Slower

by Deana Birch

  Casey wiggled his shoulders in a quick little dance. “And I confronted her. Sorry. I know you wanted to bury all that shit behind you. But she knew he was your boyfriend. And from one ginger to another, I had to give her a piece of my mind.”

  A quick, light laugh bubbled up from my chest. “That was sweet. And I love you for it. But don’t go burning any bridges for me.”

  He smiled before his lips formed a tight line. “She said she didn’t fuck him. He was too drunk.”

  It was obvious what Casey was doing, but cheating wasn’t just sex for me. “He kissed her.”

  “She kissed him.”

  I shook my head. “You weren’t there, Casey.”

  “Neither were you.” His words, while true, didn’t matter. “You should tell Jake.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Whose side are you on?”

  “The side of happiness.”

  Jake might have been in a Texas-sized state of denial about winning me back, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew damn well I would let him use the piano. I almost felt bad he had resorted to using pity. But this back-and-forth had to end. Even though I was not ready to move on, I would need to prove to him I was.

  I sent a text to my running buddy, Brandon Cole, asking him to meet in the morning, to which he immediately replied with a “totally” and a happy face emoji.

  Jake was piling wood in the courtyard bright and early. I was sure it was part of his scheme to see me before I went to work. I wore my shortest running shorts and just a sports bra. I normally ran with a tank over the top, but today I needed to prove a point. When the buzzer sounded, I went out to meet Brandon. I could feel Jake’s eyes on me the entire time and knew I had awoken the jealous giant within him. Good. Take that, you dog-loving, hammer-yielding, glorious man. I was moving on. He needed to see it and understand it.

  Brandon and I had a long, hard run without much talk. On the way back to my place, he told me about his relationship with his new girlfriend, Carmen, and the joys of discovering a new person. He said it was easier dating someone in the business, who understood the schedules and traveling. I walked him to where his car was parked, and we agreed to see each other at lunch for yoga.

  Jake wasn’t next to the pool when I got back, which was too bad. I wanted to flaunt the fact that I’d gotten sweaty with another man. I went home, showered, and dressed casually for work.

  I found him in the car park, where he was unloading paint out of his Jeep. I ignored the inviting stubble on his face and shot my eyes elsewhere—which was when they clocked the low-hanging jeans exposing the waist of his boxer briefs. And I absolutely did not look at the tattoo on his shoulder. The one he’d never said was for me, but I knew was. When I passed behind him, he set the paint down and followed me. By the side of my car, I pushed the button to unlock it. Jake crowded against me, invading my personal space but not touching me.

  I turned around to face him, and my back pushed against my Fiat.

  With a challenging whisper that created an urge between my legs and a pull from my heart, he stared me down and said, “If you think, for one second, I believe you are interested in that shoulder-tapping actor, you’re insane.”

  I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to pin me against my hood and put his hand in my underwear and make me come like only he knew how. I wanted him to bang me against the bumper until I screamed his name. Then I wanted to wrap his arms around me, hop into a time machine, and set the dial back six months.

  But none of those things happened. He stepped back, squinted one last time as if to say he was on to me, and walked away. He had no idea how close I’d been to giving in. I couldn’t remember what round we were on in our stupid one-upping game, but that one definitely went to him. Shit. He was breaking me down. And what I really couldn’t figure out was if I wanted to bury my head in the sand or jump for joy.

  On the way home from work, I gave myself a pep talk about putting my guard back up. But when I pulled in, Jake’s Jeep wasn’t there. The debris of the courtyard had been cleaned up, Archie and Fern were nowhere to be found, and the complex was deserted. I gave it a final scan before opening my door. I was sure that in my apartment I would find remnants of Jake, but there was only stillness. The piano bench had been moved a little, telling me he had indeed come and played. I dropped my bags on the dining room table and went to open the fridge.

  Everything was how I’d left it; he hadn’t helped himself to my leftovers. My mouth twisted to the side. I walked to my bedroom, where I opened the underwear drawer. It also looked untouched. I couldn’t help myself from being a bit disappointed.

  Home and alone, I couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness. When I went to bed, I grabbed his pillow and inhaled. Unused. How had my bed become so big?

  Fern told me the next day that they had all gone to the beach and out for seafood. Jake wasn’t around on Saturday, and I expected him to come over and huff and puff on Sunday morning when my girls and I were soaking in our Vitamin D, but that didn’t happen, either. I would not allow myself to imagine I was missing him. Or that he’d given up.

  Young film director—and major pain in my ass—Matthew Schiller sat on the couch in Mario’s studio. He wore a lumberjack shirt, long beard, and gelled hair. He babbled away about the band he’d been in during film school.

  This was the kind of stupid shit we had to sit through with a first-time client. Lord, he was obnoxious. And Mario was proving to have the patience of a saint.

  I, on the other hand, was having visions of pulling out my own eyeballs and shoving them in my ears so I wouldn’t have to listen to or witness anymore of his continuous chatter. For the most part, I got along with our clients, but this guy grated on me like a sheet of sandpaper. And he was wasting our time. I had three estimates to email before the end of the day, as well as sales calls to make, and I needed to ask Steven Brass if he could play on a track in the morning.

  Mario had a ton of revisions to do—thanks to the assclown in front of us—but the two of us sat there nodding and pretending to be interested in his story about how one time he’d played the Troubadour. With the amount of detail he went into, I half-expected him to start describing what everyone in the crowd had been wearing. I had to put an end to it.

  “Matthew, I’m terribly sorry, but we have a conference call in ten minutes …”

  “Oh, no problem. I can wait here.” He had to be shitting me.

  “Actually,” Mario chimed in—and I almost sang hallelujah—“it’s with our lawyer and could take hours. Sorry. Trust me, I would much rather hear the end of that story than talk contracts.” Damn, Mario was a great liar. Note to self.

  When I escorted Matthew to the lobby and said goodbye, I heard our receptionist answer our line, and as I turned to walk down the hall, she said my name.

  “Jake for you.”

  There was only one circumstance that would lead Jake to call me at work, and I filled with dread as I sat down at my desk to answer.

  “Louana Higgins.”

  “Hey, it’s me. So, don’t freak out, but Fern fell.”

  I brought my free hand to the corner of my eye and rubbed. “Shit. How? What happened? Is she okay?”

  “I think her knee gave out on her while she was coming down the steps. Then she tried to use her hand to catch herself and ended up breaking her wrist. I promise we were sober.”

  I cursed myself for not putting enough calcium in Fern’s diet while Jake informed me he had taken her to the hospital, where they had done X-rays and treated the break. She was home resting, a little shaken up that it could have been worse, but for the most part fine, and he assured me he would stay with her until I got back.

  I finished my estimates, booked Steven, and saved my sales calls for the following day.

  When I got home, Jake and Archie were sitting by the pool, both defeated and still.

  “She’s in bed. She said she’ll see you a little later,” Jake said.

  I pulled up a chair and offered a tight smile. “I�
��m just glad you were here.”

  “Fuck. When she cried out, I assumed the worst. I’m just glad it was only a fall.” He rubbed his cheeks, then cradled them in his palms.

  I had to reward him somehow, and putting my arms around him couldn’t happen.

  “You hungry?”

  He nodded a yes, and he and Archie followed me home.

  As I was changing out of my work clothes and into some leggings with a long T-shirt, I heard him tinkering at the piano. Our most sacred moment flashed in front of my eyes—my birthday serenade. I allowed myself a couple more seconds of voyeuristic nostalgia.

  Unfamiliar notes floated into the kitchen as I opened a bottle of red and took him a glass.

  “You know, if this remodeling thing doesn’t work out, you may want to consider being a professional musician.”

  He gave me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” My brows drew closer.

  He spun around on the bench and took the wine. “Yeah, I just keep thinking that Fern has somehow become my best friend, and the thought of losing ...”

  “You two are quite the duo.”

  “We’re actually a trio.” He gestured to Archie.

  “Right. Well, it was lucky you were here today.”

  31

  JAKE

  * * *

  That probably would have been a good moment to tell her I was going to move into the apartment once I’d finished working on it. But then she would have gotten pissed, and she probably would have kicked me out. And it wasn’t just that I was hungry and craving one of her meals. She was smiling at me. She was being nice to me, and she looked so fucking good in her tight leggings and T-shirt. Because this was how I preferred her. Quiet, caring, calm, and sweet. So, dropping the bomb about me living upstairs could wait.

  I set the table and watched her cut the broccoli and prepare the chicken. Seeing her like this was a privilege, I knew. And one that I would do anything in my power to get back.

  Over dinner, she told me about her new pain-in-the-ass client and was beginning to pour me a third glass of wine when I put my hand up to stop her.

  “I have to drive back to Venice.”

  “Right.”

  I tried not to focus on the twinge of regret I heard in her voice. Her eyes left mine and met the floor, and she bit her lips inward. She stood and piled our plates. We decided I would walk Archie while she checked on Fern, and she was gone when I came back with the dog.

  I drove home and was in bed about to fall asleep when my phone buzzed.

  * * *

  Louana: Thank you for everything today. It was nice not fighting with you.

  * * *

  I wanted to write back that I loved her, that leaving her in Hollywood took more willpower than she could imagine, and could we cut this fucking charade, please, and get back to being us? But she’d waved the white flag, and I was on hallowed ground. Instead, I wrote back that I would see her in the morning and wished her sweet dreams. Even though the day had been a mess, I was feeling more hopeful than I had in months.

  Her texting me had unlocked the cabinet of communication. She called me the next day at lunch to check on Fern, and I called her when she was on her way home to ask her to stop at the pharmacy for an extra ice pack. It was like all the tension between us had melted away with Fern’s fall. She made dinner for all of us and even put her hand on my forearm when she objected to me doing the dishes.

  I knew I was keeping a secret from her, and the longer I let it go on, the more damage I was doing. But she was being so goddamn sweet—it was too addictive. And I was a greedy motherfucker. After I’d been starved of her for six months, every bite of her food, every giggle from her beautiful mouth, and each time she looked into my eyes nourished my soul. Then one night of talking turned into four, and four nights turned into two weeks. I worked in the apartment every day, with occasional breaks to check on Fern or play with Archie.

  We were all sitting outside after dinner, and I had just told Louana and Fern about the countertops being delivered the next day and the finishing touches I was putting on the tile in the new walk-in shower.

  Louana tilted her head to me and said, “I have to go to New York next week, and I thought it might be easier if you stayed at my place.” She fiddled with her necklace. “I mean—it’s not like you don’t enjoy sleeping in my bed …” She shrugged with a tiny smile.

  Before I could stop her, Fern said to me, “Well, your place will probably be done by then anyway …”

  Fuck. I closed my eyes and tried to make it go away. Of all the ways for her to find out I was moving in upstairs, I knew hearing it from someone else was the worst. Louana’s eyes darted back and forth between me and Fern.

  “Oh. Well, that solves that, then.” She smiled and stood up to clear the table.

  Huh? I’d never imagined she would respond so calmly; it had never even entered my atmosphere of possibility. But I knew this woman and all her tells. Her nostrils were slightly flared, and her breathing had quickened—she wasn’t pleased. Crap on a cracker, I was doomed.

  We told Fern to go home and take it easy, I gave Archie the quickest walk of his life, and I found her smoking. Assumption confirmed. I took Archie home to Fern and went back to Louana, who glared very evil eyes at me from her chair by the pool. But this time it wasn’t amusing.

  After dragging a seat directly in front of her, I sat down with my elbows on my knees. I rubbed my face like it was Aladdin’s lamp, hoping it would grant me the right words.

  “I’m sorry.” My eyes pleaded, but hers only returned a blank stare. I went on. “I wanted to tell you, but then you were so fucking nice after Fern fell, and it felt so good for you to actually look at me, see me. Jesus, baby. You even smiled at me again.”

  She blinked through her stare, put out the cigarette, and went into her apartment. I didn’t care if she wanted me in there or not. The moment was pivotal, so I followed her. She went to the kitchen, where she clanked the dishes in to the dishwasher and did her best to ignore me. But I wasn’t backing down so easily.

  “At the time, it seemed like the best solution. And now I know there’s a part of you that’s happy someone else is here to look after Fern and Archie. And you know what? I’m not too proud to say that I needed to be near you again. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person on the planet who knows how to patch me up.”

  “Stop it!” When she broke her silence, her voice was louder than I expected. She turned to face me. “Stop saying sweet shit, and stop pushing your way into my life. You never fucking change. You’ve been pushy since the day we met.”

  Her eyes glossed with tears—whether out of anger or hurt from the lie, I couldn’t tell. Either way, it cut deep. Crying out of anything but joy was not what I wanted from her.

  I had to fight like hell not to put my arms around her. “I remember the first day I saw you. You were at work, leaning against the counter in the community kitchen, reading a book while your food reheated in the microwave. You were wearing some kind of dress that buttoned up to your neck and had flowers on it. All of a sudden your eyes got big, and a smile came across your face. When the microwave dinged, you kept reading and took your food to the conference room, never looking up from that book.”

  “And?”

  “And I knew I had to meet you. You weren’t just beautiful. Something told me you were different. And the next chance I got, I came looking for you. So, yeah, I’ve been driven from day one. I’ve been a fucking bulldozer, because I had to have you.” I moved a little closer to her. Jesus, I hoped she felt the energy between us as much as I did. “Touch you.”

  She wiped away the sole tear that had escaped.

  “Feel you.” I took another step toward her, which caused her to back against the sink. “Be yours.” One more step. She had nowhere to go. I was inches away.

  I leaned down and found the crook in her neck. The spot that smelled like heaven. The one location on her body that
would make her melt when kissed. “I still want all those things,” I whispered.

  I wasn’t going to pounce until I knew she was ready, but I was nine hundred and fifty percent ready. I just needed her go-ahead. Any sign she wanted me back. I searched her eyes, but they were closed, and her mouth was busy nibbling her own bottom lip. It made me jealous. I wanted those lips.

  My hips pinned her to the counter, only the threads of our clothing between our skin.

  “Let me kiss you, baby.”

  She let out the faintest of sighs, and I could smell victory.

  Again, in her ear, as quietly as I could, I begged her. “I need you. So. Fucking. Bad.”

  As she breathed out, her eyes opened halfway. “What if I say yes, but only to a kiss?”

  A dream. Her words were a dream.

  “Are you sure you can stop yourself?” I teased.

  “I’m not sure of anything right now other than that I just want to kiss you, but anything beyond that …”

  I didn’t need to hear the rest. My lips had gotten the permission they craved and moved in for the kill. Every muscle in my body released, then tensed back up with excitement. And I do mean every muscle. She would get her kiss, but I would be damned if I wasn’t going to do my best to leave her wanting more. I found her tongue, rolled around it with my own, then went back to her gorgeous neck. I actually had to stop myself from biting it. My hands moved down to squeeze her perfectly toned ass, and the man in my pants screamed for more. I picked her up, sat her on the counter, and pushed in as close as I could. She pulled my hair and tilted her neck to give me a better angle. My hand ran down her thigh. Jesus, I wanted to slip it into the leggings and what I was sure were pink panties.

  I went back to her beautiful mouth, with my free hand cupping her cheek. She kissed me back just as passionately. Fuck, I missed her. It was killing me not to go any further, but a deal is a deal, and my Louana did love her deals. Plus, the ultimate prize was her trust, not her bed. I slowed down and stopped using my tongue. I gave her one final, lingering kiss on the lips and leaned back.