I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(22)

He shook his head. “You?”

Mollie glanced down at her staying-in ensemble. “I was going to do a movie night. Pizza. Popcorn. The works.”

“It’s Friday. You’re not going out?”

She didn’t miss the hopeful note in his voice. He definitely didn’t want her around, and it stung. But she pushed through with the plan anyway.

“Nope,” she said, lifting her wine and taking a sip. “That a problem?”

“Why would it be a problem?” he muttered. “You want to be a twentysomething hermit, that’s your deal.”

Mollie rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to guilt me into going out tonight just because you don’t want to deal with me. And besides, I’m not the one whose social life is in mayday status.”

“Yeah, but I’m thirty-five.”

“I know. What I don’t know is why you think that’s an appropriate age to drape an afghan over your knees while sipping Ovaltine. You’re young and, frankly, hot. You should be grabbing drinks with coworkers right now. Or getting ready for a date. Or doing something other than being a big grumpy lump.”

Jackson choked on his beer. “Grumpy lump? You know, Molls, if you’re trying to make amends for last weekend, you probably should have just stopped at the ‘hot’ part.”

Mollie pounced. “Oh, so we are going to talk about last weekend? You’re not going to just hide in the bedroom again?”

He swore softly and hooked a finger into his tie to loosen it. “How is it that you’re so much younger than me, but you manage to make me sound like a petulant child?”

Mollie set her wineglass on the counter and leaned forward, palms braced on the counter. “Look. I am sorry about last weekend. I’m sorry that I thought the rumors about the other women might be true, but you have to give me a little break here. Remember that I was on the inside track of what was happening with you and Mad. I knew how bad things were. I knew that she wasn’t faithful at the end—”

Jackson opened his mouth, but Mollie held up her hand. “Hear me out. What I’m trying to say is that even when I thought maybe you might have slept around, I never stopped being your friend. I never stopped being there for you, and I never will. That’s what real friends are. Not the ones who have blind faith, but the ones who are still there even when you falter. I’m here, Jackson. I’ll always be here, so for the love of God, will you stop pushing me away?”

His hazel eyes narrowed. “I feel like that was the worst apology ever.”

She gave him a wide smile and held her arms out. “Would it help if we hugged it out?”

He shook his head with a small smile as he lifted his beer. “Go away, Molls.”

She wiggled her fingers and moved toward him. “Come on. One hug.”

He laughed and tried to push her away. “Don’t be weird. I’m still annoyed at you.”

Ignoring this, Mollie wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, although it was a bit like embracing a redwood trunk. The man was thick and solid and hard.

“I’m sorry,” she said against the lapel of his suit jacket. “I’m really, really sorry.”

He stiffened for a moment before some of the tension finally seemed to seep out of him. She heard the clank of his beer bottle against the counter, and slowly his big arms came around her, engulfing her in a warm embrace.

She’d meant the hug to be friendly. Heck, it was friendly, in that it was a hug between friends. But as they stood there, lingering perhaps a bit longer than they should have, the hug started to feel different…

His head came down to rest on the top of hers, and she felt the slight pull as his stubble rasped against her hair. Mollie suddenly became aware of her hands—aware of the way his hard back felt against her palms, the way his muscles bunched as he pulled her closer against him.

Even the air felt thicker, or maybe it was just that both of their breathing seemed to have quickened.

Jackson’s hands moved just slightly, first upward toward her shoulders and then sliding down until his fingers rested at the small of her back, as though exploring her shape.

And suddenly Mollie wanted him to explore more. Wanted his hands to drift down farther, over her butt, and then around to the front.

Oh God!

Mollie’s hands found his broad shoulders as she pushed back abruptly.

Jackson blinked in surprise at the sudden movement before his arms dropped slowly to his sides. Their eyes held for a second too long, as though searching to see if the other had answers for what had just happened.

He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat before he reached for his beer once more.

“So what’s your big couch potato plan tonight? Chick flicks?” he asked.

Mollie grasped at the change of subject like it was a conversational lifeline. And actually, his question could not have been a more perfect segue into part two of her plan to get Jackson and Mollie back to normal.

“Actually, I was thinking that I’m overdue for a movie marathon.” She said it casually, picking up her wineglass as she watched him.

As she hoped, his eyes lit with excitement, reminding her for just a moment of the old Jackson, before her sister had tried to break him.

“Bourne?” he asked.

Mollie gave him a look. “Um, is there any other series worth marathoning for?”