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My heart is thumping. Pounding.

My legs feel unsteady, awkward as I step back and forth, my instinct for rationale and order threatening to rise up from the ashes.

“Champagne,” I say. “Let’s toast your new place.”

“Spoilsport,” Jack says, and points towards the kitchen. “Fridge. Glasses in a cupboard somewhere. Be my guest.”

I turn my back on them and heed his instructions. There are three bottles of De Chante in his fridge along with some beers. There’s also a collection of spirits in one of the nearest cupboards. Whisky. Gin. Rum. Vodka. I keep moving along, trying to locate his champagne glasses, and it’s clear he’s talking bollocks with the fresh move line. Everything is disorganised, but in a lived in kind of way. Egg cups behind some whisky tumblers. A blender with all the parts scattered around it behind a row of mugs.

I find the champagne glasses and take out three. I’m getting ready to pop the De Chante cork when I hear a fresh giggle from Alice.

Holy fuck, I nearly drop the bottle on the floor when I flash a glance over my shoulder to see her straddling him on the sofa.

They are already kissing.

His fingers are tangled in her hair as she grinds against him, and it does something to me. My mouth dries up, teeth gritting. A whole host of emotions battling in my stomach.

Jealousy. Need. Insanity.

Lust.

My cock is rock hard as I watch the pair of them. Jack’s skilled hands working their way down her back to grip her ass cheeks.

It’s too much.

I ditch the De Chante back on the worktop, sensibilities forgotten. I won’t be left in the dust this time, bland and boring.

My suit jacket is on the floor before I reach them. My tie is loose before I tug Alice by her shoulder enough to interrupt their kiss fest, and it’s my mouth that lands on hers this time.

My heart is a jackhammer.

My nerves are on fire.

Until she kisses me back. Her pretty mouth opening to welcome my tongue as she breathes into me. She buries her fingers in my hair as my mouth makes a statement, claiming hers as Jack stills his bucking underneath her.

It’s absolute heaven when she pulls away with a smile, eyes still sparking.

“That was a long time coming,” she whispers, but she doesn’t get the chance to say anything more.

My lips land straight back on hers.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JACK

Firecrackers going off is an understatement. These two are pure dynamite. Dynamite that’s been covered in layers of dust for years.

I don’t need to be an Eli to get the read of what’s going on here. You’d have to have the IQ of a bloody goldfish not to see it.

BT and Soul Girl’s kisses are off the charts, their moans so full of desperation it blows the word lust off as nothing. And somewhere, underneath the world of casual I reside in, it blows me off as nothing, too.

I’m nothing more than a casual bystander right now as they kiss like they’re the answer to each other’s prayers.

I’m careful as I ease Alice off my lap and onto Bryce’s. Careful as I ease myself away on the sofa, letting the two of them get it on like teenagers on their first dirty date night. And then I watch.

Watch and learn.

Bryce is no player. He doesn’t have any grandeur or prowess with the way his hips thrust up against the woman of his dreams. His hands are all over Alice’s back, out of control as she rubs herself against him. It’s kinda cute, and cute usually makes me want to throw up, so I have no idea why the sight of them keeps me transfixed.