Looking up at Jack’s apartment, I shut the car door behind me and blew a minty breath into my hand.
I was bursting with excitement. Would it be the same between us? What if it was awkward? When Jack opened the door, should I hug him?
Or kiss him?
I was reminded of the few dates I’d had as a teenager—those strange and terrible moments I’d spent on a girl’s front steps, playing the part I’d been groomed for all of my life; the strong and silent guy with the gentle touch.
I wasn’t that guy anymore. And I wasn’t here to be silent or gentle. I was here for Jack. For authenticity. For his eyes on me. Those eyes that revealed me so easily.
No more games.
I climbed the steps and knocked on his door. I thought I heard voices in his apartment.
Wait—he wasn’t alone?
Seconds later, Jack pulled
