“So was that a yes on the drink, then?” he asked, as though the idea of her and Lincoln dating didn’t bother him in the least.
“No, I’m good. I keep meaning to stop and get some wine, but—”
“Mollie. You wound me. What kind of wine do you want?”
“No, I’m—”
“Red? White? I’m opening a bottle regardless, so if you don’t voice a preference—”
“White.”
He went to the refrigerator and studied a half dozen bottles before pulling out one with a green label.
“I thought you hated white wine,” she said.
“I do.”
“So, what? You just keep it around for the ladies?”
He pointed at her with the corkscrew. “Which you should be damn glad of.”
Mollie narrowed her eyes slightly. “Jackson. Your supply of chilled white wine doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that that’s the only thing Madison drinks, does it?”
His hands stilled for a moment; anyone who wasn’t looking for it would have missed it.
But Mollie was looking for it, and she couldn’t deny that it caused just the slightest sour taste in her mouth to know that he kept his ex-wife’s favorite beverage on hand.
“Have you talked to her?” Mollie asked quietly.
He glanced up as he pulled out the cork. “You’re telling me you don’t know? Thought you two compared Jackson Burke notes every morning.”
“Well, I haven’t gotten my full written report yet, so help me out,” she snapped sarcastically.
“That dinner was a one-time thing,” he said. “So whatever you two have up your sleeves, you can forget it. I have absolutely zero interest in reconciling with the woman who told the world I was cheating on her and then divorced me after a car accident.”
“Don’t go biting my head off. You’re the one who keeps her favorite wine in the fridge.”
“I don’t—”
Mollie reached across the counter and snatched the wine.
“Mollie—”
He grabbed for it, but she danced out of reach as she glanced at the label.
“I knew it.” The satisfaction of being right warred with disappointment. Turning the bottle around to face him, she taunted, “Let’s see, why is that label familiar? Oh yeah—it’s my sister’s favorite.”
Jackson was on her in a second, jerking the bottle out of her hands. “It’s not like that.”
She glanced up at him, vaguely aware that he was standing closer than he needed to, but neither one of them stepped back.
“Then what’s it like?”
He clenched his jaw. “It’s…complicated.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “First it’s the casual dinner, then you start stocking her wine, then—”
“Have you forgotten? Madison and I live in different states.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, not for a moment,” Mollie said, holding his eyes. “And I don’t think you have either. I think a part of you misses Texas like crazy.”
He looked away, and Mollie’s heart tugged for him—and for herself. Even so, it was a good reminder that deep down he was still Madison’s Jackson. Still a Texan. Still a quarterback first and foremost, even if he couldn’t play anymore.
“You looking forward to tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I am,” she said slowly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good…date.” She let the word slide off her tongue as though it were a euphemism for sex. The little devil on her shoulder wanted to bait him, to poke at the sexual tension that seemed to ebb and flow between them, but which neither would give in to.
His hand slammed on the counter. “You’re not seriously thinking of sleeping with Mathis,” he said incredulously.
“Well, why not? You said he’s a good guy. And news flash—we modern city women don’t adhere to any strict fifth-date rule.”
“Fine! Fuck his brains out, for all I care,” Jackson exploded.
“You’re shouting,” she said.
“I’m not—” He blew out a breath. “Damn it. Also, I keep white wine in the fridge because sometimes I use it in cooking. As far as that particular brand…I guess it’s just what I’m used to buying. That’s all.”
He held her gaze, and Mollie swallowed hard.
“You make martinis and cook with white wine? Maybe I’m going on a date with the wrong guy,” she said, trying to keep her voice teasing.
His eyes narrowed.
Ask me out, you damn fool. But she knew why he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
And even if he did, she’d have to say no. He belonged to Madison. Always had. Always would. Just because he was finally noticing that Mollie had female parts didn’t mean he was looking for forever, and Mollie…well, Mollie was looking for forever.
She let out a slow breath. “I’ll take a glass of that wine now.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer before nodding.
“So, what are your plans for this evening?” she asked.
He poured the wine and handed it to her. “Hanging out. Watching a game.”
She gave him a scolding glance. “You’re acting like an old man.”
He tilted his beer bottle back. “I am an old man.”
“You’re thirty-five.”
“Says the twenty-eight-year-old.”
Mollie tilted her head. “That really gets to you, huh? The age difference?”