I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(38)
“I don’t—”
Mollie reached across the counter and snatched the wine.
“Mollie—”
He grabbed for it, but she danced out of reach as she glanced at the label.
“I knew it.” The satisfaction of being right warred with disappointment. Turning the bottle around to face him, she taunted, “Let’s see, why is that label familiar? Oh yeah—it’s my sister’s favorite.”
Jackson was on her in a second, jerking the bottle out of her hands. “It’s not like that.”
She glanced up at him, vaguely aware that he was standing closer than he needed to, but neither one of them stepped back.
“Then what’s it like?”
He clenched his jaw. “It’s…complicated.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “First it’s the casual dinner, then you start stocking her wine, then—”
“Have you forgotten? Madison and I live in different states.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, not for a moment,” Mollie said, holding his eyes. “And I don’t think you have either. I think a part of you misses Texas like crazy.”
He looked away, and Mollie’s heart tugged for him—and for herself. Even so, it was a good reminder that deep down he was still Madison’s Jackson. Still a Texan. Still a quarterback first and foremost, even if he couldn’t play anymore.
“You looking forward to tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I am,” she said slowly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good…date.” She let the word slide off her tongue as though it were a euphemism for sex. The little devil on her shoulder wanted to bait him, to poke at the sexual tension that seemed to ebb and flow between them, but which neither would give in to.
His hand slammed on the counter. “You’re not seriously thinking of sleeping with Mathis,” he said incredulously.
“Well, why not? You said he’s a good guy. And news flash—we modern city women don’t adhere to any strict fifth-date rule.”
“Fine! Fuck his brains out, for all I care,” Jackson exploded.
“You’re shouting,” she said.
“I’m not—” He blew out a breath. “Damn it. Also, I keep white wine in the fridge because sometimes I use it in cooking. As far as that particular brand…I guess it’s just what I’m used to buying. That’s all.”
He held her gaze, and Mollie swallowed hard.
“You make martinis and cook with white wine? Maybe I’m going on a date with the wrong guy,” she said, trying to keep her voice teasing.
His eyes narrowed.
Ask me out, you damn fool. But she knew why he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
And even if he did, she’d have to say no. He belonged to Madison. Always had. Always would. Just because he was finally noticing that Mollie had female parts didn’t mean he was looking for forever, and Mollie…well, Mollie was looking for forever.
She let out a slow breath. “I’ll take a glass of that wine now.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer before nodding.
“So, what are your plans for this evening?” she asked.
He poured the wine and handed it to her. “Hanging out. Watching a game.”
She gave him a scolding glance. “You’re acting like an old man.”
He tilted his beer bottle back. “I am an old man.”
“You’re thirty-five.”
“Says the twenty-eight-year-old.”
Mollie tilted her head. “That really gets to you, huh? The age difference?”
Jackson was saved from answering by his cell. He frowned when he glanced at the screen, giving her a wary look.
Mollie raised her hands. “If it’s Madison, I had nothing to do with it.”
Instead of responding, Jackson answered the call, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Hey,” he grunted.
Whoever was on the other end talked for a moment.
Jackson took a sip of his beer, then lowered the bottle to the counter with an angry clank. “Fuck, dude. Don’t do this.”
Mollie tensed. That didn’t sound good.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed as he listened. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work. I swear to God— Okay. Fine, I’ll tell her. But don’t think for one second— Hello? Damn it!”
Jackson ended the call and braced both hands on the counter, his expression furious.
“Who was that?”
He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Lincoln.”
“Oh. Oh. He’s not coming?” Mollie asked, torn between relief and disappointment.
“Something apparently came up.”
Relief. “No worries. We can reschedule for some other time.”
Jackson stood up, a finger creeping under the collar of his shirt in the way she’d learned was becoming a habit. “He…he suggested we don’t let the reservation go to waste.”
“We?”
“You and me.”
“Yeah, I got that, but why would Lincoln think that you and I should spend a Friday evening together?”
“Got me.”
Mollie took a sip of wine and studied his scowl. He obviously wasn’t jumping all over Lincoln’s suggestion that they use the reservation. The man looked ready to vomit at the thought.