I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(19)

She gave him a look as she took the bottle from his hand. “I just want to state for the record that I have moved several times, on my own, without the help of movers, and I could have done it again.”

“Moving yourself is for college kids. You’re an adult. Hire movers.”

“No, moving yourself is for people without extra income,” she said. “Snob.”

“So what was the plan?” he asked, tipping the bottle to his lips. “You were just going to maneuver all those big-ass boxes around with those skinny sticks you call arms?”

“Don’t be silly. I was going to hire some big beefy dudes from campus to help me. Perk of working at a university.”

Jackson was about to set his bottle on the counter but his hand froze, just for a second, and Mollie felt a sting of regret as she realized she’d inadvertently hit a nerve. Not so long ago, Jackson Burke had been absolutely the type of muscled guy friend who’d’ve been really helpful to have around on moving day. Her eyes flitted to his shoulder. Now he was the guy who wouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting for a long time. Maybe ever.

She looked away, her brain scrambling to come up with a quick subject change.

Only maybe that wasn’t what he needed—for people to dance around his injury like it was the elephant in the room. Physically, he was on the road to recovery. He needed to get there mentally as well.

“You said the other night that it didn’t hurt,” she said. “Was that a big macho man moment?”

He stared at the counter. “I’ve told you. It’s fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. Be a little more vague and manly.”

“Well, what do you want me to say, Molls?” he ground out. “That the pain wakes me up at night? That any motion more vigorous than brushing my teeth hurts like hell?”

“Are you going to physical therapy?” she asked, purposely ignoring the wounded-bear routine. That might scare off other people, but she was made of stronger stuff. Knew him better.

He looked away.

“Oh, Jackson.”

He shrugged. “What does it even matter? All the PT in the world isn’t going to help me play football again.”

“Well, gosh,” she said dramatically, “you may as well be dead.”

Jackson was in the process of taking a sip of beer and choked. “Jesus. You are such a smart-ass.”

“I’m just saying, you have a lot going for you,” she said, gentling her tone. “You don’t need a football in your hand or to help a girl move to be an amazing guy.”

“Yeah?” he said as he leaned on his forearms across the counter. “Want to tell me more about how I’m an amazing guy?”

If I did, I might never stop. Mollie cleared her throat. “Well, I would, but I’ve got to save up all my best compliments for my first-date script.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re dating?”

“Try to be a little more insulting,” she muttered.

“I just meant that I didn’t think there was anyone serious since that Shawn guy in grad school.”

Mollie was careful to hide her flinch. She told Jackson most things, but she’d never told him about that night. One did not ruin a marriage without proof, and Madison had sworn up and down that she’d only invited Shawn over to give him a don’t-mess-with-my-baby-sis talk.

Mollie had never gotten Shawn’s side of the story. He’d dumped her three days later due to “lack of chemistry.” Sadly, Mollie hadn’t even been able to disagree. The guy had never exactly set her loins on fire.

“There hasn’t been anyone serious,” Mollie told Jackson, taking a sip of beer. “That’s kind of the problem. I’m twenty-eight. I want to be dating for at least two years before I get married, then engaged for a year to plan my epic wedding. Then I want to be married for at least a year before the first kid—”

He held up a hand. “Stop. Too much math.”

She propped her chin on her hand and looked at him. “Does that mean you’re not going to fix me up with some hottie at Oxford?”

“Hell no.”

“Come on,” she coaxed. “I bet that place is dripping with hot guys.”

He winced. “Not answering that.”

“What if I gave you, like, a list of requirements, and you tell me if you’ve got a match?”

“Nope.” He took another sip of beer.

She plodded on anyway, just because it was kind of fun to see him a little bit discomfited. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Tall. Chiseled jaw. Muscular.”

“Chiseled jaw? What the f*ck is that?”

She used her bottle to gesture at his jawline. “Look in the mirror.”

“Don’t be weird,” he muttered.

“Fine, but let’s go back to the hot guys at Oxford. Somehow I’m thinking that they’re a hell of a lot better-looking than the ones who work in the lab with me.”

He glared at her. “I wouldn’t let those guys anywhere near you.”

“Oh, come on. Set me up with one of the ones you’ve made friends with. Someone you trust.”

He looked away, and Mollie’s mouth dropped. “Jackson. You have made friends, right?”

“I mostly keep to myself,” he muttered.