From the Jump(57)

I nod. “It was fun. I think it turned out really well.”

“Nice.” He smiles, teeth flashing white against the dark scruff, and my breath speeds up. He’s so complicatingly attractive. “Can I see?”

“Sure.” I hold up my hand when he pushes himself up straight. “But first, I wanted to say sorry for what I said in the Uber.”

“Not necessary,” he says.

“It is, though. I don’t even know why I’d say that. I was upset about something else, and I took it out on you.” I take a deep breath, feeling like I’m at the end of a diving board. With a sharp exhale, I push myself forward and wrap my arms around him. “Please forget I said anything.”

He stiffens beneath my grip, and I freeze, my arms feeling suddenly brittle, like two tree branches I’ve attempted to embrace him with. But then he relaxes, one arm sliding around my waist and the other wrapping around my back, pulling me into him. His hand palms the back of my neck, sparking unwanted memories of that night in the tent, and I bury my face in his shoulder so he won’t see the flush of my cheeks. It feels good, this hug. I can’t imagine why it’s taken us eleven years to do it.

“Consider it forgotten,” he says into my hair.

I nod and pull back, but I forget to let go. His arms stay around me as well, loosening and wandering the length of my back. His body is hard and warm, and when I look up at his face, my eyes get caught on his mouth.

“What were you upset about?” he asks in a low voice, drawing my gaze up.

“Nothing,” I say dreamily, distracted by the way his pupils have dilated. It makes them equal parts black and blue, which would translate into a bruise if I tried to re-create it as a design but is unquestionably sexy in person. “I saw someone in the restaurant I didn’t want to see.”

“Who?” His eyebrows draw together in a very un-Deiss-like way.

I shake my head, not wanting to continue the lie but not knowing how to get away from it. It’s not like I can explain that I got freaked out by my attraction to him, especially not while his arms are wrapped around me. It would make my whole apology look like some deviant attempt to cop a feel.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, averting my eyes.

“Let’s go home,” he says, drawing them back. He smiles, but it doesn’t match the tension in his face. “We’ll grab dinner on the way and find a comedy to watch.”

“Okay,” I say as the bell above the door dings. Deiss glances up at it, but his arms don’t drop from my back.

“You made it back,” he says to someone behind me.

“I did,” a woman says.

I let go of Deiss, spinning around to find a beautiful woman with dark hair and a familiar face behind me. The sight of her punches me in the chest, making my breath catch in my throat. Zoe. Zoe, from St. Lulia. The woman Deiss must have spent his last night of vacation with. My stomach clenches at the way she’s smiling at him, so confident and gorgeous. Her legs belong on a runway, which she must know, judging by the four-inch heels she’s showcased them in. I feel like I’m back in school in my strappy sandals.

“I remembered the name of this place,” Zoe says, “and I thought I’d check it out, see if you were around.”

“I’m glad,” Deiss says.

I search his face for any sign of what I’m supposed to do, but there’s nothing. No excitement to see this woman. No annoyance that she’s popped up at his place of business. Deiss has gone blank, his head tilted back lazily, like Zoe is any other customer who’s walked through the door today, unexpected but welcome nonetheless.

“Liz, right?” Zoe turns toward me with a wide smile.

“Liv,” Deiss corrects her.

Her eyes widen apologetically, and now that we’re in better lighting than that at the hotel pool, I can see that they’re purple. They must be contacts, but the knowledge doesn’t help. Her bronzed skin glows.

“It’s good to see you again, Liz,” she says brightly, only allowing her gaze to drop for a second to where Deiss’s hand is still resting loosely around my waist. “How’s the freelancing going?”

“It’s good,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach. “I was actually just about to get back to it.”

“No, you weren’t,” Deiss says. “We were going to get dinner.”

“You should go with Zoe,” I say. “She did just get here. Anyway, I should double-check my wine label and get it turned in. If I don’t, I’ll just spend the rest of the night wondering if they’ll like it.”

“Let’s see it,” Deiss says, starting toward the counter.

I allow him to sweep me in front of him, but his hand stays splayed against the small of my back. My skin heats beneath it, either from the feel of his touch or the burning of Zoe’s eyes.

“Who’s this?” Booker asks as we approach. He scans the length of Zoe appreciatively, slowing as his gaze dips down her tawny legs. “Have we picked up another stray?”

“The name’s Zoe,” she says, tossing her mane of obsidian hair over a bare shoulder with a smile. “I met Lucas and Liz in St. Lulia.”

“Liv,” Deiss says, as I slide the laptop across the counter. “Or you can call her Olivia, if Liv is hard to remember.”