by Lisa Suzanne
I forced myself to stop staring. “I’d love some water,” I said, knowing more alcohol was a terrible idea.
“Help yourself,” he said. “Bottles are in the fridge.”
I opened the massive (and somewhat intimidating) refrigerator and saw that his OCD neatness extended to the inside of his fridge. Every bottle and every can had the label facing me, and the shelves were stocked full with every type of soda, beer, and wine that I could imagine. There was even a variety of water: regular old Evian bottles, Vitamin Water, Sobe Lifewater.
I helped myself to a Sobe and headed over to the couch, surveying the huge sectional and debating which cushion to sit on. Sitting too close to him would be too forward, but I wanted to be close to him. He made my decision for me when he patted the cushion next to him. I sat, and he leaned in closer so our shoulders were touching. He grabbed a blanket that was nestled beside him and handed me one side. We unfolded it and spread it out over our legs.
Sharing a blanket with Jesse Drake. Check it off the bucket list.
I stared straight ahead, afraid to look over at him, afraid to be mesmerized by those gorgeous eyes, afraid of wanting what I knew I couldn’t have but still wanting to live in this moment and enjoy every single second.
“So talk to me,” he said, breaking the silence.
I took a sip of my Sobe. “About what?” I asked.
“Why didn’t you want to go home?”
“I never said that I didn’t.” I knew my answer was rude, but I didn’t know where he was going with this.
“You didn’t have to. You started crying when I was ready to take you there. What’s going on?”
“Have you ever lived in a house with someone and not said a single word to that person in over a week?”
He shook his head. “No. But I can imagine that it would suck.”
“It more than sucks. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. Home should feel safe. Home should be where you want to go at the end of the day. Instead, I find myself inventing reasons to stay late at work. I find myself volunteering to run the clock or take tickets at sporting events just so I don’t have to go home. I assign extra essays to my students so I have a reason to stay late grading. It’s become ridiculous.”
Whoa. I wasn’t sure where these deep confessions were coming from, but he was just so easy to talk to.
“So move out,” he said.
“You make it sound like it’s so easy.”
“Because it is, V. The answer is pretty simple.”
“The answer is, but the actual act of moving? Not so simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because it means admitting that we failed. It means telling people that we’re separated and getting sympathetic looks and knowing that they’re whispering behind our backs with gossipy assumptions that are assuredly inaccurate. It means actually going through with a divorce and splitting assets and splitting lives and splitting up.”
He turned toward me and grabbed my hand in his. I felt that same flutter and electrical current as earlier. Damn that fucking flutter.
“I think it’s time to admit you failed so you can move on.” His eyes were dark and sincere as they bored into mine. He squeezed my hand and then let it go.
I nodded. “I know.”
“Maybe it’s time to start telling people, Veronica,” he said. “You told me. Was that so hard?”
I shook my head. “Not everyone is as easy to talk to as you, though,” I said.
He grinned and winked. “I’ll give you that,” he said. “And you can’t worry about the gossips. They’ll be there whether or not you’re happy, and ultimately, you only live once. If you’re in a position to get out of a bad situation, you have to take it.”
“Am I in that position, though?” I asked.
Jesse sighed and took a long drag of his beer.
“I’m in the middle of the school year,” I continued. “I had planned to wait until summer and then move out when I have the time.”
“Copout. Stop inventing shit to do to keep yourself busy and focus on getting out of your situation, out of your marriage, out of your house.”
He was right, of course. I’d already admitted to taking on extra work just so I didn’t have to go home. If I put half as much energy into actually getting out of the house, I’d already be divorced and moved out. But that didn’t make it any less difficult to end it. “I don’t have anywhere to go, Jesse.”
He sighed again, deeply this time, as if contemplating how to solve the problem of world peace. He gazed at me sideways, and I glanced over and locked eyes with him.
“Stay here,” he whispered.
“What?” I screeched, much louder than I had intended.
“I’ve got two extra bedrooms. I’ve got space. I just want to help a friend,” he said. He emphasized that last word, and the illogical side of my brain wondered if he wanted us to be more than friends. Of course he didn’t; he was way out of my league, and besides, if he wanted me, he never would’ve taken me home. He’d admitted that much to me earlier when he had told me he never took his ladies back to his place.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t just barge in and interrupt your life.”
“I like having you here,” he said, his voice low and quiet and dangerously thrilling.
I had to admit, I liked being there, too. But it was too dangerous. Moving in with the guy who I was seriously crushing on? That would be such a huge mistake. It would be dangling temptation in my face on a daily basis.
“I like being here,” I said, my voice a whisper.
“Think about it. You don’t have to rush, but you’re welcome to crash.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Jesse.”
“I just want to see you happy. I knew something was up with you. You’re always smiling, and the past couple of months, I haven’t seen that gorgeous smile.”
He stopped his sentence short, as if he’d said more than he had intended to, but I barely noticed because I was once again blushing from head to toe. I stared straight ahead, embarrassed and delighted at the same time. He thought my smile was gorgeous? The chant was back in my head: “Holy fuck! He likes my smile! Holy fuck! He likes my smile!”
“It’s strange that my closest friends haven’t noticed, but you have,” I said, sidestepping the “gorgeous” comment even though I didn’t want to.
“I’m trained to look for signs of depression.”
“You think I’m depressed?” I asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “No,” he said. “I just meant that I knew you weren’t yourself, and I am always on the lookout for ways I can help people.”
“That’s really sweet,” I said, still refusing to look over at him. I leaned my head back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. At least this way I didn’t have to look at him and feel that buzz in my head that came with his masculine attractiveness.
“That’s me,” he said, leaning back and staring at the ceiling with me. “Anything interesting up there?” he asked.
I chuckled.
“Enough talking?” he asked.
“For tonight, I think so. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m glad to help a friend.” Again I noticed how he pronounced that last word. There was a definite emphasis there, and I just wondered if it was for his benefit or my own.
He flicked on that enormous flat screen television of his that was anchored to the wall, and he downed the rest of his beer. He set the empty bottle on the coffee table and then proceeded to let out a giant, ripe, completely disgusting belch.
He looked over at me and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.” He waved his hand in front of his face as if to get rid of the stench, but the nastiness had already invaded my nostrils.
I giggled through my disgust. “That’s revolting,” I said, waving my hand as I wrinkled my nose.
He looked over at me and laughed. “You look completely disgusted right now.”
I smacked him in the arm. “I am. That was gross.�
�
“My bad,” he chuckled, and I laughed as I warmed over at how comfortable things already were between us. He settled back into the couch, and I suddenly felt completely exhausted. The long week finally caught up with me, as it always did on Friday nights. My eyes wouldn’t stay open as Jesse flipped through the channels, and I snuggled into his side, my head dropping onto his shoulder involuntarily as I was drawn to him even in my sleep.
CHAPTER 3
When I first woke up, it took me a moment to remember where I was, and as that masculine Christmas smell invaded my senses, I remembered: I had slept in Jesse Drake’s bed.
Okay, his guest bed if we were being technical.
I smiled to myself. What a perfect night the night before had been. I replayed our talk, all the times he’d found a reason to touch me, the flirting that wasn’t full of pressure but still felt nice, the comfort of a man that I’d been missing for so long.
Oh, man. If I was crushing on Jesse before when we were just friends, I knew I was in serious trouble now that I was staying over at his house.
I contemplated the offer he’d extended the night before. Crashing at Jesse’s place had its definite pros. For one, I’d be getting out of my tension filled home and starting the process of moving on with my life. And for another thing, I’d get to gawk at the gorgeous Jesse Drake as much as I wanted. Wait, that wasn’t a good reason to crash at his place. But the first reason was. Right?
I stretched lazily, realizing how well-rested I felt. I hadn’t been sleeping well since… well, probably since our one year anniversary when I started to face the fact that things were over between Richard and me. The previous night felt like the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time, and as I rolled over to grab my cell phone to see what time it was, I was suddenly curious how I even got into this bed. The last thing I remembered was watching Jesse flip through the channels and feeling his firm shoulder under my ear as I fell asleep on his couch.
God, I hoped I hadn’t snored. How embarrassing.
A glance at the clock told me it was just before noon.
Shit.
I was a guest in someone else’s home, and I’d slept until almost noon.
What kind of lazy ass does that?
It had to be fairly early when I’d fallen asleep the night before. By my calculations, I’d gotten about thirteen hours of sleep. Jeez.
I headed to the bathroom and freshened up as best I could. I swished some water around in my mouth and rinsed my face, and then I put on some fresh make-up so I wouldn’t look like hell warmed over. I gave myself another little giddy hug, still enjoying being in Jesse’s clothes.
For the first time, I wondered what Richard thought about me not showing up the night before. A small part of me was worried he’d think I’d slept with someone else. I wouldn’t, couldn’t do that; but I knew the type of person Richard was, and if he thought he could place the blame of our divorce on me so he could get more out of the deal, I wouldn’t put it past him to do that.
After I made myself somewhat presentable, I headed out to the kitchen. Jesse wasn’t around, but there were muffins on a plate and a pot of coffee with a coffee cup next to it. As I walked closer, I saw some papers on the counter with a note from Jesse on top. His handwriting was familiar; I’d seen it plenty of times for numerous reasons at school, but this was different. This note was just for me. “Printed these for you as requested. Let me know if I can help. Help yourself to coffee and breakfast. Cream in the fridge. I’ll be in the garage.”
I picked up a muffin and took the top off and then proceeded to eat the bottom. I always saved the muffin top for last. It was banana walnut and quite possibly the most delicious muffin that I had ever eaten. As I munched on the bottom, I moved Jesse’s note to the side and looked at the rest of the papers under his note. The top of the page said, “Dissolution of Marriage.”
I felt pricks behind my eyes as I realized that he had printed all of the forms I needed to file for divorce.
This man was a fucking dream.
I wanted to run out to the garage and wrap my arms around him. He had easily done in one morning what I hadn’t been able to do in a year. I was so used to doing things for myself that I forgot what it was like to have someone take care of me, and my crush on Jesse inexplicably increased.
I took my time with my muffin, taking a deep breath as I managed to keep the tears at bay. This was really going to happen. Richard and I were really going to get a divorce, and I had Jesse to thank for helping me finally do what I’d been stupidly avoiding for so long.
I poured a cup of coffee and found cream in the refrigerator. He had a nice selection of flavored creamers to choose from, and I went with the Caramel Vanilla. I stirred it into the coffee, and then I took my mug and headed out to the garage.
I slipped out into the garage and saw him working on his end table at his workbench. At the sight of him, my breath caught in my throat just as I took a sip of my coffee, having the effect of making me choke and sputter and spit coffee everywhere. Lovely.
He was wearing pajama pants and nothing else. Sweat trickled down his back, showing how hard he was working on his project. I gazed at the muscular planes in his back as he worked. Even around my choking, I could still appreciate the fine male form standing in front of me. Music blared from some hidden speakers somewhere, and I recognized Sara Bareillis’s “Brave.” I noted the irony as she sang, “Honestly, I wanna see you be brave.”
Was she telling me to be brave and fill out those papers? Or was she telling me to be brave and mount that sexy man working with his wood right there on the garage floor? I was guessing the former, but suddenly I wanted the latter like I wanted to stop choking on my coffee.
He turned as he heard my choking, and I got to see the full effect of the intricate tattoo that ran the length of his right side. I stared at it as he turned. It was a phoenix about to take flight. One wing spanned around to his back, and the other wing spanned around to his torso. In its talons, the phoenix held a beautiful, intricate cross with a heart in the middle. A word was written in the heart, but I couldn’t quite make it out from where I stood. “Allison,” maybe? I’d never seen such an artful, beautiful tattoo, and on Jesse, it somehow gave his mysterious edge a bit of danger that I’d never noticed before.
I moved just a little closer, and it was confirmed. “Allison.”
Who the fuck was Allison?
“Good morning,” he grinned, and my eyes swept up to his. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on over his head, covering what was most definitely a washboard abdomen. Dammit. “You okay?” he asked over the music as I continued to cough around the coffee that lodged itself in my throat. He turned the volume down.
I nodded and held up a hand. One more big cough cleared it. I took another sip, this one going down the right way, and then I smiled. “Good morning,” I croaked. I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the papers.”
He nodded. “No problem. I was serious about wanting to help you.”
“I appreciate it,” I said.
“Did you think any more about my offer?” he asked, his voice low and deep.
I nodded. I had thought about it, but I hadn’t come to a decision until I saw him without his shirt on that morning. Fuck yes I wanted to crash at his place for awhile. Was he kidding me? Fresh muffins, strong coffee, and that ridiculously perfect body. Fuck yes. Instead of saying all that, I said, “Yeah, I thought about it. If you really don’t mind, it would be great if I could crash here for just a little while. Just until I find something permanent.”
His face lit up and he broke out into the biggest grin I’d ever seen. All teeth. Straight and white and perfect… just like him.
“As long as you need to, V,” he said, and then he stepped a little closer to me. His eyes were hot and intense, and he ran a hand through his hair, wet with sweat.
“I have to admit, I haven’t slept that good in a really long time,” I said, his scent invading my nostrils as he stepped clos
er to me. It was still masculine and Christmasy, but now it had the distinct odor of working man mixed in. I’d always found sweat disgusting, but on him, it looked good and it didn’t smell bad. He was simply delicious in every way.
“I checked in on you a few hours ago, and you were sawing logs. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
I felt that heat creep back into my cheeks. Sawing logs? How completely and totally fucking embarrassing.
“I don’t snore,” I protested.
“Okay,” he said sarcastically with a chuckle. “I’m about ready for lunch. You in?”
God, he was good at making me feel mortified that morning. Ahem. That afternoon. “I just ate breakfast. But I’d be glad to sit with you while you eat lunch.”
We headed inside and I took a seat at one of the stools at that gorgeous oversized island. I watched as he moved with ease around his kitchen. He made himself a giant salad with about a million different vegetables and goodies that were already cut and stored in his refrigerator for easy access. Cucumbers, green peppers, broccoli, tomatoes, some hardboiled egg, a handful of walnuts, shredded chicken, a sprinkle of shredded cheese, some apple slices, and some grapes. He doused it in some sort of homemade dressing and took a seat next to me with a fork.
“Sure you don’t want any?” he tempted, holding a forkful out to me.
“Maybe just a bite,” I smiled, wrapping my lips around his proffered fork. God, that sounded dirty.
He shifted in his seat as he watched me chew and moan around that delicious dressing. “What dressing is that?” I asked.
“Homemade recipe. It’s a family secret, but I like to call it Jesse Drake’s Delightful Dressing.”
Fuck, I wanted more of Jesse Drake’s Delightful Dressing in my mouth. God, that sounded dirty, too. What was he doing to me? He was turning me back into an adolescent perv, that’s what he was doing. Although Quinn and I were pretty good at being adolescent pervs on our own during our lunch breaks.
