Mollie straightened and glanced over her shoulder, giving him a coy grin.
He smiled back. “Well, if that isn’t the smile of a satisfied woman.”
She turned to face him and leaned forward to kiss his shoulder. “Are you not a satisfied man?”
He surprised her by cupping her chin with one hand, lifting her face to his. “I am. And I thank you.”
Mollie gave an incredulous laugh. “Did you just thank me for sex?”
“More like a thank-you for reminding me that I didn’t die in that car wreck.”
He released her face and gave her a playful swat on the butt that belied the importance of what he’d just said.
Jackson turned away and began picking up their clothes, and Mollie put a hand to her hammering chest.
Objectively she knew that this was just sex. He’d fucked her against a counter, for God’s sake.
But something about his face just then…
Thank you for reminding me that I didn’t die in that car wreck.
“I’m gonna shower,” he said, holding his clothes against his chest with one arm as he held out hers. “You wanna come?”
“Nah.” She shook her head. “I’ll make dinner.”
“Okay.” He leaned forward, kissing the top of her head before heading toward his bedroom, whistling along with the music she just now registered was still playing quietly in the background.
Mollie waited until his door closed before she wandered toward her own room for fresh clothes.
“It’s just sex, Mollie,” she muttered to herself minutes later as she walked back into the kitchen, tying the string of her sweatpants. “Just really, really good sex.”
But as she cleaned the counter and resumed making her grilled cheese sandwiches, she couldn’t escape the nagging thought that just sex wasn’t supposed to leave her feeling quite so happy.
Or so terrified.
Chapter 23
“Burke, you eaten?”
Jackson glanced up from his computer to see Jake Malone standing in the doorway. Of all the Oxford guys, Jackson knew Jake the least. As Oxford’s travel editor, he was away a fair amount, plus his cushy corner office was at the far end of the hall away from Jackson’s.
Still, he seemed like a good guy. Hell, they all seemed like good guys.
“You eat yet?” Jake repeated when Jackson didn’t reply right away.
When Jackson had first started at Oxford, he’d gotten this question a lot. Knowing that a lunch invitation inevitably followed, he’d started saying yes automatically, whether or not he’d actually eaten.
But today…
“Not yet,” he replied.
Jake jerked his head back. “Come on. Cassidy’s buying.”
“Cassidy is not buying,” came Alex Cassidy’s low voice just seconds before the editor in chief appeared in Jackson’s doorway.
Jake shrugged. “Always worth a shot.”
Cassidy glanced at Jackson. “Burke’s coming?”
“Wait!” came a female wail. “Jackson’s going? Why is he going on the one day that I can’t go?”
Penelope Pope came dashing over and looked at Jackson with big sad eyes. “I have a phone date with my mom. She’ll kill me if I cancel. But you have to promise to go to lunch with me tomorrow.”
“Um, okay,” Jackson said.
She pointed at him. “No. Promise.”
He smiled, because Penelope trying to look bossy was in fact adorable. “I promise.”
She gave him a happy smile before slapping Jake on the arm. “Hey, make sure Cole brings me leftovers. He always forgets.”
“I do not always forget,” Cole said from somewhere out of sight.
“It’s like you guys come out of the woodwork,” Jackson muttered.
As if on cue, a thump came from the shared wall between Lincoln’s and Jackson’s offices. “Wait for me!”
“So we’re all going, then,” Jackson said dryly.
Five minutes later, Jackson found himself part of the group going to lunch, rather than the one watching others go to lunch. Since Penelope couldn’t go, it was guys only: himself, Jake, Cole, Lincoln, and Cassidy.
He was surprised to realize how much he’d missed this—how much he’d missed having friends. Most of Jackson’s best friends had been on the team, but he’d had other sets of friends as well: neighbors, college friends…even a handful of high school friends. Every last one of them was back in Texas. And while most of them had at least sent a card after the accident, there weren’t exactly daily phone calls coming in. Not with most of them thinking he was the worst sort of philandering asshole.
But these Oxford guys didn’t seem to care about any of that. Hell, apart from Cole and maybe Cassidy, it didn’t even seem to register with them that he was a former pro athlete. For the first time in his life, Jackson was defined by something other than his throwing arm.
He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about that.