Page 49 of Wait for Him

Fucking pocket-sized.

The irritating part is how comfortable it is. My face fits against his chest, his arm is warm around me, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing is doing more for my headache than the aspirin has managed so far. I should move, if only to prove some kind of point, but I can't decide what the point would be and I'm too tired to invent one.

So I stay.

Just for a second.

Or several.

Who's counting?

Jackson doesn't say anything about it. He just rubs his hand slowly between my shoulder blades while I stand there letting him hold me, and that's all it takes for the thing I've been carrying since yesterday to crawl up my throat.

“I'm sorry I called you Marcus.”

His hand pauses for barely a second before continuing.

“Yesterday,” I add, because humiliation is a buffet and I've decided to go back for another plate. “And for the other thing. The condom. Propositioning you in a restaurant. Generally behaving like a drunken sex pest. Pick whichever offense you'd like. I was in a bad place.”

I feel his chest move beneath my cheek, and if the bastard is laughing at me, he's at least smart enough to keep it silent.

“Already forgotten.”

“Liar.”

“Completely.”

I pull back enough to look up at him. “You are absolutely going to remember that condom until one of us dies.”

“Probably.”

“Jackson.”

He laughs, tightening his arm around me before I can move away. “I'm never going to use it against you. Better?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Marginally.”

“Good.”

I look down at his shirt because looking at him feels unnecessarily intimate after apologizing for drunkenly attempting to fuck him while he's married. “I really am sorry.”

“I know, Rose.”

No lecture, no demand that I explain myself, no awkward attempt to unpack why I thought throwing a condom onto a table was a reasonable response to heartbreak. He accepts the apology and lets it die, which is exactly what I need him to do and it just makes me want to hug him harder.

Absolutely not.

We have suffered enough indignities this morning.

Then his lips press lightly against the top of my head.

“Now hurry up. You're stinking up the place.”

I pull back and stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He releases me, turns me by the shoulders and starts steering me toward the bathroom with both hands. “Who knew something so small could reek this bad?”