Page 25 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
I meant it when I said I could do that. I'm good at casual. It's the serious stuff I've never been able to make work.
Getting to have Jason for a week, even on these terms, is more than I ever expected. More than I let myself hope for in fifteen years of silence.
So yeah. I can do this. Enjoy what he's offering, keep my feelings out of it, and walk away at the end with a good memory instead of another open wound.
Easy.
"See you at the bar? Cocktails before dinner?" Kelsey asks, looking from Jason to me and back at Jason when we reach the resort and disembark from the van.
"Of course, sweetie," Jason says. "I just want to wash the mineral smell off me first."
"Yeah, me too," I reply, though what I'm really thinking is that I need a few minutes to get my head on straight before whatever happens next.
Jason strides with purpose toward our casita and I follow a few steps behind. He toes his muddy hiking sandals off outside the door, I do the same, and when I shut the casita's door behind me, Jason's standing in the center of the living area, his back to me.
"Victor, about what I said earlier?—"
Here it comes. The backpedal. The I wasn't thinking clearly or maybe we should just forget it.
"—I meant it," he finishes.
I blink. "Oh."
He turns around, and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes, but there’s also a set to his jaw I recognize. The same expression he wore when he was helping Leah through her treatments, when he was supporting Kelsey through her tween tribulations. Jason doesn’t do anything halfway.
“Jason,” I say, and his name feels different in my mouth now. Because I've been here before, on the edge of having him, and I know how quickly he can disappear.
"So," he says. "Are we doing this?"
Casual. Light. "I'm certainly not opposed."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "You're not opposed."
"I'm enthusiastically in favor," I amend. "Better?"
"Better." He takes a step toward me, then stops, like he's not sure of the choreography. "I should warn you. I don't really know what I'm doing here."
"You seemed to know what you were doing before.”
"That was different." His voice drops. "That was…I wasn't thinking. I just took what I wanted."
"And now?"
"Now I'm thinking." He meets my eyes. "Maybe too much."
I close the distance between us, stopping just out of arm's reach. "Then stop thinking. Take what you want."
Something flares in his expression—the look of a man who's about to stop arguing with himself.
"You sure about that?"
“I’m sure.” I hold his gaze. I've been sure for fifteen years.
He reaches up and cups my face in his hands. His palms are warm against my cheeks, and I can feel the slight tremor in his fingers. We’re both nervous.
And then he’s kissing me.
It’s different from that night. Slower, more intentional. Less desperate and more certain. His lips are soft against mine, and when I deepen the kiss, he makes a small sound that goes straight through me.
