“I guess it’s midnight,” I murmur.
“I guess so.” He turns his head toward me, and our eyes lock. And… Oh my. I remember there’s a way people traditionally ring in the New Year.
Does Jacob want me to kiss him? And more importantly—Am I really thinking about kissing Jacob?
“So, should we do something to mark the occasion?” I ask, my voice like fluffy meringue. “Goodbye, terrible year! Maybe high-five? Or we could bang some pots and pans? Or—” Did I mention I babble when I’m nervous? And in this moment, Jacob Gray is making me extremely nervous. “If you know the words to ‘Auld Lang Syne’ we could sing—”
“Sadie.” Mercifully, Jacob cuts me off. “Do you want to high-five? Or”—his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile—“sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’?”
I bite my lip. “Not really.”
“How about this instead?” Jacob takes me gently by the shoulders. “Happy New Year.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to my cheek, and his lips are soft, and cool against my flushed face. He hesitates, and the roughness of his razor stubble brushes my jaw. Before I can overthink it, I slide my hand up to his chest and grasp a handful of his T-shirt. He freezes, mouth inches away, eyes searching mine. I reach up to slowly pull off his glasses and set them on the back of the couch.
“Happy New Year, Jacob,” I murmur. And then I kiss him, tilting my head for better access to his mouth, coaxing it open to slide my tongue against his. Jacob plunges one hand into my hair and wraps the other around my waist, shifting until I’m pressed back against the arm of the couch. He leans over me, bending down to kiss my lips, my cheek, my neck. And then he’s back to my mouth again, and oh my God, he’s so good at this. How is he so good at this? How did I go all this time without noticing these broad shoulders and solid arms and those gorgeous musician’s hands that are currently playing a concerto across my burning skin? I pull him closer and—
Somewhere far away, a key jiggles in a lock. A door creaks open and slams shut. And then, from down the hall, a horrible, irritating male voice calls out, “Yo, Jake!”
Chapter 4
I give Jacob’s chest a hard shove and struggle to sit up. “It’s Owen.”
“Shit.” Jacob dives to the other side of the couch, grabbing his glasses and flinging them on his face. He glances at me, reaches over to tug my dress back down over my knees, and then shifts his body so he’s facing forward, legs crossed casually in front of him.
My brother strolls into the room, bypassing the two of us on the couch and heading for the kitchen where he opens the fridge and grabs a beer. “You ready to go, dude?”
“Uhhh…,” Jacob says, straightening his glasses again.
Owen wanders back into the living room and plunks himself down on the piano bench across from us. “Interesting outfit, Sadie. What’s that powder in your hair?”
I try not to be irritated with my brother for strolling in like he lives here. Jacob and Owen have twenty-five years of history, dating all the way back to kindergarten. After high school, they both attended college in Boston—Owen at MIT and Jacob at Berklee College of Music—then moved to New York together. Owen has a key to Jacob’s place and lets himself in because Jacob is usually absorbed in his mixing board with headphones glued to his ears. It’s never bothered me when Owen showed up unannounced before, but then again, I was never making out with his best friend before.
I flush at the memory but play it off as indignation over his comments about my outfit. “None of your beeswax,” I say, showing off my maturity where my brother is concerned. “What are you doing here?”
Owen takes a swig of his beer. “I’m dragging Jacob out of his music studio to meet some people from AstRoBot for a drink at Blackbird.” When Owen graduated from MIT, he was still a computer nerd. But then he got a job at a robotics start-up fueled by a gazillion dollars in venture capital, and suddenly he started wearing two-hundred-dollar hoodies, classic Vans, and beanie hats even in summer. Now, he hangs out in bars that serve cocktails made of charred persimmon and pickle juice, and where Pabst Blue Ribbon costs fifteen dollars a can.
I’m a little surprised that Jacob made late-night plans to go out for drinks with Owen’s tech-bro friends. But if this night taught me anything, it’s that I really don’t know Jacob at all. Maybe I never did, and maybe… it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I got to know him a little better.
Owen stands up. “I gotta go break the seal.” He heads down the hall for the bathroom, leaving me alone with Jacob.
I jump up off the couch and turn to face him. “So…”
“Sadie…” He stands too, only inches away, and I have to tilt my head back to look at him. I’m painfully aware of how his T-shirt stretches across his chest, his long eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks in the dim light, his lips are slightly swollen from kissing me.
I open my mouth to tell him that the past hour was the most fun I’ve had this year. That I actually feel something like my old self again. And to ask him if… maybe… he wants to hang out tomorrow. No pressure, just lunch, or a walk in the park or something…
But before I can say a word, he blurts out, “Sadie, I want to apologize.”
“Wait.” I stumble backward. “What?” Apologize?
He runs a hand through his hair, and the words come spilling out. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I mean, you came in here looking so sad, and I—Well. I—” He shakes his head, cursing under his breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry for—kissing me?”
“Yes, for…” He waves a hand at the couch. For all of it.
And then it dawns on me with complete clarity. He’s not interested in me, and why would he be? I’m the sad girl in her bathrobe on his couch, eating cereal straight from the box and crying over episodes of Queer Eye. Jacob felt sorry for me, that’s why this happened. Tonight was nothing but a pity kiss for Owen’s pathetic sister.
My heart constricts in horror. What if I’d actually said that stuff about hanging out tomorrow? What if he turned around and told Owen? My brother would literally laugh so hard he’d pass out and need medical attention, and I’d have to move to a yurt in the desert for the rest of my life.
I press my hands to my cheeks. “Oh my God.”
Jacob runs a hand through his hair. “I made a move on you when you were vulnerable.”
Well, if I didn’t feel pathetic before, boy, do I now.
“Sadie,” he continues. “I’m really—”
“Stop saying you’re sorry.” I turn away because if I have to look at the mouth that was just pressed against mine telling me how deeply he regrets it, I might haul off and smack him.
“I understand if you don’t want to forgive me right now.”
“You want me to forgive you for kissing me.”
“I—” He nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”
God, I am such an idiot.