stood.”
I should’ve let it go and gotten past it easily but something about being around him, with not another soul on the third floor and him looking just like he used to, wouldn’t let me.
I lost myself in the indulgence and couldn’t seem to find my way out. He reminded me of how we used to be. The sparkle in his ocean-blue eyes slammed into me harder than one his facewash snowballs ever had. And the memory of him smirking at me just like this years ago as he flirted with me knocked the wind out of me.
I shook my head, rubbing it again. “You always wear suits now.”
The corners of his mouth lifted just a bit. Then somehow, he was right in front of me, like he’d silently crept up to me and maneuvered his way into being only an inch away. He brushed my hands away, replacing them with his. First, he inspected my head. One arm wrapped around my lower back where he slid his hand under my shirt to shift it up enough for his other hand to rub the sore spot on my hip.
As he looked at the reddened spot, he grumbled, “I’m not on TV or in a magazine right now, so I think jeans are fine. I’m sure you don’t always wear black.”
I didn’t answer because nothing mattered but his hand rubbing my hip slowly.
Soothingly.
Nicely.
Just like he used to do.
Each circle would dip under my shirt and then cause my jeans to ride a little lower.