novelxo Sworn Enemy: Chapter 12
Sunday dinner was a lot more fun than I would have imagined. I find that my enjoyment of group settings highly depends on who I sit next to, and Justin Jennings was a weirdly fantastic tablemate.
He’s willingly honest in a way most people aren’t. Never unkind, not anymore. Just honest. Even if the honesty makes the tips of his ears go pink.
“Somebody’s thinking about his new crush,” Erik says, gliding past me with the shopping cart.
He’s lucky we’re in public, or I’d purple-nurple him so goddamn hard.
Whatever. I’m in a great mood, and this will be a great week. We’re at Fresh Pickens, the local grocery store, and we’re shopping for real food since we’ll actually be in town preparing for the barn-raising. It’s nice to buy fresh produce when I know I’ll be able to get to all of it.
It’s even nicer to contemplate what the barn-raising means about my place in this community, even if I initially fought it.
I do, however, regret bringing Erik to Sunday dinner since he seems hell-bent on fucking with me at every opportunity. People think he’s quiet, but that’s only because they don’t know him like I do.
I admit to one unrequited high school crush and another equally unfortunate hookup, and now I’ve somehow opened the portal to my personal hell.
“Would you shut the fuck up,” I grouse good-naturedly, leading us around the corner to the aisle with all the jams and jellies. “Besides, I wasn’t the one getting all the googly eyes.”
“Oh, well, would you look at that. Justin Jennings, as I live and breathe,” Erik announces, hiding his laughter. Barely.
I snap my head up, and yep, there’s Justin, holding my favorite brand of peach preserves. He startles at the two of us but manages not to drop the jar.
Erik snaps his fingers, then flips the cart around. “I forgot something from the…fish aisle. Or whatever.”
He nearly runs into Mr. Bruckner, who snarls at him. Erik ignores the old grump and pops his eyebrows at me, disappearing around the corner.
I swear to God, one of these days, I’m going to put hemlock in his morning coffee.
Turning to Justin, I jam my hands into my pockets, unable to help my smile. His eyes drift to my lips, and my tongue darts out, running along the lower lip to see if they follow.
They do.
Huh. Maybe I do deserve Erik’s ribbing commentary—I’m clearly ridiculous. Anyone who’s complimented my calm demeanor has never seen me around Justin Jennings. Negative or positive, my reaction to him is reliably off-center.
Also, we’ve been standing here for a little too long without saying anything. Plastering on a smile, I point to the preserves in his hand.
“Cheating on your brother’s store?”
The pink splotches along the tips of his ears deepen as he coughs out a laugh. “I would never cheat on the family store. Jason wanted me to try out this brand and let him know if we should stock it.”
“Well, that’s my aunt’s brand, so you definitely should.”
“Really?” he asks, reaching for another. “Then we’ll stock it for sure.”
I still his hand with mine. “Don’t bother getting it here. I’ll bring some by the store later this week.”
He tremors at the contact, his breath catching. Not that I’ve spent too much time on the subject, but I’ve decided that his reactions catch my attention because they are both delicate and beastly. Like the hair-trigger awareness of a prey animal on the savanna.
Or like a guy with a shared complicated history who doesn’t know why the fuck I’m touching him in the middle of Fresh Pickens.
“Oh, okay,” he says, nodding a little too earnestly as he pushes past my hand to return the jars to the shelves.
His neck is bright red, and my cock twitches with the memory of how his neck flushed just like that just before…fuck he clenched so hard as he came. Scent memories like hot asphalt, latex, sweat, and cum fill my nostrils, unbidden.
Aaaand now I’m standing too close to him.
Justin swallows, his eyes sweeping the aisle around us, stopping at the edge. I follow his line of sight and…that absolute motherfucker. Erik is peeking around the corner, his eyes bright with laughter.
Justin and I step away from each other, silent in our mutual agreement that space is better.
Oh well. Random encounter, a few misfiring neurons, my mouth inexplicably dry. Nothing to get too worked up about.
It’s not like we run into each other all that often.