I’m still standing in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear when the doorbell rings.
My heart starts tripping because not even a minute after the chime, I pick up the sound of the lock clicking and the scrape of the wooden door as it creeks open.
Only one person would be intrusive enough to ring the bell and not wait for me to open it.
“What the heck are you doing in my house, Jace?” I ask, not even bothering to turn and look at him as I survey the poor choice of wardrobe I brought along on this trip.
Stupid sensibility gets me every time.
“I’m here to pick you up for dinner, babe,” he drawls and I can just imagine that cocky smirk and his stance as he leans against the door, ankles and arms folded in that nonchalant way that used to be cute but just pisses me off now.
“Dinner. Oh brother, give me strength. It’s four in the afternoon, you fool, and your mother said dinner is at seven. Besides, my question was ‘what are you doing in my house,’ and let me amend, ‘without an invitation’.”
The damn black dress that looks like one Margaret Thatcher would wear keeps goading me and I finally rip it off the hanger with an internal screech of outrage and a foot stomp.
Yeah, Jace, just go ahead and chuckle your fool head off, why don’t you? Idiot.
“Babe, you’ve been sending me invitations since the moment you looked at me. No, don’t deny it, because one thing we do not do with each other is lie. You know you want me,” he drawls, grinning at my scowl when I toss the dress to the bed and stand with my hands planted on my hips and my foot tapping.
“I also want to swim in the Amazon River and skydive over Mount Fuji, but we can’t always get what we want. Sometimes those things are bad for us and have the potential to spread disease,” I answer sweetly, giving him a look as I pass him at the door and hit the kitchen.
My answer isn’t as scathing as it should be, but I blame that on the guilt I keep feeling about being such a big fat liar right now.
“Babe—”
“Oh would you just stop with the babe shit already! I’m not a pig. My name is Tracy. Not babe. Not Trace. Not anything that may sound like it. T-R-A-C-Y. Got that, sucker?”
He’s laughing even as he holds his hands up in surrender and pouts.
“Got it. Tracy. So, dinner, huh? You missed Ma, yeah?”
“No, I just didn’t want to be rude when she called and invited me. Besides, I liked Wyatt the few times we actually spoke, and I heard he got married and had a baby.”
Like that didn’t send an arrow of gut-ripping pain through me just thinking that if Jace had actually kept his word and married me, we’d have at least one kid right now.
I still think about things like that, and I hate that instead of being the first to have the next generation of Lanes, I get to be the bitter hag who’s personal friends with the green-eyed monster and drinks tea with the chick at least once a week.
“And Wyatt likes you. Along with every other member of my family, Tracy. They all love you, and Wyatt’s wife, Ellie, is dying to meet you. She’s keeping Alex up an hour later just to meet you.”
Big whoop!
So maybe that makes me feel all special and stuff now, but I’m sure I’ll get over it.
“Fine. Your family likes me, and we’re all just great and happy. I’m having dinner with the Lanes and then I’m getting the hell out of Dodge now that my wedding plans are finalized. Great. Thanks for stopping by. I’ll see you all at seven.”
Please do not walk out that door and leave me with the raging lust that started the minute you walked through the door. I keep my back to him as I go for the refrigerator and whatever the hell is cold in there.
I’m needy here and I want him as much as I hate him, and to top it all off, my nipples are hard in this heat and my panties are not saveable anymore.
Jace is just…he’s magnetic. Those blue eyes and all that overly shaggy hair that flops across his forehead just does it for me. Along with the way he keeps looking at me as if he’d like nothing more than to devour me, all while slowly licking his lips.
I want him so badly right now that it’s an actual ache not to throw myself at him and demand he kiss me and finish what he started last night when he had his hand down my pants and his finger so close to my entrance. I still clench just thinking about it.
I remember every hot, sweaty, southern night with Jace Lane, and the memories only make this waiting that much harder. He used to kiss me for hours, playing our mouths together in a slick, wet glide that I felt all the way to my sex and womb.
He used to lick at my mouth and suck at my tongue as if it were the only thing in the world he craved before venturing lower to make love to every inch of my breast and my aching nipples.