Straight Up Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #2)(42)

“We’ve always been friends. That’s never going to change. But for the next few months, I’m going to be more than that, so it’s time for you to get used to the idea. I’m going to do things to you that are a hell of a lot more pleasurable than a fucking burger can ever be. Don’t fight it.” He nips at my neck and sucks. When I release a soft cry, he groans into my ear. “Christ. You’re going to be my undoing, Ava.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, and I’m in no position to ask. If I weren’t leaning against the cooler, I’m pretty sure I’d be in a puddle on the floor.

He backs up, and there’s so much heat in his eyes that I don’t know if I should shut this down before we do something we regret or drag him back into his office and shut the door. I’m walking on a dangerous precipice, and I’m terrified. I like the earth steady and solid beneath my feet, but Jake’s offering the wind in my hair, the thrill of the fall.

His tongue touches his bottom lip as he gives me a final once-over. Then he disappears through the swinging door. My heart is hammering, and my skin is tingling, and I’m not even sure what the hell just happened.





Jake


I push out of the kitchen and head straight to the taps. I need a drink, and water isn’t going to cut it. Jesus. I could get off on nothing more than the little sounds Ava made when I sucked on her fingers, and my dick aches from the way her eyes went dark and her lips parted. I’ve never been short on fantasies when it came to Ava, but that little interlude just added a few dozen images to the list. And then she fucking ruined it by chasing after me to tell me I didn’t need to seduce her. As if I’m just the stud who can show up a couple of times a week, get off inside her, and walk away.

Fuck that.

I pour myself a snifter of our imperial stout and drain half of it before turning back to the bar to play catch-up. My steps falter as I spot a beautiful blonde. She hops off her stool immediately when she sees me. “Jake! Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!”

“Molly.” I swallow, take a breath, and paste on a smile. Fuck, I’m rock hard in my jeans from touching Ava and then her stepsister suddenly appears, like fate is trying to remind me that I fucked up once, and that I lost the right to ever make Ava mine. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She stops, squeezes her eyes shut, and shakes her head. “That’s bullshit. Sorry. You deserve better than that. I’m not good. My stepdad’s an ass, my mom is a doormat, and my life’s a mess.”

“Sounds like not much has changed since last time we talked.” I grimace the second the words leave my mouth. I really, really don’t want to talk about last time. In fact, I’d rather we pretended last time didn’t exist. “How long has it been?” I ask softly, but I know the answer. The last time I saw Molly McKinley was the night I found out Ava was engaged. The night I made the most epic mistake of my life.

“Almost five years.”

“That’s a while. I must have scared you off.” I try to smile, but guilt makes my expression waver.

“I’ve come home a couple of times but never stayed long.” She grabs her pint glass off the bar and hoists it in the air. “But now that I know the beer is as good as I remembered, I’ll be sure to swing by next time I’m forced to visit.” She looks me over slowly, and when she lifts her gaze back to meet mine, her pink lips are stretched into a smile. “I wonder if anything else is as good as I remember . . .”





Ava


I clean up the remains of my dinner to give myself a chance to steady my breathing. I’m not ready to face Jake yet, so I sit in his office to scroll through my phone. If I were to walk out there right now, I’m pretty sure everyone who looked at me would know I have sex on the brain.

Sex with Jake.

Shit. Better not to think about it too much. Even if I want to. Even if I can’t stop . . .

I’m scrolling through Instagram—something mindless to distract me—when my phone rings in my hand. “Hello?”

“May I speak with Ava McKinley, please?”

“This is she.” My whole body tenses at the woman’s use of my full name. Because this is such a small town, a parent of a student will occasionally get my phone number and call to yell at me for their child’s grade—as if their child played no part in it—and after the Billy Joel Christianson incident on Friday, I should’ve known better than to answer a call from an unknown number.

“Ava! I’m so glad I reached you. My name’s Penelope Grimly. I’m calling from Seaside Community Schools.”

“Oh!” Not what I expected. But still awkward. “Hi?”

“Is this an okay time for you?”

“Um, I guess?” I shake my head. I didn’t think my dad was lying about this, but I thought maybe he was overly confident. “I’m not busy right now.”

“I promise to keep it short!” She laughs easily. “I hope you’ll forgive me for calling you unannounced on a Saturday night. Martha passed your information on to me over dinner, and I was so excited to reach out to you about the opportunity we have here. I wanted to call as soon as possible.” She makes a squeaking noise, as if she’s putting the brakes on her own little speech. “Martha said you’re in the market for a new job. She said she wouldn’t forgive me if you took another position before we had a chance to make an offer.”