I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(47)

Jackson snorted. “Honey, your sister cheated on me more times than I can possibly count.”

“Well, toward the end, sure, when you guys were basically living as strangers, but this was—”

“Not just the end, Mollie. The whole damn time. She didn’t even make it to our first anniversary.”

Mollie’s lips parted in surprise. “I can’t believe that. Maddie’s no saint, but she loved you early on. I know that.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean she didn’t cheat.”

“How do you know?”

He looked down at his coffee cup. “I saw her with Tyler Medona.”

Mollie’s mouth was now gaping all the way open. “Your publicist? Your friend?”

He shrugged again, but Mollie knew he couldn’t possibly feel as indifferent as that. Tyler had been not only his publicist but also his friend. And Sandy Medona had been Madison’s best friend.

“You’re sure?”

Jackson’s hazel eyes lifted. “Came home early from practice and saw her giving him one of her mediocre BJs on the chaise longue by the pool.”

Mollie had entirely forgotten about her coffee. “Are you sure?”

“Sure that my wife’s mouth was wrapped around my best friend’s dick? Yeah. Pretty sure.”

“When?”

He lifted a shoulder. “A couple weeks before the rumors about me cheating started circulating.”

Mollie lifted her fingers to her lips as his implication sunk in. “You think she spread those rumors—”

“To beat me to the punch about her cheating? Yeah. I do.”

Mollie put her hands over her face. “I don’t understand. How did the sister I remember turn into the wife you remember?”

He set a hand briefly, comfortingly, against her arm. “You saw Madison through the lens of childhood.”

“Maybe,” she muttered. “But it doesn’t change the fact that she took care of me when she didn’t have to.”

To Jackson’s credit, he nodded in agreement. “She was a decent sister to you back then.”

Mollie lifted an eyebrow. “I take it by your addition of ‘back then’ that you don’t think she’s a good sister to me now?”

“I’m not here to poison your thoughts about your sister, Mollie. All I’m asking is that you separate your relationship with her from your relationship with me.”

“It’s not that simple,” she whispered.

“Make it that simple. I’m single. You’re single. And I refuse to feel ashamed or guilty for having sex with the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Let’s be adults about this, Molls. We keep on as we’ve always been; we just add sex to the mix. Really good sex.”

She opened her mouth, and he leaned forward, placing his hand over her lips before she could speak. “Let’s enjoy each other. If that’s dirty foreplay in the kitchen, we do it. Hot sex in the shower, definitely. My bed, your bed, all the beds…”

She laughed and pushed his hand away. “Is there any part of the plan that doesn’t involve sex?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Because all the other stuff between us? That’s still there. You’ve always had my back, Mollie. And I’ve had yours. Adding sex to the mix won’t change that.”

She wanted to say yes. She so desperately wanted to take what he was offering, to finally, finally live her life for her, to do what she wanted to do, not what Madison wanted her to do.

Jackson slid a hand behind her head, his thumb resting on her cheekbone. “I want you, Mollie. If you don’t want me, tell me, and I’ll back off.”

Don’t do this to me.

His eyebrows lifted. “This is the part where you tell me you want me. Maybe mention how well endowed I am.”

“Jackson—”

He made a scolding noise and leaned forward again, but she put a hand over his mouth. “Ground rule: no kissing until I’ve had a chance to brush my teeth.”

Jackson’s grin was slow and happy. “And then you’ll come back to bed?”

Mollie couldn’t help but smile in response, even as her heart was screaming, Danger!

“Yeah. And then I’ll come back to bed.”





Chapter 19


Early Monday morning, Jackson strolled into the Oxford offices with two Starbucks cups in hand. One was his usual double espresso; the other was an Americano.

He stopped by the reception desk and set the Americano in front of a surprised-looking brunette.

Joanna Barry was Oxford’s receptionist and office manager. She was one of those women who looked twenty-two—hell, she probably was twenty-two—but had the composure of a sixty-year-old librarian. She took absolutely zero shit from anyone, which was a damn useful skill in an office of womanizers. As far as he could tell, the woman had never so much as flirted with a single one of the guys, and yet she was universally adored. It was impressive.

“What’s this?” Jo asked, giving the cup a skeptical look.

Jackson shrugged. “An Americano. For you.”

Her cat-shaped brown eyes narrowed. “Where’d it come from?” Jo peered around him as though looking for Cole or Lincoln or one of the other guys who regularly brought her coffee.