5

Gosh… This was wrong. She shouldn't be feeling or thinking this way about another man touching her. She loved Jack, right? Then why did she feel this way… This excited about another man touching her? When was the last time she felt this excited about Jack's touch? 

“Fun?” he questioned softly, interrupting her thoughts, his hand following the contours of her neck and her head almost lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.

“Not this sort of fun.” She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.

“You’re going to have to clarify, because I’m talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less.”

Sex. Even hearing him say it had her tummy contracting over the ferocity of her need as her confession burst from her lips. “And so am I.”

His brow became a fierce V, his eyes sparking with something akin to surprise, disbelief, something more…but then it hooded over as he asked, “You’re afraid of keeping it casual?”

She shook her head. If only that were her only problem. Why was she hesitating to tell him she had a boyfriend? “I’m not very good at it.”

She stressed the ‘it’, praying it would be clear enough, even as her contracted tummy now squirmed in shame. Why admit that? 

His expression softened, a strange sense of relief shining through. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s the truth,” she breathed, her chin lifting defiantly.

She needed to convince him, to get him to back away. Derek wasn’t getting the message though, his intent searing her as his head lowered. He was going to kiss her! 

She almost leaned in, anticipating his kiss, but at the last moment, she lifted a hand, “I can't,” she said. 

He stayed where he was, and made no attempt to stop her as she moved immediately, backing away enough to escape the kitchen.

A few seconds later, he followed, “Look…” he began. 

But his sister took that moment to return, “I'm taking it,” Isabella said, a huge smile on her face. 

Olivia managed to smile back at her friend, “Perfect,” she replied, “Let's get started,” 

_________

Olivia stood outside Jack’s apartment door for a full thirty seconds before knocking.

She could hear movement inside — drawers opening, the faint buzz of a phone notification, the low murmur of a voice. He was home. Good. No more last-minute texts. No more “Something’s come up.”

She knocked. The door swung open a moment later.

Jack looked immaculate as always — pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark hair styled with surgical precision. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and something crisp and expensive. He looked like a man who had never missed a meeting in his life.

“Liv,” he said, mildly surprised. “I thought we were doing dinner tomorrow?”

“We were doing dinner yesterday… Or was it two days ago?” she replied evenly, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting to be invited. His place was spotless as always. Everything aligned. Cushions perfectly placed. Surfaces gleaming. It was like walking into a showroom.

Jack closed the door slowly. “I texted you.”

“At eight-thirty.”

“I had a client.”

“You always have a client.”

He exhaled through his nose, already irritated. “Liv, please, you know how my job works.”

“And you know how mine works,” she shot back, turning to face him. “Except I still manage to show up for us. I'm the only one showing up for us.”

That landed. His jaw ticked. “Is this really what you came over for?”

“Yes.” She surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded. “I’m tired, Jack.” She gestured vaguely between them. “Tired of getting dressed up just to sit in my apartment with takeaway because you ‘can’t get away.’ Tired of rearranging my schedule for plans that don’t happen.”

Jack rubbed a hand down his face, already slipping into calm-and-rational mode. It was one of the things Olivia disliked about him. He was always so… composed. As if he lived in his own little bubble where nothing bothered him except he allowed it to. It drove her crazy. 

Now, to someone else, it sounded selfish and perhaps bitter to want him to be bothered, but Jack had a way of hurting or pissing her off, and then reacting calmly when she exploded due to his behaviour. 

 “It’s not personal.” He told her. “I don't do it on purpose,” 

“That’s exactly the problem.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t feel like I matter.” The words escaped before she could soften them. “Gosh. Why do I have to explain this to you? I hate that I have to,”

Jack blinked, taken aback, then he shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s dramatic, don't you think?” he asked. 

She laughed once — sharp, humourless. “Is it?”

“Olivia, I’m building something here. For us. Do you think this promotion is just about me? It’s about security. Stability. A future.”

“And when exactly does that future start?” she demanded. “Because right now, I feel like I’m pencilled in between conference calls.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Is it?” she almost yelled, “You cancel all the time. We barely spend enough time together because you always have somewhere you need to run off to. I've told you so many times about how I feel…About the things I want. I want romance. I want to spend time with my boyfriend. I want to go out with him. I want unplanned and surprise dates… Why do I have to tell my man to do these things for me? Even when you do it, it doesn't feel right because I've had to ask you over and over again for it,”

Silence stretched between them, tight and humming before Jack straightened slightly, composure sliding firmly back into place. “You know I’m not the spontaneous type.”

“No, you’re not,” she agreed sadly, her voice lower now. “You’re predictable. Safe.”

The word lingered longer than she meant it to and his eyes sharpened. “Safe?”

She hesitated, and for some reason, Derek’s face as well as his voice echoed in her mind. Heat flushed her cheeks — anger at herself, not at Jack. Why the hell was she thinking about Derek at a time like this? 

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.” He stepped closer. “Safe compared to what?”

“Compared to nothing!” she snapped, defensive now. “Why does everything have to turn into a courtroom cross-examination with you?”