Transcend

by Jewel E. Ann

  “Short, black, and cleavage. I’m sure it’s every guy’s dream. And the hair—” I whistle.

  “It took me over an hour to straighten it.”

  “It’s like one hundred percent humidity outside. You know that, right?”

  “Don’t remind me.” She frowns while smoothing her hand along her silky black hair.

  The door to our building slams shut below.

  “Shit! That’s him.” Erica stumbles again and runs into her apartment.

  Just as I open my door, the figure ascending the stairs snags my attention.

  “Your friend’s motorcycle,” I say with a weak voice.

  “Fuck the bike.”

  “I have a design to—”

  “Fuck it too.”

  My grocery store guy climbs toward me wearing clean, ripped jeans, a white tee, and black boots. His woodsy just-showered smell makes it up to my floor before he does. The bouquet of flowers sticking out of a brown paper bag hides part of his face.

  One step.

  Two steps …

  He climbs his way toward me with such confidence I want to cry.

  Six steps.

  Seven steps …

  Griffin is so certain about life, and I’m not certain about anything because Nate Hunt has blurred my reality.

  My sanity.

  My existence.

  He pulls out the flowers and presents them to me with that smile that cures cancer, ends wars, and melts hearts. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not crazy. And you’re not alone.”

  “Griff …” My voice breaks as I wrap my free arm around his neck, our paper bags smashing together. “I love you, Grocery Store Guy. It’s the only thing I know with complete certainty.”

  Griff wraps an arm around my waist and holds me. Protects me. Loves me.

  “What’s in your bag?” he asks.

  I release him. He looks in my bag as I look in his. We both grin at the other’s bottle of wine and chocolates.

  “Tampon time?” He cocks his head to the side.

  “Shouldn’t be.” I lead the way into my apartment. “But after my emotional breakdown at your place, I questioned it.”

  We don’t fight. That’s not us. No jealousy. No immature demanding of each other’s time. No goals of where our relationship is going or where we should be. We just fit.

  Griffin opens a bottle of wine and pours two glasses.

  “You don’t drink wine.”

  He hands me my glass and takes a seat on the sofa, guiding me onto his lap. “I do. Just not very often.”

  I sip my wine. His calloused hand slides under my T-shirt, resting on my belly. Parts of it feel like fine sandpaper. I love all of his rough edges and the way they smooth my frayed nerves and lull me into a safe, peaceful place.

  “I’m sorry about earlier.” I lean my back against him.

  He rests his chin on my shoulder. “No apologies.”

  “Still … I was out of line.”

  “So, these memories … tell me about them.”

  I set my wine glass on the coffee table before wrapping my arms around Griffin. Then I tell him everything. He’s my guy—my person. And I should have known it and shared these memories on the day I saw Nate at Dr. Greyson’s office. Griff asks about my day—everyday—because my life is his life.

  Without a diamond ring.

  Without a legally-binding agreement.

  Without ever saying the words …

  Griffin. Is. My. Person.

  An hour later, I’ve run out of words. I put it all out there so he can share this burden with me.

  After the silence becomes loud in its own way, I slip off Griffin’s lap and tuck my legs under me. “Weird. Paranormal. Right?”

  His forehead tenses, eyes narrowed a bit. “You think you know what he looks like naked?”

  “No. Well … I’m not sure.” I close my eyes and rub them. “God! This is crazy. It’s not just Nate either. I’ve seen other people that I feel like I know—really know. This couple at my bank about a year ago. I wanted to describe their house to them to see if reality matched what was in my head, but you just don’t walk up to people who don’t seem to know you and start saying crazy things like that.”

  “Yet, that’s what you did to your boss at Dr. Greyson’s office.”

  Arching my back and stretching my hands over my head, I yawn. “Yeah, but I honestly thought he knew me. It wasn’t until three shitloads of diarrhea were out of my mouth that I realized I didn’t know how I knew him.”

  Griffin stands, doing his own stretching from side to side. “We’ll figure it out. Just get some rest and don’t let it consume you.”

  “How can I do that when I see him every day?”

  “Maybe you need a new job.” He takes my hand and pulls me to the bedroom.

  “I have that interview tomorrow. Hopefully they offer me the job. But it’s temporary, and I can still watch Morgan after school and on Saturdays.”

  “What I’m saying is maybe you shouldn’t watch her anymore.” He pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the back of my desk chair.

  “I can’t just leave them.”

  His head jerks back. “Them?”

  “Her. She needs me and he needs me to watch her.” I grab his shirt and push it into his chest. “We can’t.” I shake my head and frown. “I’m going to be up late finishing my project and I know you have stuff to do too.”

  He studies me with an intense expression, chin tipped down, eyebrows knitted together. “Are you saying no?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s my girl.” He slides his hands up the back of my shirt and unsnaps my bra before I can get a single word out.

  I step back, hitting the edge of my desk. “I meant yes I’m saying no.”

  Griffin nods slowly, still scrutinizing me like I’m something he needs to solve. “Huh,” he says like a half laugh filled with disbelief.

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “No.” He shakes his head and slips on his shirt. “I’m not mad. I just wondered when we’d get here.”

  “Here?” I follow him to the front door where he puts on his boots.

  “When one of us doesn’t want sex. I’m not complaining. We’ve had a good run.”

  “We’re over?” I say with a screech to my voice.

  “No.” Griff laughs, grabbing my face and pressing a firm kiss to my lips. “We’ve changed. That’s all. We’re comfortable with each other. I no longer feel the need to warn you before I come in your mouth, and you have no issue sharing paranormal experiences and your lack of desire to have sex with me.”

  I can’t believe I called him an old soul. Right now he’s the epitome of a young twenty-something.

  Crude.

  Selfish.

  Cocky.

  “You think I’m crazy. Just say it.”

  He opens the door, steps out into the hall, and turns toward me. “I think you’re sexy as fuck.”

  “But crazy.”

  After one last kiss to my forehead, he descends the stairs. “Crazy for not wanting to get naked with me tonight, but I love you. Night, babe.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  First official teaching job.

  Okay, official might be a stretch. I’m covering for someone on maternity leave, but for eight weeks I get to mold the minds of twenty-five fourth graders.

  After shooting off the same I got the job text to my mom and Griffin, I haul ass across town to make it to my other job—if I still have one. The way Nate dismissed me last night felt final. As close as I feel to him for whatever unexplainable reason, I can’t forget he’s my boss and he wasn’t the one who wanted to hire me.

  “Hello?” I call just above a whisper as I slip off my shoes and set down my backpack.

  Rachael usually greets me with a fed Morgan, clean diaper, and a smile of gratitude. Not today.

  “Hell-ooo?” I peek around the corner down the hallway.

  “In the bedroom.”

  I cringe at the sou
nd of Nate’s voice. Why is he here? Let me guess … I’m fired and he’s home early until they find a replacement for Crazy Swayze.

  “Hey.” I drag my feet into his bedroom. I’ve never been in here before. This will be a first and last, all-in-one big “you’re fired.”

  Morgan’s swing ticks softly in the corner by the window as she kicks and coos, hands and feet jerking in every direction. The master bedroom is … wow. Curiosity tugged at my conscience many times, but he always has the door shut and those pesky cameras spying on my every move.

  A modern king-sized bed engulfs the middle of the room—not next to a wall, just … in the middle like the centerpiece. Everything is gray and white with accents of yellow, not what I expected. Then again, I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe dark blues or black—something more manly. Crazy. This was their bedroom, not just his. Light slants in through the white shutters. I think Morgan is trying to kick and punch the sun’s rays.

  I grin. “She’s in a good mood.”

  “And without you. That’s rare, huh?” Nate emerges from the closet with a box. He drops it on the bed.

  Without me. I think that says a lot, as in they don’t need me.

  “Did I miss a message?” I go for the innocent approach. “Did you tell me you were going to be home and I forgot or missed a text or something?”

  He disappears into the closet again. “Nope. I’m working from home today.”

  Am I fired?

  “So … you don’t need me?”

  With another box hugged to his broad T-shirt clad chest, he glances at me while repositioning it next to the other box. “I’m about done here. I still need to work on my paper I’m writing for a journal.”

  “Okay.” We’re good. That’s good. Well, I’m still not good, but that might be a lost cause by now. “What’s in the boxes?”

  “Clothes.” Nate plants his hands on his hips and watches Morgan.

  Her clothes. He’s clearing out Jenna’s clothes. That’s good, I suppose. My mom still hasn’t done a damn thing with my dad’s stuff, but that’s between her and Doctor B for Bunz.

  “I had an interview for a teaching job, just temporary, but … I got it.”

  Nate’s gaze shifts to me, a wrinkle of concern creasing his brow. “Well, that’s bad timing.”

  “I think I can still be here by four.”

  His chin dips as his teeth drag over his bottom lip again and again.

  It’s not familiar. It’s not familiar.

  Gah!

  It’s so familiar. He has something to tell me, but he can’t find the words. That bottom lip of his takes the brunt of his worry. It has for years. Fuck my stupid brain for knowing that or reading his mind. Whatever the hell this is.

  Keeping his chin low, he glances up at me. I smile. Nothing to see here. I’m not thinking weird shit at all.

  “Rachael wants to go to grad school, but she insisted on taking a year off to help with Morgan.”

  I nod. “Yes, she told me that.”

  “It’s not fair to her. I told her to go.”

  I nod again, even though I’m not following where he’s going with this, especially since his words are so pensive.

  “I want you to watch Morgan for me. Full time.”

  My eyes widen as he chews more on his lip. This is the opposite of firing me. I don’t know what to say.

  “But … you’ve taken a job now and I knew this could happen, so … it’s my loss.” He slips his fingers in the pockets of his cargo shorts and they slide down exposing the gray waistband to his briefs. Nate’s all boy right now with his casual attire, turned in shoulders, and nervous grin. Not a hint of Professor Hunt anywhere to be found.

  “You’re offering me a full-time job?”

  “Yes, but I understand it might be too late.”

  “Yeah. I’d have to turn down the job I just accepted.”

  “You would.” He says it like he’s not trying to sway me in either direction, but I think that means he wants me to turn down the job I just accepted, otherwise he’d tell me to forget about it and insist I keep the teaching job. Right?

  “I thought …”

  Morgan’s coos escalate to grunts that we both know will lead into cries of frustration. When Nate makes no move to get her, I stop the swing and lift her to my chest, nuzzling my nose in her hair that’s growing in thick with ginger highlights like her daddy’s.

  “You thought?” He grabs her sock that fell off when I lifted her out of the swing.

  Why does Nate’s hockey player hands slipping Morgan’s sock onto her tiny foot make my ovaries hurt? I’ve said it a million times, she’s a Morgan fix, not a baby fix. I’m twenty-one. My biological clock hasn’t even started to tick. I may have a knack for taking care of babies, but it doesn’t mean I’m ready for my own.

  “I thought…” my mind shakes off the aching-ovaries internal monologue “…you were going to fire me today.”

  He blinks a few times, twisting his lips, but I don’t get the impression my confession shocks him. That would have elicited a head jerk. No head jerk. Just a contemplative expression.

  “Because …”

  Well played. He’s going to make me introduce him to the gigantic elephant sitting in the corner of the room.

  “I know things about you. That’s why you asked me to leave last night.”

  As he busies his hands with folding in the flaps to the boxes of Jenna’s clothes, he gives a tiny shrug. “It was late. You looked tired. I just said you could go home. That’s all.”

  “You’ve never told me to ‘go home,’ until last night. There have been many, ‘thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow’ or ‘I appreciate all you do’ or even ‘have a good night,’ but not the cold ‘go home’ you gave me after I said I know you have a birthmark in a place we both know I haven’t seen.”

  Keeping his gaze on the boxes, he grunts. “It just surprised me a little that you thought you knew it with such certainty. I was worried about you, but clearly my concern came across as anger.” He glances up. “It wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry.”

  “So…” my eyes flit side to side before locking to his again “…you’re saying you don’t have that birthmark?”

  Nate stacks one box on top of the other and lifts them. “Nope. Maybe one of your old boyfriends had that mark.” He carries the boxes down the hall.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and bounce Morgan a bit until he returns. “I think you should show me your stomach.”

  “What?” He scoffs, avoiding eye contact as he shuts the closet door.

  “Your shirt. Take it off.”

  “It’s inappropriate.” Nate leaves the room again. “I have about two hours of work to do. We can order in dinner if you’d like.”

  “You’re a man.” I cradle Morgan and chase after him, not interested in dinner. “Taking off your shirt would not be inappropriate.”

  “Ask my boss if taking off my shirt in front of a student would be considered inappropriate.”

  “I’m not your student.” I stop at the entrance to his office as he plops down on his desk chair and opens his laptop.

  “You’re my nanny—my twenty-one-year-old nanny. I’m one hundred percent certain taking off my clothes in front of you would be inappropriate.”

  “Shirt. I didn’t say ‘clothes.’”

  He chuckles and it’s condescending. “Chinese?”

  “I’m not hungry.” I’m starving, but my curiosity has a bigger appetite.

  “There’s a takeout menu in the top drawer by the fridge. Order me something with chicken. Rice, no noodles.”

  I frown, bouncing Morgan as her eyes roll back in her head, eyelids too tired to stay open. “That menu in your drawer is a Thai menu not a Chinese menu.”

  He shifts his attention from the screen to me for a brief moment. “What’s the difference?”

  “Thai is spicier and made with less oil and curry. Fresher ingredients. Healthier.”

  Nate blinks a few times. “I like
spicy.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” He leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head.

  What has happened? He’s gone from spooked to actually challenging my knowledge of him.

  “Yes. You eat pineapple with jalapeños on your pizza. You have to like spicy food to eat that shit.”

  “She can hear you.” He shifts his attention to his sleeping baby in my arms.

  “She’s asleep.”

  “She can hear you.” He grins, something between a smirk and a grimace.

  “Sorry, Professor Anatomy. I’ll go order you a Thai dinner with chicken.”

  “Swayze?”

  I stop before I get two feet past his office door. “Yes?”

  “What have you decided?”

  “About?” I take a step backwards so I can see him.

  “My offer.”

  I have a degree in education. I want to teach. That’s the goal. I need to jump at any chance to build my résumé.

  “She’s attached to you,” he says.

  He’s not playing fair.

  “How long?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how long will this job last? Until she starts school? Until you find a good replacement?”

  “Until you no longer want to watch her.”

  So. Damn. Unfair.

  I adore Morgan, and I can’t foresee a day in the future where I don’t want to be with her. But … she’s not my daughter, and being a nanny isn’t my goal in life. A drop-dead sexy guy with a motorcycle could decide he wants to marry me. And … eventually my ovaries could ache for a child of my own—of our own. Then what? What if Morgan is not in school yet? If she’s attached to me now, what will it be like in another year or two?

  The job I worried about keeping has turned into the job I can’t shake.

  “I’ll call them tomorrow and tell them I have to regretfully decline the job offer.”

  Nate’s lips curl into a small grin. “Thank you. Rachael will be thrilled to know she can go to grad school without feeling guilty about Morgan.”

  I’m not doing this for Rachael. It’s not that I don’t like her, but it’s a little unfair and ridiculous to choose her future over mine. I’m doing this for Morgan. I think I’m doing this for Nate too. But what scares me the most is that I’m doing it for myself because Nate has my every thought held hostage in this vortex of the unexplainable. It’s dizzying. I can’t make sense of it or even see straight when I’m with him.