CHAPTER SIXTEEN Olive

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Olive

@TheJudeRafferty: What are you doing today?

I grin at the message on my screen.

After I agreed to give Jude a second chance last night, I ushered him out of the apartment before I did something stupid like kiss him.

And I really wanted to kiss him.

I never realized before just how small our hallway is, but with me and Jude stuffed in it? It felt tinier than any other room I've ever been in. It was as suffocating as it was intoxicating. And that was before he even pulled me to his chest. After that, I was a goner. One whiff of that familiar pine was all it took. I wasn't walking away. I couldn't.

I'll admit that I liked being in his arms far more than I should have, for someone I'm supposedly upset with. But can I really be blamed? He's hard in all the perfect places, but not so much that it's uncomfortable. He didn't feel like being in the gym is his life's mission, but he obviously works out. It was ... nice. He was nice.

And don't even get me started on the words that dropped from his lips with so much sincerity it hurt.

His confession wasn't what I was expecting. Am I surprised his publicist would set him up on a date? No. I'm not stupid. I understand how Hollywood works. There are plenty of relationships orchestrated for the media to eat up. It happens probably far more than people realize. Those "couple goals" celebs they're rooting for? It's all fake. A sham.

I'm not surprised he did it for the publicity. It makes sense. He needs to create buzz for his upcoming movie, the one that's supposed to be his big comeback and paint him as a leading man whom Hollywood wants to hire, not just that guy known for Lakedale or the failed vampire show.

And I get it. I do. I guess I just hoped that maybe ... maybe Jude wouldn't be that kind of person. And maybe he's not. Maybe I have him all wrong. The only way I'm going to know if he truly is the person I liked talking to so much is by giving him another chance.

Apparently, today is that day.

@OliveMe: I was going to clean out my closet, maybe shoot some content. Why?

@TheJudeRafferty: Want some coffee and company?

I look around my destroyed bedroom.

Instead of sitting around reading the comments on my posts that are blowing up since a photo of me and Jude from outside JT's truck yesterday is making the rounds, all of which have turned into people debating whether I'm "good enough" for Jude or "hot enough" or whether Keely is "clearly the better choice" for him, I decided it would be a good idea to finish cleaning out my closet. I've been at it for an hour already, and all I've done is manage to create a giant mess that I really, really don't want to clean up right now.

I recognize that all I'm doing is avoiding the comments and the mess, but it's the only thing I can think to do that's not going to send me into a total spiral.

Those comments ... they shouldn't bother me—I know that. They're just random people with random opinions. They shouldn't mean a thing to me.

But ... well, I'd be a damn liar if I said they don't start wearing on me after some scrolling.

I should have stuck to the golden rule of the internet: never read the comments.

@OliveMe: I'm sold on the coffee, but my answer is going to depend on the company.

@TheJudeRafferty: He's tall and cute, with green eyes and ashy blond hair. A jawline to die for. Some scruff. Funny and oh so irresistible.

@OliveMe: You know Jasper Rafferty?!

@TheJudeRafferty: Ha. Very funny.

@TheJudeRafferty: Me. I'm your company.

@OliveMe: Hmm . . .

@TheJudeRafferty: Trust me, I'm the better Rafferty brother.

@TheJudeRafferty: Want to meet in our usual spot?

@OliveMe: Our usual spot?

@TheJudeRafferty: JT's?

I grin. I guess that is our usual spot, isn't it?

"Oh, good. You're smiling again."

I lift my head to find Annie standing in the doorway. She's got a coffee cup in each hand.

"Are you still mad at me?" she asks, inching into the room with trepidation.

"Yes." It's an honest answer. I wasn't exactly her biggest fan when she got back to the apartment last night, and I'm not her biggest fan right now. I'm still upset with her for going behind my back.

"Too bad." She pushes a cup of coffee my way. "Here. Love me again."

"I already love you," I tell her, taking the peace offering as she settles onto the bed next to me. "I'll always love you. But you shouldn't have set me up like that."

"I know. It's just ... I have a feeling about him, Liv. He's a good guy. He ..." She sighs, takes a sip of her coffee, and then turns to face me. "He came to the hospital."

"I know. I was there."

"No." She shakes her head. "Afterward. He showed up the next day."

"He did not."

"Then the next," she continues as if I never spoke. "He came back every day you didn't talk to him to get an update on you. He didn't have any other way to check on you, so he went through me."

"He . . . did?"

"Yes."

Her words send a shock wave through me.

He checked up on me.

I thought he was off with Keely Haart, but he was busy checking up on me the whole time.

That's ... a lot to process.

"Why didn't you tell me? When I was complaining about him and Keely, why didn't you say anything?"

She arches a brow. "Would you have believed me?"

"No."

And it's true. I wouldn't have. I didn't believe her when she tried to tell me their date was fake either.

But I should have. I should have believed her, just like I believe Jude now. I owe Annie that much.

"Thanks," I tell her, swallowing my pride. "Sorry I got mad."

She bumps her shoulder against mine. "I would have been mad, too, so I get it. I'm just glad you're giving him another shot."

"You know, before you got engaged, you'd have told me to dump his ass."

She wrinkles her nose. "Yeah, probably." She laughs, shrugging. "I think this damn ring has gone to my head. I'm all ... mushy."

"So mushy," I agree, bumping her back. "But seriously, Annie, thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Liv. Not for looking out for you. I'll always do that."

"You're my best friend."

"You're mine. Just don't tell Daphne I said that. She's getting mean in her old age."

I laugh. "She really is. You should have seen her last night. She looked Jude right in the eyes and told him he was the worst person she's ever played Barbies with. Jude Rafferty!"

Annie tosses her head back, her whole body shaking as she laughs. "Why am I not surprised?"

"She's a hell-raiser."

"Yeah, but she's my hell-raiser. I'm just glad Payton's okay. Sucks she's on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy, but it could have been so much worse."

"Me too. Because who else is Daphne going to terrorize? I'm tapping out and leaving that to her future younger brother."

Annie snorts. "Poor kid."

My phone shakes again, and now it's Annie who is grinning like a fool.

"Are you going out with him?"

"Yes."

"Tonight?"

"No. Today."

She squeals loudly. "Oh my god, Olive! You're going out with Jude Rafferty!"

"Great story, gals! Now keep it down!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hammish!" we call out in unison before falling into a fit of giggles. Sometimes our super-thin walls are a curse, but sometimes they provide us a good laugh.

I wipe under my eyes, and Annie clutches her stomach as we sober up.

"Oh man. I needed a good laugh like that to get my day started." She shakes her head, taking another sip of her coffee before shoving off the bed. "All right. I'm off to Remi's. He wants to ‘compare calendars' today."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Nope. He actually wants to compare calendars." A slow smile pulls at her lips. "He wants to set a date."

"A date? Already? That's so ..."

"Soon?"

"Says the girl who bought her wedding dress already."

Another giggle bubbles out of her. "I know."

"I think it's good he wants to set a date."

"You don't think we're rushing things?"

"Annie, you've been together four years. You're not rushing a thing."

"But we don't even live together yet ..."

"So ask him."

She jerks her head back. "What? Ask him to move in here? With us?"

"Yeah?" I shrug. "It's not like he doesn't already spend time here. It wouldn't be that weird. A little cramped in the bathroom department, but we could make that work. He has four roommates. Do you really want to go live with five dudes, anyway?"

"Ew. No." She shudders. "That sounds ... yuck." She sighs. "I guess ... I suppose I could ask him to move in. I never really thought of that. I just thought ..."

"That you'd stick to the ‘traditional gender roles' like a lame-o?" I wag my finger at her. "Don't make me take your feminist card away."

She gasps. "Not the card!"

"I'll let you keep it ..." I narrow my eyes playfully. "But only if you ask Remi to move in."

"Olive . . ."

"I'm serious, Bananie. This is obviously something that bothers you. Take it into your own hands. If you ask and he says no, then you'll know he's not truly serious about this whole marriage thing—plus, we're still in the return window for your wedding dress. But if he says yes, then you can stop being so damn worried all the time. Even though you so don't have a thing to worry about," I add because it's true.

She groans, kicking her feet a few times. "Fine. I'll do it. But if he does say yes, you have to promise you won't get mad when he takes superlong showers or eats your crackers."

"As long as he pees in the toilet and keeps his mitts off my wine, we're square."

"Deal."

We hook our pinkies together, shaking them up and down twice.

"Good. Now go," I tell her. "I want to gloat about how right I was."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Just promise ... I'm taking a risk today, so you have to take one too." She lifts her brows, so I know she's serious.

I huff. "Fine, Mom. I'll take a risk."

"Good." She throws me a wink, then flounces away.

I pick up my phone and decide she's right. I will take a risk today.

@OliveMe: Give me thirty.

@TheJudeRafferty: See you then.

@TheJudeRafferty: Oh, and Olive?

@TheJudeRafferty: Wear socks.

"You know, when you said to wear socks, I didn't think this is what you had in mind."

"What? Do you have something against bowling?"

"No. It's just ... well, I guess I just couldn't picture you doing it."

"Why not?"

I shoot him a look, and he just smiles, knowing exactly what's going through my mind.

I'm out with Jude Rafferty.

I'm bowling with Jude Rafferty.

A multimillionaire—or billionaire? I have no clue what kind of trust fund I'm sure he has—and little old me.

How is this even real life?

"Why bowling, though?"

"Because I read somewhere once how you used to go with your dad, and I figured ..." He lifts his shoulders.

Now it's my turn to smile.

He took me bowling because he knows how much I used to love going every other Sunday. How my dad would put everything else aside, no matter how busy he was or how pressing his work, just to take me.

He took me bowling because he remembers.

He remembers.

Maybe ... maybe even though he wasn't truthful about who he was, he was honest about being real with me.

That excites me and terrifies me all at once because I liked the guy I was talking to. A lot. Maybe even more than I ever let on, and I'm scared of what that actually means. That maybe this thing—this ... well, whatever it is we're doing—could be real too.

We step up to the counter.

"Two, please."

"Shoe size?"

"Twelve for me and ..." Jude glances over to me.

"Eight and a half, please," I tell the guy behind the counter, but my attention isn't on him. It's everywhere else.

This bowling alley is nothing like the place I used to go to with my dad. That one was old and run-down, with more stains on the ceiling than actual bowling balls on racks. Some days, I even wondered if anyone else went there besides us.

Not this place, though. This one is fresh and new, the smell of paint still faint in the air. And it's packed with people. Laughing families. Young kids running around. Cute couples snuggled up next to each other. It's overflowing, nearly every single lane taken up as early 2000s music blasts through the speakers, clashing with the sounds of pins being knocked over.

"Here." The guy slides our shoes across the counter, then starts punching something into the screen in front of him, never once looking up at us. "Lane eight is open. It's all yours."

"Thanks," Jude says, then grabs both our shoes as we head for the lane.

I try to ignore the hand resting on the small of my back as we make our way, just like I try to ignore the eyes I can feel burning into me.

People are staring, and I know it's not because of me. It's all Jude. They recognize him. How could they not? He seems too gorgeous to be real. There's no way people aren't going to stare.

We change our shoes, and I settle behind the monitor.

"Do we want nicknames or real names?"

"Nicknames," Jude tells me from the ball rack, where he's carefully weighing his options. His brows are pinched together, and his lips are pursed as he studies them. It's comical, really, seeing him take this so seriously. "Only weirdos use real names. Nobody wants to say, ‘Hey, Brad, it's your turn next.' That's so lame."

"Nicknames it is."

I punch two names into the screen and look up at my handiwork, feeling quite proud, before going off in search of my own ball.

I choose a bright-yellow one, and Jude goes for black. We couldn't be more opposite if we tried.

"Ready to get your butt kicked?" I slide my fingers into the holes and step up to the line. "Because I've had a lot of practice over the years. I'm practically a pro."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Sunshine."

I turn away from him to hide my grin at the nickname I've grown used to over the last few weeks. I check out my target, line up my shot, and fire away.

And just as the ball has done for me too many times before, it starts off well, then slowly veers to the side and right into the gutter.

Jude lets out a loud laugh, drawing entirely too many pairs of eyes our way. He doesn't seem bothered by the attention, so I guess I won't be either.

I send a small wave to our audience as I return to my seat.

"Stop laughing," I hiss at him.

"I'm sorry. Really. But was that you schooling me on bowling?"

"Yes!"

"You do realize gutter balls are not going to win you the game, right?"

"Who says I'm only going to get gutter balls?"

I shoot him a glare, then grab my ball and toss it down the lane again.

Unsurprisingly, it curves to the right and rolls straight into the gutter. Again.

"You're right. You could still turn this around. But in the meantime, it's"—he checks the board, a grin forming on his full lips—"Asshat's turn. Watch and learn, Ollie."

He grabs his ball, lines up his shot, then lets it go.

"Yes!" he yells loudly, pumping his fists in the air. "Strike!"

"Beginner's luck."

"Beginner's luck, or am I just better than you?"

"You wish," I grumble.

But it turns out he's right. He is better than me. Way better than me. It's really no surprise, though. I might love bowling and talk a good game, but eight out of ten times, I'm going to gutter ball and lose with an embarrassingly low score.

Bowling with my father was never about winning. It was just about spending time with him.

Just like today is about spending time with Jude.

"Are you hungry?" he asks during our second game.

"Why, Jude Rafferty, are you going to spoil me with cheap bowling alley food on our first date?"

"First date, huh?"

I sit up straighter, my cheeks flushing with mortification. Did I just say first date? This isn't a date. At least, I don't think it is. Is it? I don't know. We didn't really discuss that, and I don't even know if I even actually want it to be one. I just—

"You're spiraling." Jude plops down next to me, nudging my leg with his own, his warmth making me feel ten times hotter than I already do. "Don't."

I risk a peek over at him. He looks cool and calm. Totally unbothered.

"Don't spiral, or don't think this is a first date?"

"Don't spiral." He leans into me. "Because I don't know about you, but I'm totally counting this as our first date."

Relief floods through me, and I release the breath I've been holding.

"Oh."

He tilts his head to the side. "Is that ... okay?"

"Yes."

The word slips out effortlessly, almost automatically.

The craziest part?

I mean it.

I'm not sure when I started thinking of this as a date, but somewhere between Jude's hand on my back, the soft smiles, the teasing, and the inside jokes ... it became one.

"Yeah?" He grins. "Good. But just so we're clear, I'm still not letting you win."

We spend the next two hours bickering back and forth and splitting a basket of cheap fries while Jude kicks my ass at bowling.

It's hands down the best first date I've ever been on.

Jude takes our shoes and drops them back at the counter, then pays for our time at the lane before coming back over and extending a hand to me.

"What next?" he asks, tugging me up from my seat.

"Arson?"

He chuckles. "I was thinking something along the lines of ice cream."

"Good idea. We'll save arson for our third date."

The bright light stings as we emerge from the bowling alley, and I expect him to pull his sunglasses from his pocket any second, but he never does.

I'm secretly glad too.

I like seeing his eyes. I like seeing him.

"So, did you have fun?" he asks as we walk side by side down the sidewalk, cutting through the Upper West Side, the warm end-of-August air teasing our skin as it rolls off the Hudson.

"Getting my ass kicked at bowling? Oh yes, it's every girl's dream first date, especially with a famous actor."

"Is that what little girls dream of? Growing up to date movie stars?"

"Are you calling yourself a movie star?" I tsk playfully. "Someone's full of themselves."

He grimaces. "That did sound kind of douchey, huh?"

"I was teasing. That's what you are, isn't it? A movie star?"

"No. Yes? I don't know." He sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Some days, I'm not sure what I am."

"You're Jude Rafferty."

He snorts. "Right. I'm a Rafferty. How could I forget?"

I realize then that maybe being part of Hollywood's most elite family might not be all it's cracked up to be.

"How is that?" I ask. "Being from the famed Rafferty clan?"

"Hard. But also amazing. It's just ... finding that balance, you know?"

"Honestly? No. I don't know. I grew up in the middle of nowhere, Iowa. I have no idea what it's like to come from Hollywood royalty."

He nods. "You're lucky for that. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm well aware of the privileged life I've led. We never wanted for anything. We had nannies and drivers, and everything we could ever desire was right at our fingertips—all while our parents showered us with love."

"But?"

He sighs. "But there's a whole other side to it people don't consider. I grew up in front of the world. Literally. I had awkward teen years, and instead of leaving them in the past, they're documented for everyone to see. I've made mistakes, and those are out there too. For all the amazing things I've been afforded in my life, privacy has never really been one of them. It's hard being a Rafferty. Not just because I'm constantly in the public eye, but I'm also always being compared to my grandparents or parents. Hell, even my brother gets brought up in all my interviews. While I might be Jude Rafferty, sometimes I wish I could just be Jude. The guy with the nice, private life who doesn't have a legacy to carry on."

The longer he talks, the more my heart aches for him.

I never really thought about that side of things. Sure, I know it's not easy to be in the spotlight—my own Instagram comments prove that—but I can't imagine having to live life on the scale he does.

"Have you considered leaving it all behind?"

"Yes."

I don't know why, but his answer surprises me. I know he disappeared from the limelight during his college years, but I'd never guess he wouldn't want to come back at all.

He chuckles at my bewildered look. "College was the first time I had a break from everything. I'm still a Rafferty, so it's not like I didn't have any attention or cameras pointed my way, but the novelty of me attending college like a regular person wore off for people fast, and they were content to just leave me be. For four whole years, I was just Jude. It was nice."

"Then why'd you come back?"

He smiles. "Because as much as I hate everything else that goes along with it, I truly do love acting. Guess you could say it's in my blood."

I roll my eyes. "That was lame."

"But true." He nods toward an ice-cream cart that's just inside the entrance to Central Park. "Want some?"

"I mean, you did already promise me some."

He grabs my hand, dragging me toward the mobile frozen-dessert bar.

We get our treats—a waffle cone with vanilla and sprinkles for him, and swirl with sprinkles for me—then venture farther into the park, our hands still locked together.

Jude runs his thumb over the back of my hand as he licks at his cone. I watch as his tongue delves into the vanilla soft serve, then peeks back out as he runs it over his lips to grab the excess.

Has eating ice cream always been so hot?

I've never really paid attention before, but if someone were to make an hour-long movie of just this, I'd watch it on repeat.

That spot between my legs that's been ignored for far too long tingles, and I try my best to subtly squeeze my thighs together. Anything to relieve the ache that's forming.

But then Jude takes another lick, and it becomes a fruitless effort.

His tongue sneaks out again, and this time, the corners of his mouth flip up with it.

"You're dripping."

How does he know what's happening between my legs?

"Your ice cream, Ollie. It's dripping all over your hand."

"Oh!" I drop our joined hands, instantly missing the feeling, and begin cleaning up the mess I didn't know I'd made.

Was I really so distracted by Jude that I didn't notice the ice cream dripping down my arm, almost to my elbow? What's wrong with me?

"Here." He digs into his jeans pocket, producing a wad of napkins I never saw him take. "Got these just in case."

"Thanks." I wipe up the mess, toss the napkins, then finally take my first taste of my cone. "Mmmm."

"Good?" he asks, but his eyes aren't on mine. They're focused on my mouth, on my tongue moving through the vanilla-chocolate swirl.

I run it around the melting mess once more, watching as his eyes and nostrils flare.

Oh, good. I'm not the only weirdo getting turned on by ice cream.

"Delicious," I tell him, and he finally snaps his eyes to mine.

His cheeks tint red as he clears his throat and looks away with a squint.

"Come on," he mutters, grabbing my hand once more. "Let's go sit over there."

I let him lead the way down a grassy hill, following along as he finds us a spot to sit in the sun. We fold ourselves down on a patch of grass. Jude stretches out his long legs and rests his hand between us so it's touching my own as I relax onto my free palm, my legs crisscrossed in front of me.

We enjoy our cool snacks in silence, letting the bustle of the park fill the space.

People are spread out all around us, some with blankets and some just sitting on the grass. Some are reading and some are talking. There's a couple who look like they're in the middle of a breakup, and another one is kissing. Some guy in a suit sits quietly, staring blankly ahead of him like he's having a midlife crisis in real time. It's a whole mix of people, and it's magnificent. It's the exact reason I love living here.

"The sun feels nice," he murmurs as we finish up our cones.

"It does. I had to do a shoot for winter recently. It's always so strange trying to get into that headspace when it's ninety degrees outside."

"Just like it's weird to shoot a Christmas movie in the middle of July."

"Well, that's less weird. Christmas in July is a real thing."

"A real ridiculous thing."

"Not a Christmas fan?"

"Oh, no. I love Christmas. I just love Christmas at Christmas, you know?"

"My dad used to do Christmas in July."

Jude's face falls, and I laugh. "Gotcha!"

His jaw slackens. "You little ..." His eyes narrow. "That was mean."

"Maybe. But you should have seen your face. You were all ..." I pout, giving him my best sad-puppy impression.

"That is not what I look like."

"Sorry, but it is."

"No. This is how I look when I'm sad."

Then, right before my eyes, Jude transforms, turning on his actor switch and effortlessly slipping into the look of a man heartbroken.

It's wild to watch in person yet so mesmerizing as tears well in his eyes and a single drop slips down his cheek.

He brushes it away, then shoots me a grin. "See? That's what I look like when I'm sad."

"That was . . ."

"Cool?"

"And creepy and amazing and totally weird. Do it again."

He barks out a laugh. "Sad boy again?"

"No. Do something else. Do Matthew McConaughey."

"I'm not good at impressions."

I lift my brows. All actors are good at impressions. That's their whole shtick—impersonating human emotion.

"Fine." He lifts his shoulders up, then shimmies them, clearing his throat. He squints just a little, cocks his lips to the side, and says, "All right, all right, all right."

Now it's my turn to laugh. "That was terrible."

"See? I told you. I'm horrible at them."

"No. You just need more practice. Do another. Do Keanu Reeves."

"That one's easy." He clears his throat, sitting up straight, and quotes one of the best lines from John Wick. He settles back down. "Better?"

"I'm sorry. Who are you again? Because a second ago, I thought I was sitting next to Jude Rafferty, but now I'm pretty sure it's Keanu."

"Which one do you like better?"

"Hmm. Depends. Do another."

"Who?"

I tap my chin, thinking. "Oh! I know! Do Jasper Rafferty. Oh, wait. You've already impersonated him."

He leans into me, eyes narrowed tightly as he whispers, "Brat."

I match his movements. "You like my brattiness."

"Maybe just a little." He pinches his finger and thumb together, leaving only a speck of space between them. "Like that much."

I reach over, pushing his fingers farther apart. "More like that much."

"Nah."

"Uh-huh."

He inches closer. "No way."

"Yes way," I counter, inching in closer too.

We're close. So damn close that all I can smell is pine and all I can feel is his heat.

His gaze darts to my lips, then back to my eyes.

"Can I ask you something?" he whispers.

"Depends. Is it going to ruin the moment?"

He laughs lightly. "I hope not."

"Then ask."

"Do ..." He inhales, once again pulling his eyes from my lips. "Do you have a thing for my brother? Is that why you were DMing him?"

"No." The answer falls from my lips with no effort, mostly because it's true. "Do I find him attractive? Yes. But that shouldn't be surprising. But do I have ‘a thing' for him? No. I don't even know him."

"You thought you did."

"Right. I did think that. But it was you the whole time, right?" He nods. "Then it's not your brother I have a thing for."

It's you.

The words go unsaid, but I don't think we need to hear them anyway.

Jude's eyes dart to the right, over my shoulder, and everything about him tenses—his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw.

"What is it?"

"We're being watched," he says through clenched teeth. "There are some paparazzi not so subtly hiding in the bushes about three hundred feet away."

"Are you sure?"

He laughs. "I said not so subtly because their cameras are very, very clearly sticking out."

"Oh."

I go to turn, but Jude stops me, placing a hand on my cheek and keeping my attention on him.

"Don't look at them. It's just going to give them more ammo."

Does he ... not want to be seen with me? Is that what it is? Because I'm not Keely Haart? Because I'm not his usual type? I've seen the few women he's been photographed with over the years. They're all tall and slim and look just like all the women I've seen gracing magazine covers my entire life.

They all fit a certain look, and that look is completely opposite of me.

"It's not you, Sunshine," he says, reading my mind. "No. That's a lie. It is you, but not for the reasons you might be thinking. I ... I want to protect you from all this. I don't want them bothering you."

His words are sweet, but they're pointless. He knows it, and so do I.

Do I really want my life splattered all over celebrity news sites or the pages of gossip magazines? Not at all.

But I'm not really interested in hiding either.

He winces. "I'm sorry. I thought this was going to be a peaceful day. Nobody bothering us."

"No, don't be sorry." I shake my head. "I just think ..."

"What, Sunshine? What do you think?"

"Well, if they're going to take pictures, let's make it worth their while."

Then I take my second risk of the day—I kiss Jude Rafferty.

I press my lips against his softly, waiting. Hoping he'll kiss me back.

And after a few shocked seconds, he does. Hungrily.

His hands dive into my hair, tugging me to him as our mouths move in unison. When he slides his tongue along the seam of my lips, I grant him access, and the growl that rumbles through him is almost too much.

But it's nothing compared to when he drags me into his lap.

I don't dare break our kiss, though. Not as I settle onto his lap. Not as I wind my own hands through his blond locks, loving that they're as thick as they look. And not even as I hear shutters in the distance.

His lips are soft and hard and everything I thought they would be. I dance my fingers over his jaw, loving how his rough scruff feels under my touch as he glides his own hands over my hips and just under my shirt, which has ridden up. The pads of his fingers brush against my skin, and I swear I feel it not just at my back but everywhere, right down to my toes, as our mouths continue to tangle together.

I don't stop kissing him for I don't even know how long. Long past appropriate, that's for sure. There's no way I won't feel it in my thighs later, being stretched over his lap like this for such a long period of time.

I don't know who pulls away first, but eventually, we're no longer kissing, our lips just resting together as we try to catch our breath.

Jude plants one last, soft kiss on my lips before pulling back and smiling up at me.

I can't help it—I laugh.

I laugh at his smile, at his messy hair, at the ridiculousness of it all.

I'm sitting in Jude Rafferty's lap in the middle of Central Park.

I would have never, ever predicted this. Not in a million years.

But now that it's here ... I don't want to let it go.

So we don't.

We sit there long enough to debate which is better, Legally Blonde or Legally Blonde 2: Red, White & Blonde, and whether you should eat two slices of bagel sandwich style or separately. It's long enough that the paparazzi must have decided they've gotten all they'll get, because they take off as the sun begins to set.

And long enough for me to decide that giving him another chance was the right choice.

"It's getting late," Jude says. "We should probably get you home."

And just like that, my shoulders slump.

He laughs. "It's not goodbye forever. Just for right now. Because, if we're being honest, Sunshine, if you sit on my lap much longer, I'm really going to give the media something to talk about." He lands a peck on my nose. "I think I'll save that for date two."

I grin. "Date two, huh?"

"Oh yeah. Date two for sure. Besides, we have to have a date two if we want to get to date three."

"Ah. Arson. How could I forget?"

He laughs, patting my butt, and I rise off him. He stands along with me, wiping the dirt off himself and very, very subtly adjusting the evidence of our make-out session.

"Hey, Jude?"

"Yeah?" He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like it doesn't make my heart skip a beat.

Like it doesn't make me wonder what it would be like to hold his hand more often.

"This was a really good first date."

"Would this be a really inappropriate time to ask if I'm forgiven now?"

I roll my eyes. Only he would be so bold to ask.

"Ooh. An eye roll. Good or bad?"

"There are good eye rolls?"

"Pfft." He shrugs. "Of course. Eye rolls like that cute one you do when I say something annoying that you secretly find funny."

I roll my eyes again, because ... well, for that exact reason.

"See? That?"

I shake my head. "You are annoying."

"But forgiven?"

Am I still mad that he lied? Yes. Do I understand why he did it? Sort of. But can I keep holding it against him when he's already proven that, yeah, sure, he lied about his name, but he didn't lie about who he really is? No, not really.

I blow out a breath. "You're forgiven, Jude."

"It was the kisses, wasn't it?"

It was that and so much more. The way he checked up on me even when I didn't want to talk to him. How when he read my diary, he truly read it. How he helped with Daphne. This whole damn day. It was so many little things that added up into a really big thing that overshadowed him pretending to be Jasper.

And that really big thing? It's Jude.

"And the promise of arson."

He laughs, then slides his arm around my shoulders, tugging me close to him. "Come on. Let's get you home before I change my mind and decide to try out some date-two activities."