Be with Me (Wait for You, #2)

“You never knew.” He shifted his weight onto one arm and his hand curved along my cheek, tilting my head back.

A thunder was in my veins, as dangerous as a summer storm. “Never knew what?”

Jase shook his head as the rough pad of his thumb rubbed along my bottom lip. “I didn’t always . . . come up to see Cam. He wasn’t the only reason why I made that trip every weekend.” As shock shot through me, he laughed and then closed his eyes. “I came up to see you. Makes me a bastard, really. How old were you? Sixteen? Fuck me.”

Those words mixed with the feel of him were like an explosion, but there was little time to internalize and obsess over their meaning or to even question it. His head lowered and my body tensed. He was going to kiss me and I wasn’t going to push him away. Not now. Not after what he’d just admitted. Not with the way my chest was swelling, erasing the horrible, wretched feeling from earlier.

His lips grazed the bridge of my nose, and then he pressed a kiss against my forehead as he rolled off me, onto his side. The hand that had been cupping my cheek slid down, between my breasts, stopping just above my belly button. That sweet kiss seized my chest, but I waited for those lips to move farther south.

But the lips never did.

I turned my head toward his and opened my eyes. My mouth dropped open as realization sunk in. Lying beside me on the floor, Jase was passed out cold.





Four



Forrest Gump had taken up residency in my head. The words stupid is as stupid does were on repeat. I should’ve ignored Jase’s text. I should’ve agreed when he’d called himself a jackass. I should’ve called someone to come get his drunk ass. I shouldn’t have yearned for more than a kiss on the forehead. And I really shouldn’t have been lured in by anything he’d said last night, no matter how badly I wanted to believe him, because he’d been drunk.

A drunk man’s words were a sober man’s thoughts. That’s what my dad always said, but I didn’t think that was true. Not in the bright light of the morning.

I hadn’t been able to get Jase onto the couch last night. So I had ended up shoving a pillow under his head and dropping the quilt over him. I’d sat on the couch afterward, fully intending on getting up and finding my own bed, but I had gotten a bit lost watching him sleep. Like I said, stupid is as stupid does. As I studied the softness in his features that were never present while he was awake, I’d fallen asleep.

When I’d woken up Sunday morning, the quilt that I’d placed over him had been tucked around me. And the pillow had replaced the armrest. Jase had been gone.

There was a huge part of me that wanted to believe that he’d spoken the truth last night and that it meant something, because that kiss . . . it had been so sweet. But he’d been hammered and he wasn’t here now. I appreciated that he’d apologized. We could move forward from here and be friends, but I wanted to kick myself for rushing out in the middle of the night to talk to him like I was desperate and hoping that he’d kiss me.

On any other place except my forehead, but that had been so . . . so sweet.

“Ugh.” I dropped my head into my hands.

But I’d been so surprised by his text. Hell, I’d thought he’d purposely lost my number and . . . well, I was a girl. That was my excuse. We’re just friends. I kept telling myself that over and over again. I needed to get that through my thick skull.

“You don’t look like you had a good night.”

I lifted my head at the sound of Debbie’s voice. She stood in the doorway with two cups of coffee in her hands. “Ahh . . .”

Brown hair tucked up in a neon purple clip, she shoved a warm cup into my hands. “Got a question.”

“Okay.” I sat down on my bed, crossing my legs. “I might have an answer.”

Toeing off her sandals, she flashed a quick grin and then dropped down on the bed opposite of me. “So I got home this morning around . . . hmm, let’s say—around four A.M. and I thought my eyes must be deceiving me, because there was one Jase Winstead passed out on our floor and you were asleep on the couch, all curled up like a little babe.”

A slow burn crept across my cheeks. “Uh, yeah, well . . .”

Debbie giggled as I stumbled over my words. “Now, when I see Jase in unexpected places, I expect him to be in a bed and not on a floor. Just saying, but come on, spill it. What was he doing here? I saw him at the party and he didn’t look like he wanted to be there—oh! Now it makes sense!” Her grin spread. “There was somewhere else he wanted to be and that was here, with you.”

That was a huge leap of logic to take. “It’s not like that.” At her doubtful look, I took a sip of the sugary coffee and resisted the urge to ask what “unexpected places” she had seen Jase in. “I’m serious. We’ve known each other for a while. You know my brother is close friends with him, right?”