Trust in Me

Tess. I sucked in a breath. It was his nickname—he was the only person who ever called me that. I don’t even know why he called me that, but I didn’t mind it. Not at all. While Jack demanded to know why I had told him my name was Teresa and Jase explained that Tess was a nickname, I was sucked back into the memory of the last time he’d called me by it.

“You have no idea what you make me want,” he said, his lips brushing my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. “You have no fucking clue, Tess.”

“Mind if I use the john before we get out of here? I’ve gotta get back,” Cam said, drawing my attention. “I promised Avery dinner before the party.”

“I’ll show you,” announced Jack, grabbing Cam’s hand.

Jase arched a dark brow. “I’m sure he knows where the bathroom is.”

“It’s okay.” Cam waved him off. “Come on, little bud, lead the way.”

The two of them headed off toward the farmhouse, and we were officially alone. A hummingbird took flight in my stomach, bouncing around like it was going to peck its way out of me as a warm breeze picked up, stirring the hairs that had escaped my ponytail.

Jase watched Cam and Jack jog over the patchy green grass like a man watching the last life preserver being occupied as the Titanic started to sink. Well, that was sort of offensive, as if being alone with me was equivalent to drowning while being nom-nommed by cookie-cutter sharks.

I folded my arms across my chest, pursing my lips. Irritation pricked at my skin, but his obvious discomfort stung like a bitch. It hadn’t always been like this. And it definitely had been better between us, at least up until the night he’d kissed me.

“How’s the leg?”

The fact that he’d spoken startled me and I stuttered. “Uh, it’s not too bad. Barely hurts anymore.”

“Cam told me about it when it happened. Sorry to hear that.” He paused. “When can you get back to dancing?”

I shifted my weight. “I don’t think I will.” The real answer was that I didn’t know. Neither did the doctors or the physical therapist or my dance instructor, but I’d rather prepare myself for never than believe that I could dance once again. I didn’t think I’d survive that heartbreak a second time. “So, yeah, that’s that.”

Jase’s brows knitted. “God, that sucks. I’m really sorry, Tess. I know how much dancing means to you.”

“Meant,” I murmured, affected more than I should’ve been by the genuine sympathy in his voice.

His gray eyes finally made their way back to mine, and I sucked in a breath. His eyes . . . they never failed to stun me into stupidity or make me want to do crazy-insane things. Right now his eyes were a deep gray, like thunderclouds.

Jase wasn’t happy.

Thrusting a hand through his damp hair, he exhaled deeply and a muscle in his jaw ticked. The irritation inside me turned into something messy, causing the burn in the back of my throat to move up to my eyes. I had to keep telling myself that he didn’t know—that there was no way he could’ve known, and that the way I was feeling, the hurt and the brutal wound of rejection, wasn’t his fault. I was just Cam’s little sister; the reason why Cam had gotten into so much trouble almost four years ago and why Jase had started making the trip to our home every weekend. I was just a stolen kiss. That was all.

I started to turn, to go wait in the truck for Cam before I did something embarrassing, like crying all over myself. My emotions had been all over the place since I injured my leg, and seeing Jase wasn’t helping.

“Tess. Wait,” Jase said, crossing the distance between us in one step with his long legs. Stopping close enough that his worn sneakers almost brushed my toes, he reached out toward me, his hand lingering by my cheek. He didn’t touch me, but the heat of his hand branded my skin. “We need to talk.”





About the Author


#1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J. LYNN lives in Martinsburg, West Virginia. When she’s not hard at work writing, she spends her time reading, working out, watching really bad zombie movies, pretending to write, and hanging out with her husband and her Jack Russell terrier, Loki.

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