by Lisa Suzanne
Jesse nodded. “A few times. Football games, probably.”
“Once or twice, then. He almost never goes.”
“Want me to put him in his place?” he asked with a grin.
I smiled back. “More than anything. But probably not a good idea.”
He nodded.
Richard parked on the street since Jesse’s truck and my car were taking over the driveway. He got out of his car and wrapped the strap of his laptop bag around his shoulder.
He barely acknowledged Jesse. “Veronica, hi sweetheart,” he said when he approached us. We both just stared at him.
“Jesse, this is Richard,” I said, feeling forced to make the introductions.
“Hey, Rick,” Jesse said with a little wave. I stifled a giggle. Richard hated when people abbreviated his name more than anything, and I wanted to kiss Jesse for somehow knowing that.
Well, if I was being honest with myself, I had wanted to kiss Jesse long before before he called Richard “Rick.”
“Have you signed the papers yet?” I asked. I hadn’t seen them on the table in the kitchen or on the desk in the office, so I assumed that he hadn’t.
He shook his head. “I was hoping we could talk about that,” he said thickly.
Great.
“Why don’t I head out and give you two some privacy?” Jesse said, trying to diffuse the tension.
It didn’t work.
“Is this the guy you’re shacking up with?” Richard asked.
Way to make things totally awkward, Richard. Fucking asshole was right.
“This is the man who is letting me crash at his place,” I admitted truthfully, not moving from the bed of Jesse’s truck. I felt safe there, like I was on “gool” – our word for the safety zone when I was playing tag as a kid.
What would really make me feel safe was Jesse wrapping arms around me, but this wasn’t the time for those thoughts. It was bad enough that I was having them, let alone having them while I was standing there talking to my husband.
Jesse jumped gracefully down from the bed of the truck, and then he held out his hand to help me climb down (once again, much less gracefully than him, I might add).
I stood in the middle between my past and my future, and the symbolism wasn’t lost on me. I wanted to get into that truck with Jesse, that metaphorical vehicle to bring me from my distressing past into the promising future.
But first I had to deal with my soon-to-be-ex.
Jesse headed to the driver’s side of his truck as I stood in a staring contest with Richard.
Jesse paused and turned back toward me. My eyes flicked to his, but Richard’s never left my face.
“You good?” he mouthed to me, and I nodded. I felt my heart swell.
“Catch ya later,” Jesse said, and then he climbed up into his truck and pulled away.
Richard and I still stood in the driveway.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked.
“The papers. Sweetheart, don’t do this to us.”
I sighed in frustration. “Richard, we’ve been living separate lives for over a year. Don’t start this shit with me again. We don’t want the same things anymore, and this divorce is inevitable. You can’t just keep me locked in a marriage that I don’t want any part of.”
“Are you sleeping with him?” he asked, his voice an accusatory hiss.
I shook my head in disgust.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.” Not because I didn’t want to, though. “Richard, you know that I wouldn’t cheat on you.” Sleeping in the same bed with another man was not cheating, I reminded myself. But then again, he hadn’t asked me if I was cheating or if I was having sex with another man.
If we wanted to be technical, I had, actually, slept with Jesse the night before. Literally slept. But I knew that wasn’t what he meant.
My conservative upbringing had hammered in certain values, not the least of which was that I would never be able to get over the guilt that would certainly plague me if I decided to sleep with another man while I was married to Richard.
But Jesse the tempter was waving all that temptation at me, and I was finding it increasingly difficult not to give in to what I wanted. Especially when I thought about the softness and intimacy we’d shared the night before simply by sharing a bed.
The more I thought about him, the more I wondered what his lips would feel like on mine, what his tongue tasted like, what his body would feel like when it connected with mine for the first time. And suddenly I knew that there was going to be a time for us when that would happen. Somehow, standing there in the driveway in a face-off with my husband, I knew that the stars were going to align and Jesse and I were going to get our chance together. Someday, after the Richards and the Carlys and the Allisons, someday we’d find our way to each other.
“Do I know that, though?” he asked accusingly.
“Believe whatever the hell you want to believe. I am not cheating on you.”
“You better not. You know the consequences if you do,” he said, and I briefly revisited one of the conversations we’d had when we first separated. He’d explained to me the idea of a no fault divorce versus finding one party at fault. No fault was an easier split in the eyes of the law, he’d told me.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, but I didn’t care about the fault versus the non-fault. I just wanted out.
It was strange; it wasn’t like this was the first discussion we’d ever had about getting a divorce. We’d already spoken about splitting assets and putting the house up for sale. I’d already opened my own bank account and changed my direct deposit so that our funds would be separated.
So I wasn’t really sure why suddenly Richard had this fight in him for us. He’d never once fought before; but, then, I’d never been as serious as I was about actually making that final split before, either.
“Can we go inside?” he finally asked, still holding his laptop bag and car keys.
I sighed and followed him in.
“Richard, I really just want this to be over. Let’s just make a clean break. I’ll get in touch with someone to list the house—”
He whirled around on me and cut me off. “Don’t be ridiculous. If we’re selling the house, I’m listing it.”
“Of course,” I said, literally forcing myself not to roll my eyes. And then I realized the huge conflict of interest by having him list the house. He’d get the commission, and he’d keep it all for himself even though I was due half that money.
But it was just one of those things I didn’t care about. It wasn’t the battle I wanted to go to war for. It wasn’t the hill where I was going to die. He could have the fucking commission.
I suddenly felt the strong urge to get the hell out of that house.
He set his laptop and keys on the kitchen counter, and then he leaned back on it and stared me down.
“Can I have the papers back?” I asked.
He sighed and then shook his head.
“Why not, Richard?” my voice was sharp.
“Don’t fucking talk to me like I’m one of your students.”
“What did you do with the papers?”
“I shredded them.”
“You’re a real piece of work.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, a slimy grin spreading across his face. How had I ever found him attractive? He made my skin crawl.
“I’ll drop a new set by tomorrow. Stop being a dick and just sign them. The sooner you do that, the sooner we can just stop this nonsense and start moving on with our lives.”
“You really want out that bad?” he asked.
I glared over at him. “What do you think?”
He stared at me for a long moment, and then he nodded. “Alright. I’ll sign.”
Something about his sudden change of heart told me not to trust that he was doing this with good intentions, but I was so happy at hearing those words that I didn’t really give it a second thought.
“Thank you,” I said. “I have to
go.”
CHAPTER 8
I walked out the door and headed to my car, feeling the first pricks of tears behind my eyes. It was an odd mix of utter joy and bitter sadness.
I didn’t allow the tears to fall until I pulled away from the house. Richard didn’t deserve to see my tears. He’d only think they were for him, when in actuality there was such a rush of emotions rolling through me. Sadness because I still had to wait to be honest with Jesse about my intense feelings for him; anger at Richard for not signing and forcing me to wait a few days longer when all I wanted was for it to just be over, bitterness mixed with joy over the fact that my husband understood that it was really over and that he was going to sign the damn papers.
I made it back to Jesse’s place, tears still falling freely down my cheeks. I grabbed a box from my backseat to bring in with me, and when I walked through the mudroom and into the kitchen, Jesse was standing there, waiting for me. I set the box down on the counter and my purse on top of the box, feeling Jesse’s eyes on me the entire time. I sniffled, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop with the back of my hand, and then I saw Jesse open his arms. I walked into them, and it was as natural as breathing as my arms wrapped around his waist and his folded around my shaking shoulders. My cheek met his chest as I let out the emotions that had been building; building between Richard and me for two years, building between Jesse and me for five years.
I realized it now.
I’d had a crush on Jesse from the moment I’d met him, and I thought back to that first time we’d been introduced.
He was leading a session for new teachers at Central. I found him incredibly hot from the start, but I was brand new to the school. I just didn’t think it would have been smart to get involved with a coworker when I was a first year teacher. And then shortly after that, Quinn had introduced Richard and me, and things just sort of took off. But I’d always held that attraction to Jesse, even when I repressed it because I was dating someone, and then engaged to someone, and then married to someone.
But soon, I would be divorced from someone. Soon, I’d be free to pursue anybody I wanted to, and now I was mature enough to understand how to maintain a relationship with a colleague and still be professional.
And the only person I had any interest in pursuing was the man whose arms were holding me against him.
This was comfort. This was home. This was where I wanted to be.
And as I pulled back ever so slightly out of his warmth and looked up into his eyes, I knew with every fiber of my being that the feeling was mutual.
His fingertip ran along my hairline and then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes never leaving mine. He brushed a stray tear away as I took a shuddering breath.
“I’ve got you, V. You’re going to be fine,” he soothed quietly, his fingers tenderly caressing my back as he held me. Instead of feeling like I was going to break down on the spot at his gentle reassurance, I felt comforted, and I realized that it was because I believed him. I was going to be fine because this man was going to take care of me.
I suddenly wanted to kiss him more than a fish wants to swim in water, more than a scared turtle wants to be in its shell, more than a coyote wants to howl at the moon.
I tilted my head back, and I felt him move in a little closer, his arms wrapping around me as his gentle fingers pressed a little more forcefully into my flesh.
His head tilted down toward me, and then he leaned his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling of being so close to him, inhaling his scent, and memorizing how his strong arms pulled me tightly against the length of his body.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Now I am,” I said bravely.
“Now I am, too,” he whispered.
He pulled back and my eyes opened, meeting with his. It was reminiscent of the chicken marsala night when we’d almost kissed, and I knew that this time, he was going to kiss me. We’d been heading in that direction since Friday night, and while it was only Monday afternoon, a lot had changed over the past seventy-two hours.
Kissing was okay, right? It wasn’t sleeping with him. I’d control myself in terms of sex until the divorce was final. But kissing? Certainly kissing would be okay. It would be more than okay.
His lips moved toward mine. Those incredibly perfect, chiseled lips. Those lips I had stared at, fantasized about, and wanted on mine, wanted all over my body, for five years. My eyes closed as I felt the whisper of his breath against my lips.
And just at the moment when his lips were about to touch mine for the first time, the goddamn motherfucking chime of my stupid piece of shit cell phone notified me that I had a text.
He paused where he was, and my eyes flew open. I was looking into his eyes, mere inches from my own. Our lips were nearly touching. But the timing was off. He pulled back, and I wasn’t sure if he’d realized his mistake or if he just didn’t want our first kiss to be interrupted by the notification of a cell phone. Regardless, he backed away and handed me my phone.
This was most definitely the opposite of “saved by the bell.”
“Are there more boxes in your car?” he asked, his voice raspy and sexy.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak after the erotic intimacy of a near kiss with Jesse Drake.
He turned and headed for the car, and I could still smell him as if he was still standing in front of me.
I glanced at my phone to see who the offending text had come from.
Quinn.
Any new hot stories about Delightful Drake?
Seriously? My near kiss with the object of my lust was interrupted by a text asking if I’d had any stories about him? Oh, the irony.
Buzz off, I responded with a smiley face.
I helped Jesse get the rest of my stuff out of his truck and my car. We saved the cedar chest for last, and he was exceedingly careful as he unloaded it and directed me where to stand to help ensure its protection. It was easier taking it down than it had been putting it up, and Jesse had several lines that I wanted to comment on (“Can you get into the bed?” “Move a little to the left.” “Grab it right there.” “Hold it tight.”). But after that almost kiss thing that had just happened, I just felt awkward saying my perverted comments.
“Where do you want it?” he asked, offering another comment that caused me to hold my tongue as we stood in the driveway with the chest loaded onto a handcart to move it with ease.
I shrugged. “The guest room where I’m staying?” I wanted to call it “my” room, but it felt strange.
“Would you mind if we put it in the family room?”
“Like on display?” I asked stupidly.
He nodded, his eyes burning into mine. “It’s a gorgeous piece of furniture, V, and it reminds me of you. I want it out where I can see it.”
I felt some major flutters starting up in my belly as his words warmed me. How he managed to say something so simple that got such an internal reaction from me was completely beyond my comprehension.
Richard had kept the chest in the garage because he thought it was ugly or unworthy or just didn’t fit with the perfect décor of our home. But Jesse didn’t care. He knew that it was special and meaningful to me, and he wanted it where we could both see it and appreciate its beauty.
I couldn’t help it.
I tackled him.
Okay, “tackled” might be a strong word, but I suddenly found myself flying into his arms. He stumbled back a step but caught his balance and wrapped his arms around me, chuckling at my emotional display.
“Thank you,” I murmured, and then, mortified at what I’d just done, I started to back away.
But Jesse didn’t let me. His hands held the small of my back so our bodies were still close, and he tilted his forehead to meet mine. “You’re welcome,” he whispered, and then he let me go.
He wheeled the chest into the family room and I helped him place it so it was centered behind the couch like a buffet table. We both stared at it for a
minute. It actually looked perfect there, like it had been specifically designed for Jesse’s house. I looked up toward heaven and whispered a silent prayer of thanks. I felt like she was watching over me, helping me get to where I was meant to be.
He ran his fingertips across the top of the chest. “Can I just say that I love rubbing my hands all over your chest?”
I laughed, assured that any remaining awkwardness I felt after our near kiss was entirely in my head. Jesse volunteered to make dinner while I unpacked some of my stuff. I had just finished unpacking one of my bathroom boxes, throwing out old lotions that I hadn’t used in years, when he appeared in the doorway of my bathroom. I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a variety of bath products.
“What disaster have I just walked into?” he asked, his face a mask of horror.
“My bathroom box exploded.” I thought about the OCD neatness of his refrigerator, and I couldn’t imagine his revulsion at the mess I’d made in his bathroom. Well, my bathroom, for now at least.
“That is more lotion than this house has ever seen,” he teased, and I giggled.
“I have plenty to spare if you need some,” I said.
He picked up the bottle closest to him and took a sniff of the pink lotion. “This one’s a little girly for me, but it smells nice,” he chuckled. “Dinner’s ready.”
“What did you make me?”
“Chicken tacos,” he said, setting the pink bottle back where he’d picked it up. He held out a hand to help me up, and I took it. I felt that electrical undercurrent that I always felt at our skin to skin contact.
“Sounds fantastic,” I said, and then he led me to the kitchen, his hand still in mine sending thrills up and down my spine.
He pulled out the chair for me and then let go of my hand. Sitting at my place setting was a margarita, chicken tacos, tortilla chips, and an assortment of guacamole, sour cream, taco toppings, and salsa.
“This looks like a fiesta,” I said, and he grinned.
We dug in hungrily, chatting about our day and the information he had shared at the staff meeting. In the past, it might’ve flustered me to be sharing a meal with someone as hot as Jesse, but now, sitting across the table from him, I felt comfortable and natural with him, like this was how it was supposed to be: easy conversation with a man who was easy on the eyes.
