by B. Cranford
And now, she was at his place, soup in hand and . . .
Why? Why would she agree to come here?
Sure, Brighton had asked her to, but something told him there was more to it. Shaking his head to loosen the thoughts that were making it ache ever more, he stripped quickly, throwing his sweats in the laundry basket in the corner of his room and moved through to the bathroom.
Faint footsteps sounded around his apartment—Jade, he assumed, leaving the soup and letting herself out—so without thought beyond washing the sweat and sickness off his body, he turned on the water and stepped under the steady stream.
The heat of the water calmed his big body. His shower was state of the art and one of the reasons he’d bought this apartment. It was spacious and, at over six feet in height, Declan liked having room to move. His broad shoulders weren’t brushing up against the glass walls. His head wasn’t nearly touching the showerhead. And, if he was so inclined, he could invite company to join him and have room to show said company all his best moves.
And he had some really great fucking moves.
Cutting the water off, Declan stood stock still for a moment before exiting the shower. He’d thought he heard movement still, but aside from Jade, who’d left already, there’d been no one else here in days.
Weeks, actually.
He dried himself as efficiently as he could manage, given that his limbs were starting to shake from exhaustion, and dropped the towel over the heated towel rail. Then, with that reminder that he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.
And stopped short when he saw Jade Miller cross-legged in the middle of his freshly made bed.
Jade watched as Declan retreated to his bedroom, the haggard look on his face a testament to how sick he must be. She felt guilty. After all, he was sick because he’d looked after her. But she was still also pissed at him for not replying to her message. The man seemed to have no idea how to use a fucking phone.
It’s pretty simple, she told herself, but then again, maybe he is too.
Unfair, she argued, he’s been sick and you know he’s smart. And for the love of all that’s good and holy, Jade, he’s apologized already.
The voices in her head were at it again and, instead of trying to make heads or tails of them, she walked through Declan’s living room and into the kitchen. Like the rest of the apartment, it was spacious, open and neat. A bowl and spoon sat in the bottom on the sink, along with a coffee mug, but they all appeared unused.
He must rinse his dishes after he uses them. A good quality in a man. Great. Now, in addition to her own warring personalities, her mother was inside her head, offering her opinion on the matter.
She set about trying to find a clean bowl to put the still-warm soup into, but admittedly didn’t look in the most linear fashion. After all, if he came back into the room, she’d have the excuse she was looking for a bowl, instead of having to confess to snooping. Finding a plain white bowl—no embellishments, no textures, nothing, just clean, deep and stark—Jade made quick work of dishing up the steaming soup, grabbing a spoon she’d found in her explorations, and made her way to Declan’s room.
It was dark. The sound of running water—splashing as it pooled in the crests and crevices of his body then hitting the tile—came from behind a closed door. An attached bathroom, obviously. She cast her eyes around the room, taking in the big bed with sheets that looked like they’d been ripped off and replaced by a drunken madman at midnight. Knowing he wouldn’t be comfortable in that bed, she carefully placed the bowl on the bedside table, flicked on the lamp and began to straighten the bed out, tucking the sheet corners in nice and tight, as per her mother’s strict instructions. She wasn’t about to hunt down fresh sheets, but she was sure it would be a relief to climb into a neat bed, nonetheless.
With the task completed, she plopped herself on the dark red comforter, marveling a little at how comfortable it was. The cover was silky and soft and, despite the fact that Declan had been sweating underneath it, smelled good. Like fabric softener and a hint of the cologne he always wore. The shower had stopped sometime while she was straightening the sheets, so she slid to the center of the bed, crossed her legs and waited.
She knew he’d be coming out of the shower naked. Except, she expected him to have a towel covering him when he stepped out of the bathroom.
He didn’t.
She knew that his body was magnificent, muscled and strong. Except, she figured she’d be immune.
She wasn’t.
She knew that he wasn’t expecting her to be on his bed, waiting. Except, despite his illness, his face held nothing short of lust.
That makes two of us.
“I thought I told you to leave?” His words were harsh, but the look on his face softened the blow. He liked seeing her there, she could tell.
“What made you think I would listen?” She injected as much sass into her tone as possible, not wanting him to know just how affected her body was by the sight of his. “Um, you going to get some clothes on?”
She really needed him to cover up. Because as tempting as it was to scoot to the edge of the bed and take her temperature using his cock as a thermometer—you know, in case she had some lingering illness—she wasn’t to engage with this man beyond making sure he was on the mend, per Brighton’s wishes.
“I sleep naked.”
“Of course you do. And do you also flex in front of the mirror before bedtime?”
“No, but I do like to watch myself jerk it from time to time. Keeps it interesting, you know?” Despite the croak in his voice and the flush in his cheeks—which she assumed was related to his fever and not his nakedness, though she couldn’t be sure—he managed to sound and look so damn sexy she had to uncross her legs to clench her thighs.
She ached. And fuck it all, she didn’t want to. That visual though.
“Surprised you have time to jack off with all your work commitments,” she tossed out snidely. It wasn’t her best ever response, but she had to cut herself some slack. An Adonis was standing stark-naked in front of her, and even the side of her that liked girls was sitting up and taking notice.
“Freckles.” He didn’t elaborate, his annoyance at her remark clear.
Jade shook her head, ending that line of conversation. As much as she wanted to keep bantering and bickering with him, Brighton had sent her over to Declan’s with a mission, and she wasn’t about to let her girl down. “Your soup is there,” she spoke while waving her hand toward the bedside table, where the bowl sat, still steaming slightly. “It should still be pretty warm, so no worries there.”
“Are you a better cook than Bright?” he asked warily, before turning and crossing the room to a dark wood dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a pair of boxer briefs. White.
Jade definitely didn’t notice that they cupped his package just so, making his already impressive length appear even more impressive.
“Well?” He repeated his question with a sigh and Jade shifted slightly so he could climb onto the bed beside her.
“Yes.”
“Okay, hand it over then.” Declan’s face showed his reluctance to sample her food, but she wasn’t going to let him off that easily.
“So, why does Brighton think that this is the only thing that will cure you, when you seem so . . . unsure?” It had to be asked. After all, he’d taken the bowl she’d handed him with a grimace and was lifting the spoon slowly to his mouth like he was about to ingest poison.
“Ah, it’s . . . you won’t tell her, will you?” His question softened something inside Jade’s chest. He so obviously cared for their friend, and she knew that whatever came next was going to be a mixture of sweet but misplaced kindness.
She shook her head, and he took that as his cue to continue. “The first time I got sick after I met Bright, her mom was still alive, right? And it was her mom’s soup she brought over to the place that Seb and I were sharing at the time. It was probably, l
ike, two or three months after they got together.” He paused to clear his throat, a look of discomfort on his face that hit Jade with another shot of guilt at being responsible for making him sick. “And it was delicious because her mom made it. She brought it over, I don’t know, a couple more times after that, and it was good. Her mom was a hell of a cook. But then . . .”
He might have trailed off, but Jade didn’t need him to finish what he was saying to understand. “Her mom died and she took over making the soup?” He nodded, and Jade kept filling in the blanks. “And she’s a terrible cook, so the soup sucked, but she was hurting and you didn’t want to tell her?” Another nod, and her heart started pounding.
Why did he have to be such a good fucking guy?
“So now you force down soup when you’re sick because you let her think it was good and you don’t want to cop to it?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” He looked down at the bowl. The soup was a simple vegetable soup, something that she’d whipped up using whatever ingredients she could find in Brighton and Sebastian’s kitchen. If she’d had more time, she could have made it even better, using fresher vegetables and homemade stock, but she’d tasted it herself before bringing it by and she had to admit, it was good.
Undoubtedly better than her bestie could manage, though this victory would be only one she had over Brighton, who was, in Jade’s opinion, a superior human being to her in every way.
“I promise, it won’t be bad. Unless you’ve lost your appetite?” Jade intentionally gave Declan an out, making it his choice to sample her goods—no pun intended—or not.
“No, no, I’m actually pretty hungry. I don’t know when I last ate, because I don’t know what day it is.” He blinked at her, as if just realizing she was there and would know what day it was. “When did I leave you at Brighton’s?”
Jade considered her answer. He hadn’t responded to her message after she’d told him she wanted nothing from him and, if she was honest, that pissed her off. Except, the way he looked at her, asking her what day it was—how long he’d been down and out with the flu—made her reconsider her angst. “Two nights ago,” she finally managed to reply. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember your message. I remember wondering how to respond. I remember feeling like I needed to sleep, and then . . . nothing really. It’s all a little hazy up there.” He tapped the end of the spoon he was holding to his head, to indicate that his mind was foggy, and Jade could sympathize. She’d felt the same way just a handful of days ago, when she’d first woken up on Sunday morning.
“You never did respond,” she replied, hating the sadness that crept into her tone. She was basically showing him her throat, and she did not want to do that. Didn’t want to give him a reason to keep at her, to keep trying to get her to cave.
Did she?
Freckles, you know you do. Jesus Christ, the voices in her head were back, again, and she was starting to worry. She’d never shied away from her mental health problems, but the frequency of the conversations she was having with herself was beginning to stress her out.
“I’m sorry. I think I meant to, but I don’t—”
She didn’t need him to finish. “You don’t remember, I get it.” The hurt that flashed through her body was unsurprising. Being forgotten seemed to be par for the course in her life, from her father leaving to her ex choosing work over her, and thousands of other little moments in between.
Being teased at school. Being laughed at when she applied for a job at a local clothing store. Being turned down time and time again for jobs.
Suddenly, the walls of Declan’s bedroom seemed to close in around her. “You know what, I’d better get out of here.” She searched her mind for a suitable excuse for dumping the soup on him—not literally, surprisingly—so she didn’t feel too guilty for leaving him when he’d stuck by her for days when she’d been suffering the same ailment.
The same ailment you gave him.
I seriously need you to shut the fuck up, up there.
Ha, yeah, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon, sweetheart. We haven’t had our “come to Jesus” moment yet.
“I have to get to work early tomorrow. With Seb gone, I’m taking on more stuff to make sure the office doesn’t fall behind.” It sounded good, though it was untrue. She loved her job and she was damn good at it, but an accountant she was not. There was only so much slack she could take up when one or the other Figures’ was absent from Figures Accounting.
“Oh, yeah, sure. No problem.” His face shuttered a little, and Jade mourned what felt like a significant moment passing. “Thanks for the soup.” He raised his spoon in a gesture of gratitude, and she felt his eyes on her as she stood from the bed and made for his door.
“You’re welcome. If you—if you need anything, let me know, okay? I owe you.” She smiled at him, hoping he didn’t get wise to her discomfort. “For looking after me.”
“Jade, I—” Whatever Jade heard in his voice, she wasn’t ready for it, that much she knew. The fact he’d called her Jade and not Freckles was a clue that he was thinking serious thoughts and she seriously didn’t think she could handle it.
“See you later, Jackass.” The nickname spilled from her mouth out of habit, but lacked its usual fire. She wasn’t really thinking of him as a jackass right at that moment.
And wasn’t that a kick in the pants?
Declan: I like your soup almost as much as I like you.
Freckles: You don’t like me at all . . .
Declan: Untrue. *You* don’t like me at all. I, on the other hand, like you very much.
Jade didn’t know how to respond. Declan had made no secret of the fact that he liked her. He’d told her as much, that day in the supply closet.
Just because you don’t like me, Freckles, doesn’t mean I don’t like you.
His voice bounced around and around her head. Their afternoon tryst, which she referred to as StaplerGate in her head for no other reason that she didn’t want to admit that it was down and dirty office sex, had been eye-opening in more than one way. Until that day, she’d assumed he didn’t like her as much as she didn’t like him. After all, when they sparred, he gave as good as he got.
She’d thought it was a hate-fuck.
He’d had other ideas.
And now, she was conflicted. Takes-care-of-sick-friends-and-eats-disgusting-soup-to-protect-feelings Declan was a big change from the jackass she’d dubbed him. Maybe it was a fluke, or maybe she’d been wrong all this time. One thing was for sure, she was going to find out.
The door of his apartment was non-descript. Plain white, a brushed steel number and small peephole. Simple, clean and effective. The inside of the apartment, she knew, was much the same. Slick. Neat. Modern. It could use a splash of color, in her opinion, but on the whole, she had been kind of impressed when she’d stopped by the day before in her role as Meals on Wheels. Jade raised her hand to knock.
No answer. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her black skirt and ran the tips of her fingers over the key she’d grabbed from Brighton and Sebastian’s house that morning. She knocked again, thinking that if he didn’t answer, she’d just let herself in. But the second time, he did answer.
And, dammit, like yesterday, he was shirtless, wearing only low-riding sweatpants. His bare feet were massive, making her snicker as she brought to mind the rather yummy visual of him naked, and his eyes partially hidden behind a pair of black-framed glasses.
“You wear glasses?” Her question was laced with surprise. She hadn’t known he needed glasses, had never seen him wear them, and thought it incredibly unfair that a man as hot as Declan Young was only made hotter by the sexy-nerd look.
“Not often. Just when I’m working a long time at my computer.” He paused, took a step back and allowed Jade to enter. “Why are you here?”
Jade was a little taken aback by the abrupt way he asked, though she couldn’t exactly blame him. Like yesterday, she’d given him no warning that she planned on s
topping by. “I wanted to see how you were doing, I guess.”
“You guess? Or you know?”
“I know. I was . . .” She bit her tongue, afraid her next words would give away more than she was willing to concede. I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. But instead of saying what was running through her mind, she fell back on old habits. “I was hoping to find you on your deathbed.”
He smirked at her, the gray in his eyes flashing with something like disbelief. Whatever, she thought, just because he thinks he knows, doesn’t mean he does.
Except, Freckles, he does. Jade raised a hand to her forehead, trying to quell the runaway thoughts that popped in and out of her mind when she was in the presence of this man. Or thinking about this man. Or lying in bed at night, not thinking about this man.
“Sorry to disappoint. I’m actually feeling better.” He turned from her, walking across his living area to a small alcove that held a desk. From the papers scattered here and there, it was clear he’d been hard at work when she’d come a-knocking. “I’m even being productive, if you can imagine.” He spun back around to face her, a faux look of shock transforming his handsome face into something comical.
Fucking hell, even being a cheesy asshole, he looks good. How is that even fair?
“It must have been the soup.” Jade didn’t really know why she’d said it. Maybe she wanted acknowledgment, though he’d texted and told her he’d enjoyed it. Gaining attention was kind of her thing.
“Must have been. Now I know if I’m ever sick again to have you make it for me and not Brighton.” He smiled easily, the simple praise and talk of the future—like they were still going to be a part of each other’s lives down the road—made Jade feel a little uneasy.
They stared at each other, his words still lingering between them, like neither of them knew how to follow it up.
“I should prob—”
“You look beaut—”
The silence was broken. They’d spoken over the top of each other, and a stand-off ensued. Declan gestured to Jade to finish, but she wanted to hear the end of his sentence.
