Good Girl
Page 44
Her lips twitch. “You were doing it all day.”
“I didn’t exactly see you seeking me out either, princess.”
Jenny sighs and looks away. “I know. I was…embarrassed.”
“Of what, the sex?”
“No, about the fact that it felt—”
She breaks off, and I realize I’m on the verge of holding my breath, like some lovesick kid who wants a girl to confess she likes him.
“Felt what?” I say, my voice a little raspy.
She swallows, still not meeting my eyes. “It felt good.”
Good’s not the word she wanted to say. I’d bet money on it. I want to press her. I want her to tell me that it felt important.
I want her to tell me that she wants it again. That she wants me again.
I step toward her, but she moves back, tugging at that horrible wig, before pasting a smile on her face.
“I like Finn,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.
Moment over.
It’s a good thing, but…
Hell.
“Yeah?” I say. Irritably, I turn back to the pool table, lining up my shot, and send three stripes into the pockets. At this rate I’ll definitely be buying drinks. Should have known when she stipulated winner bought drinks.
“There’s no pretense about him,” Jenny says. “He just is what he is. I like that. It’s rare, you know?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
Jenny is studying me. “You’re like that too. I mean, not as unabashed as Finn. You’re more careful. But you’re not like the guys in the music scene who seem to be desperately posing as one thing while their real self is something else.”
I tense.
She’s wrong. She’s dead wrong.
I’m the ultimate poser, pretending to be just Noah Maxwell, when really I’ve got a whole other side. A whole other life that involves bank accounts with a shit-ton of zeros, apartments with more luxury than I possibly need, and an ex I came very close to walking down the aisle with.
Tell her, an idiotic part of my brain urges. Take a chance on her.
I open my mouth to do exactly that, but Finn reappears at my side, fresh round of drinks in hand, even though both Jenny and I’d declined. My first drink isn’t gone, but the ice is all melted and the drink’s watery, so I take the new one, as does Jenny.
“So the crew cut at the bar’s got his eye on you, Ms. Smith,” Finn says, draping an arm around Jenny’s shoulder. “How do we feel about this?”
The hell?
I straighten and turn toward the bar. Sure enough, there’s a good-looking beefy dude giving Jenny the once-over, all but licking his lips.
How do we feel about this? Murderous. That’s how we feel about this.
I glance at Jenny, annoyed as shit to see that she’s checking the guy out. Seriously?
She takes a sip of her drink before turning her attention back to Finn. “Undecided,” she announced.
“What?” I ask incredulously, before I can think better of it.
Finn grins, and I know I’ve walked right into his shitty little trap. I have no doubt that the guy at the bar does like Jenny, but the only reason Finn’s bringing it up is to get me to admit…something.
“He’s good-looking, but not really my type,” Jenny is saying.
“Huh,” Finn says, still looking at me. “And what is your type?”
I feel Jenny’s eyes shift to mine, and I look away from my dickhead best friend to meet her blue eyes, even though I know I shouldn’t be going there.
“Um,” she says, licking her lips nervously. “I don’t actually know that I have a type.”
Finn tugs lightly at the ends of her wig in a playful, brotherly kind of way. “Don’t lie to me, Ms. Smith. I think you do have a type.”
“Maybe,” she says, still not looking away from me. “But it’s sort of a newly discovered thing.”
“Mmm-hmm,” my friend says. “Tell Finn more. Dark blond, right? Kind of frowny and mean? Let me guess: brown eyes? Doesn’t technically have a beard, but forgets to shave more than every three days or so? Big muscles, but not as big as mine?”
I roll my eyes, because my best friend just described me exactly, and Jenny’s too smart to play along.
Or maybe not. Because she’s still looking at me.
“Yes, exactly,” she says, surprising me. “Trouble is, I don’t think I’m his type.”
You are, I want to say. You absolutely fucking are. I just didn’t know it till I met you.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Smith,” Finn says with a grin in my direction. “From where I’m standing, I’d say your odds are looking very good.”
Jenny
It takes me a while to figure out why I’m so buzzy on the drive back to the house when I only had two drinks over the span of three and a half hours.
And then I realize. It’s not the whisky that’s got me buzzing. It’s the guy next to me. The way he smells, the way he smiles, the way his big hands move easily over the steering wheel…
Oh dear.
I’m in way more over my head than I thought if I’m lusting over the way he drives.
Tonight was…the best. I can’t remember the last time I felt more relaxed and happy. I try to tell myself it’s because Finn’s freaking hilarious, but I know better.
Finn’s great, but he’s not the reason I had such a good time. It was Noah and the way he stayed close, making me feel safe but never crowded. The way I felt him looking at me when he didn’t think I noticed, the way he didn’t even flinch at the casual intimacy of me picking all of the jalapeños off my portion of the nachos and put them on his plate.
“I didn’t exactly see you seeking me out either, princess.”
Jenny sighs and looks away. “I know. I was…embarrassed.”
“Of what, the sex?”
“No, about the fact that it felt—”
She breaks off, and I realize I’m on the verge of holding my breath, like some lovesick kid who wants a girl to confess she likes him.
“Felt what?” I say, my voice a little raspy.
She swallows, still not meeting my eyes. “It felt good.”
Good’s not the word she wanted to say. I’d bet money on it. I want to press her. I want her to tell me that it felt important.
I want her to tell me that she wants it again. That she wants me again.
I step toward her, but she moves back, tugging at that horrible wig, before pasting a smile on her face.
“I like Finn,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.
Moment over.
It’s a good thing, but…
Hell.
“Yeah?” I say. Irritably, I turn back to the pool table, lining up my shot, and send three stripes into the pockets. At this rate I’ll definitely be buying drinks. Should have known when she stipulated winner bought drinks.
“There’s no pretense about him,” Jenny says. “He just is what he is. I like that. It’s rare, you know?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
Jenny is studying me. “You’re like that too. I mean, not as unabashed as Finn. You’re more careful. But you’re not like the guys in the music scene who seem to be desperately posing as one thing while their real self is something else.”
I tense.
She’s wrong. She’s dead wrong.
I’m the ultimate poser, pretending to be just Noah Maxwell, when really I’ve got a whole other side. A whole other life that involves bank accounts with a shit-ton of zeros, apartments with more luxury than I possibly need, and an ex I came very close to walking down the aisle with.
Tell her, an idiotic part of my brain urges. Take a chance on her.
I open my mouth to do exactly that, but Finn reappears at my side, fresh round of drinks in hand, even though both Jenny and I’d declined. My first drink isn’t gone, but the ice is all melted and the drink’s watery, so I take the new one, as does Jenny.
“So the crew cut at the bar’s got his eye on you, Ms. Smith,” Finn says, draping an arm around Jenny’s shoulder. “How do we feel about this?”
The hell?
I straighten and turn toward the bar. Sure enough, there’s a good-looking beefy dude giving Jenny the once-over, all but licking his lips.
How do we feel about this? Murderous. That’s how we feel about this.
I glance at Jenny, annoyed as shit to see that she’s checking the guy out. Seriously?
She takes a sip of her drink before turning her attention back to Finn. “Undecided,” she announced.
“What?” I ask incredulously, before I can think better of it.
Finn grins, and I know I’ve walked right into his shitty little trap. I have no doubt that the guy at the bar does like Jenny, but the only reason Finn’s bringing it up is to get me to admit…something.
“He’s good-looking, but not really my type,” Jenny is saying.
“Huh,” Finn says, still looking at me. “And what is your type?”
I feel Jenny’s eyes shift to mine, and I look away from my dickhead best friend to meet her blue eyes, even though I know I shouldn’t be going there.
“Um,” she says, licking her lips nervously. “I don’t actually know that I have a type.”
Finn tugs lightly at the ends of her wig in a playful, brotherly kind of way. “Don’t lie to me, Ms. Smith. I think you do have a type.”
“Maybe,” she says, still not looking away from me. “But it’s sort of a newly discovered thing.”
“Mmm-hmm,” my friend says. “Tell Finn more. Dark blond, right? Kind of frowny and mean? Let me guess: brown eyes? Doesn’t technically have a beard, but forgets to shave more than every three days or so? Big muscles, but not as big as mine?”
I roll my eyes, because my best friend just described me exactly, and Jenny’s too smart to play along.
Or maybe not. Because she’s still looking at me.
“Yes, exactly,” she says, surprising me. “Trouble is, I don’t think I’m his type.”
You are, I want to say. You absolutely fucking are. I just didn’t know it till I met you.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Smith,” Finn says with a grin in my direction. “From where I’m standing, I’d say your odds are looking very good.”
Jenny
It takes me a while to figure out why I’m so buzzy on the drive back to the house when I only had two drinks over the span of three and a half hours.
And then I realize. It’s not the whisky that’s got me buzzing. It’s the guy next to me. The way he smells, the way he smiles, the way his big hands move easily over the steering wheel…
Oh dear.
I’m in way more over my head than I thought if I’m lusting over the way he drives.
Tonight was…the best. I can’t remember the last time I felt more relaxed and happy. I try to tell myself it’s because Finn’s freaking hilarious, but I know better.
Finn’s great, but he’s not the reason I had such a good time. It was Noah and the way he stayed close, making me feel safe but never crowded. The way I felt him looking at me when he didn’t think I noticed, the way he didn’t even flinch at the casual intimacy of me picking all of the jalapeños off my portion of the nachos and put them on his plate.
