I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2) (20 page)

“Ah.”

There was a wealth of meaning in that single syllable, but he said nothing else. Instead he let Mollie talk. Let her ramble about the good times, when her parents had taken them to Disneyland and Madison had thrown up on the teacups ride. And the rare times their mom would be sober enough to take them out for ice cream.

He let her talk about that day and how she hadn’t cried. Not until weeks after the funeral had it occurred to her to cry.

He let her talk about Madison. And how she was so damn sorry about everything, but a little mad too.

Finally she ran out of words and he just held her for long minutes until her tears had dried.

Until her butt was completely frozen.

Mollie shifted awkwardly and tilted her head up. “I think I need to move.”

He breathed in relief. “Thank God. I think my balls are frozen to my leg.”

Mollie laughed, and it wasn’t until she heard the sound that she realized how much she’d needed it.

They both stood, him putting the strap of his bag over his shoulder before he gamely picked up her Bloomingdale’s bag to carry that too.

He offered an arm. “Shall we? I believe we have a party to prep for.”

Mollie started to take his arm, but at the last minute she lifted both of her cold hands to his cold cheeks, cupping his strong, rugged face with her palms. Her fingertips drifted over his eyebrows, his cheeks, his lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered quietly.

His eyes softened. “You never have to thank me. Not for that.”

“I know,” she said quietly as they began walking toward home. “But I wanted to.”

What she didn’t tell him was that she had to. She’d had to say something to stop herself from saying what she really wanted to.

I love you. I’ve always loved you.

By the time the party he hadn’t even wanted was winding down, Jackson was struck with a revelation that was as startling as it was uncomfortable: he’d had a good time. More than a good time—he’d had the sort of evening that a man wanted to repeat a thousand times over. Laughter and cocktails and good food, friends…and Mollie.

During a quiet moment, Jackson found himself alone for the first time all evening, and when he glanced over to where she stood laughing with what everyone called the “
Stiletto
crowd,” his heart swelled with…something.

A dark-haired man with sharp blue eyes and glasses appeared beside Jackson, offering up a fresh whisky.

“Thanks,” Jackson said in surprise as he took the drink, “uh…” His brain scrambled for a name. The man was the husband of Julie Greene, a high-energy blonde who seemed to attract laughter like a magnet, but he’d never been good with names.

“Mitchell. Mitchell Forbes.”

“Right.” Jackson lifted his glass. “Thanks.”

Both men stood quietly for several moments, and Jackson racked his brain for a topic of conversation that wasn’t completely lame.

Just as he opened his mouth, Mitchell gave a quick shake of his head. “You don’t have to talk. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jackson muttered.

Mitchell gave a quick grin. “I know the feeling. This is a chatty bunch. Me and Sam have been known to retreat to many a rooftop for a quiet moment.”

“Sam?”

Mitchell pointed to a good-looking blond guy in a black sweater and jeans.

“Ah,” Jackson said. “Whisky guy. Married to the black-haired bombshell in the hot-pink dress?”

Mitchell laughed. “Whisky guy. He’d like that. And Riley would like the bombshell descriptor. And speaking of bombshells, can I just say, from behind the safety of my wedding ring and happy marriage…wow. Mollie is…that dress is something.”

Jackson felt a rush of masculine possession as his eyes skimmed over Mollie. The dress managed to be both sinful and classy at the same time. When she’d emerged from her bedroom, he’d told her she looked beautiful, and he’d meant it. But then he’d seen the back of the dress and had dragged her back into the bedroom to do some exploring
under
the dress.

“You want to talk about it?”

Jackson looked at the other man more carefully. Most people didn’t ask if he wanted to talk; they just started talking.

But there was a quiet shrewdness about Mitchell that made Jackson wonder if the other man hadn’t sought him out for exactly this purpose—if he’d had the sense that Jackson wanted the option to talk, but not be cajoled into it the way he often was with the other guys.

Just what he
didn’t
need: another man who could become a friend. A friend who would make it that much harder to leave New York when the time came.

But no man would ever be as hard to leave as the woman in the black dress. And yet he couldn’t ask Mollie to go with him. She didn’t belong in Texas. It was obvious from the way her eyes lit up every time she stepped onto a Manhattan sidewalk. Obvious from the way she was 100 percent in her element when she was surrounded by New Yorkers.

Plus he wasn’t at all sure he was ready to ask her.

Jackson knew Mollie was nothing like her sister. She wouldn’t spend years toying with his heart only to rip it out when he was at his lowest. But Jackson was far from being anxious to jump into another serious relationship.

He didn’t know what the hell he’d been wanting to get out of this time with Mollie, but he knew he hadn’t had nearly enough time to get rid of his demons.

Still, none of that made it any easier to do what he had to do—tell Mollie he was leaving.

And he
was
leaving. He had to. There was a job waiting for him. His real job. A job that didn’t require him to wear a suit and to spend every day trying to reacquaint himself with computers. In a town where a burger didn’t cost eighteen dollars and where he could go for a drive whenever the hell he felt like it.

And then there was football. He missed it.

Sure, as a coach, he’d never again feel the weight of his pads. Wouldn’t even have much occasion to put his hands on the leather of the ball. But he’d be on the field. Talking the talk. Surrounded by his people. People he understood and who understood him.

New York had been a worthwhile experiment, but that’s all it was. He couldn’t stay.

He didn’t
want
to stay.

His eyes locked on Mollie.

Did he?

“You ever need to tell someone something hard?” he heard himself ask Mitchell as he took a sip of his drink. “Something that you know will hurt them?”

Mitchell gave a quiet laugh. “You have no idea.”

Jackson glanced over and saw the other man watching his wife, clearly taking a trip down memory lane. Jackson felt a little stab of hope—Mitchell and Julie had clearly worked through whatever it was.

“Let me guess,” Mitchell said. “What you need to tell her is going to cause her pain. And yet not telling her…Well, you risk someone else telling her first, which will bring
more
pain.”

Jackson grimaced. “Yeah. That.”

“You probably don’t need me to tell you this, but your best shot is to have her hear it from you. Even though saying it will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Is that what you did? Told her yourself?”

“Uh…no,” Mitchell said, his jaw going hard. “She heard it from someone else. In the worst possible way. And trust me, not a day goes by that I don’t regret it.”

Julie looked over then, giving Jackson a friendly wave before her brown eyes locked on Mitchell and darkened slightly before she gave him a slow, private smile.

“Seems like it worked out okay for you,” Jackson said dryly.

“I got lucky,” Mitchell said. He turned and glanced at Jackson. “Whatever it is, she can handle it.”

Jackson transferred his gaze back to Mollie just as she threw her head back and laughed at something Cassidy’s girlfriend had said.

Yeah, she could handle it. She could handle anything.

But could
he
?

Something was on Jackson’s mind. She’d been feeling it for days now, but for some reason it seemed stronger tonight. As though, with him on one side of the room and her on the other, she could suddenly see him clearly.

And what she saw troubled her.

He was having a good time. She could tell from his easy laugh with the guys, the way he occasionally shot the bird along with the rest of them, that he liked these people. Not party-small-talk like, but genuine like.

And yet he held himself back too. Almost as though he deliberately kept himself apart from the rest of the group. At first she’d thought it was maybe them doing that clique thing that good friends tend to do, but she’d learned pretty quickly that this group seemed to be of the more-the-merrier type when it came to friends.

No, it was Jackson’s choice to hang back. To pull himself away whenever a conversation lasted too long or a joke got too rowdy.

But why?

Julie Greene, a bubbly dark blonde with friendly brown eyes, came up beside Mollie and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Two things: One, this dress is incredible. Two, you get the impression our men are talking about us right now?”

Mollie gave a not-so-subtle glance over her shoulder and saw Jackson talking to Julie’s husband. Both men looked away the second she made eye contact.

“Yup. They’re definitely talking about us.”

“Better than not talking about us, I suppose,” Julie said. “Unless Mitchell’s scowling. Is he scowling?”

“Mitchell’s
always
scowling,” said Riley Compton. “And you like it.”

If Mollie had to describe a classic pinup girl, she would probably look a lot like Riley. The woman had a teeny-tiny waist, and boobs and hips that were not tiny. Her long black hair was styled in perfect waves, her blue eyes were rimmed with the perfect amount of black eyeliner, and her red lips should have looked overdone but really just looked stunning.

Julie gave a little happy sigh. “Mitchell’s scowls do make me hot.”

Riley waggled her eyebrows. “You know what makes me hot?”

“Everything,” Emma Sinclair said, joining the group. “Everything makes you hot. And hungry.”

“Speaking of which, Mollie,” Riley continued, “I’ve decided to hire that magical caterer you used so that he can make me those little mini quiches at all hours.”

Emma lifted an eyebrow. “You do remember that you just got married three months ago? To the love of your life?”

Mollie smiled into her wine. She liked Emma—she was cool, maybe a little bit haughty, but with a biting sense of humor that fit in perfectly with the rest of the group.

“Yeah, but Sam can’t cook,” Riley said, referring to her new husband.

“But he makes whisky for a living,” Emma countered. “Surely that’s better.”

Riley pursed her lips. “I’ll think on that one. I want the whisky
and
the mini quiches.”

“Yes, well, I want the Prada purse
and
the Louis Vuitton, and I can afford neither, so I’ll splurge on Coach,” Julie said. “You see how that works?”

“Not really. I can’t
eat
purses, Jules.”

Mollie smiled and took a sip of her wine. When she’d suggested the party to Jackson, she’d done it mostly to help him banish the whole solitude thing he’d had going on since moving to New York. Jackson wasn’t a chatty guy by any stretch of the imagination, but normally he wasn’t antisocial either. She knew that back in Houston there had always been dinner parties and game nights and galas. She’d wanted him to know that he could have that in New York too.

But there was an extra bonus to this party that Mollie hadn’t seen coming: she liked these people, a lot.

Cole and Penelope had been first to arrive. She’d been especially curious—and wary—of those two, since they’d be the ones conducting the actual interview, but after about thirty seconds in their company, she relaxed.

Penelope was a friendly, zero-filter tomboy who was equal parts sweet and hilarious. Her enthusiasm for all things sports had been rivaled only by Cole’s. Cole was a life-of-the-party type of guy whom Jackson seemed completely relaxed around.

Then the rest of the group had arrived, and it became abundantly clear that they were all good people.

She’d been particularly curious about Lincoln Mathis, her would-be date, and she wouldn’t have been fully a woman if she hadn’t admitted that her lady parts had given just the tiniest bit of a sigh at what they’d missed out on. The guy was gorgeous. Not only was he physical perfection, all dark hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders, but there was something almost heartbreakingly compelling about him: shadows in his eyes and secrets in his smile that had made her chest hurt, even as he’d been making her laugh.

And then there was the
Stiletto
crew.

Mollie had been intimidated at first. She loved
Stiletto
. Her job didn’t allow a lot of time for fun reading, but every time she took a plane, she treated herself to the latest issue of
Stiletto
from the airport newsstand. Knowing that she was expected to make conversation with the women who actually put content on those glossy pages had made her a bit tongue-tied.

And she’d been a bit jealous too. Not just of their looks, although the combination of perfectly fitting dresses, higher-than-high shoes, and shiny hair had been a little bit overwhelming. No, mostly she was jealous of their confidence. These women knew what they wanted and
got
what they wanted—and what they wanted were their men, each more good- looking than the last.

Still, her nervousness had lasted about thirty seconds before the newly married Riley had linked arms with Mollie and determined that she was going to join their group as Baby Spice. Which in turn had set off an argument over what the rest of their names would be, ending with Julie and Riley arguing fiercely for the spot of Crazy Spice, which seemed about right.

“So, Mollie, are you going to tell us what’s going on with you and the delicious quarterback?” Julie asked.

“Um—”

“Penelope and Grace will kill you if you don’t wait for them,” Emma said with a nod in the direction of the two women who were chatting with their significant others on the other side of the room.

“Eh, so she can tell it twice,” Riley said, waving her hand.

“I don’t even know what to tell,” Mollie admitted.

“Start with the basics,” Riley said. “He didn’t really sleep with all those women, right?”

“Riley!” Emma and Julie spoke in unison, looking appalled.

“What? You know Penelope’s going to ask it!”

“Yeah, for her
job
. But you can’t come into someone’s house and start—”

“He didn’t sleep with all those women,” Mollie interrupted.

They all looked at her, and she put a hand over her mouth to cover a laugh. “Wow, it feels good to say that out loud.”

Emma gave her a sympathetic smile. “I bet. As much as we’d all like to say that other people’s opinions don’t matter, it can’t be easy to watch false rumors swirl around someone you care about.”

“Well, that’s not even the worst part,” Mollie said glumly. “The worst part is that I believed the rumors. Didn’t even question them, and…” She bit her lip. “I think I hurt him. He’d never say so, but…”

“They never do,” Julie muttered.

“I just hate that I assumed.”

Julie’s hand rested against her back. “Sweetie, correct me if I’m wrong here, but it’s not like you made the assumption based on something you saw on the cover of the tabloids. Nobody would blame you for standing by your sister.”

“And hello, elephant in the room,” Emma said.

Julie winced. “We didn’t know whether or not we should mention the sister thing.”

“I voted yes, we
do
mention it,” Riley said, raising her hand. “Just in case you needed someone to talk to.”

Mollie’s smile was slight. “I don’t even know what to talk about.”

“How about the fact that you’re getting rather fantastic sex from Jackson Burke?” Julie asked.