by Sarah Adams
“YOU TOLD ME TO,” Lucy yells, making me cringe.
“Luce, focus.”
“Yeah, okay, sorry. Got a pen.” I rattle off the number quickly and she repeats it back to me. “So why do I need this?”
“Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with Jessie.”
The line goes silent for a second and then Lucy replies, “What does this have to do with your credit card?”
Drew opens my passenger side door and looks down at me and the four packages of Oreos in my lap.
“You know, on second thought, you should probably be heading home. I bet your patients are really missing you today—like they are going to walk into their appointments and expect to find their favorite Dr. Marshall and then spot whichever crusty old doctor is covering for you—”
“Susan.”
“—and then they are going to be so peeved at you for taking a little vacation instead of caring about the healthy birth of their child and—”
Drew leans inside to unbuckle my seatbelt. “Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out, nearly making my Oreos spill to the ground before I manage to gather them up in my arms like a bundle of little Oreo babies. A caveman, this one.
“Do you always get your way?” I ask, looking up at him with a saucy expression.
“Nearly always, yes.”
I growl. “It’s the jaw. It’s hard to say no to. Hey, have you ever thought about acting? I bet you’d be so good playing Superman in a movie. Come on, let’s hop in the car and take a quick trip to LA to get you signed up for some action flicks.”
Drew is dragging me toward the front door of my grandaddy’s house. “Sure thing, let’s just make a quick stop inside first.”
WHY ARE MY FOOTBRAKES NOT WORKING?!
“Wait! Drew, Drew, Drew, Drew,” I say, trying to pull my hand from his so I can sprint back toward the car and somehow take him with me.
He chuckles and turns around. “What is wrong with you?”
“You’re about to go inside my childhood house.”
“So?” He’s so cute when he’s exasperated with me.
“So…this is my house. All my secrets are in there…all my memories. I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m not great at being vulnerable.”
He gives a mocking gasp. “No.”
I smack his arm. “I kind of feel like I’ve already met my vulnerability quota for the day by telling you about Jonathan and my parents.”
The teasing leaves Drew’s eyes, and he steps closer to cradle my face in his hands and kiss my lips. It ends too quickly and I’m teetering forward for more when he says, “I get it, Jessie. So what do you want me to do?”
“Maybe you could just go get a hotel, and then Grandaddy and I could meet you for dinner?”
“Okay.”
“Really?” I say, a little skeptical that he gave in so easily. I expected at least a little bit of a fight.
He grins and kisses me again before dropping his hands to his sides. “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll find a hotel and—hey.” His brows pinch together, and he looks over my shoulder. “Is that guy breaking into that house?”
“What?!” I spin around and peer through the neighborhood, but I don’t see anything. “Where? I don’t see anyone.”
I turn back to find Drew pressing the doorbell with a mischievous slanted smile and lifted brow. “I’m not going to a hotel. I’m staying here. With you. Get over it.” I want to be angry, but when he holds out his hand for me to take, my body moves to him like a magnet and I grip it in mine.
It occurs to me that the same reasons I hated Drew in the beginning are the reasons I’ve fallen for him now. He’s heavy-handed. He’s bossy. He won’t back down from me—and he’s exactly what I need and want.
Drew holds me tight, wrapping his hand around my waist like even if I tried to dart away, he wouldn’t let me. We stand united like those annoying June bugs in Florida as the front door opens and I see my grandaddy’s smiling face.
I put my hand on Drew’s chest. “Grandaddy, meet my boyfriend, Drew.”
I walk back into the living room and hand Grandaddy a fresh cup of coffee I brewed for him. He smiles up at me and pats the back of my hand, sending me spiraling through thousands of memories.
Everything about this house is familiar and exactly the same as the day I left at eighteen. The carpet is still an odd shade of brownish-taupe. There’s a small screened-in porch with bright green faux turf carpet and white metal lawn chairs. The walls are wood-paneled and lined with photos of me from birth all the way up to a photo of me standing with a goofy smile and my arms spread wide outside my salon on opening day. I gave Grandaddy the inaugural haircut. There are photos of Grandma sprinkled around too, but since she died when I was little, they are mainly photos of her in her younger days.
The pillows are still navy, and the couch is still that odd brown and yellow plaid with big wooden armrests. There’s not a single updated or trendy thing about this place, and I adore it.
Actually, that’s not true. There is one update: Drew. He’s sitting on the couch, aiming an intense smile up at me.
“So,” Grandaddy says, breaking through my thoughts. “Drew, how do you feel about being pinched?”
“Grandaddy…” I say in way of warning.
Drew’s brow furrows. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing, just an inside joke.” I look down at my mischievous grandaddy. He winks up at me under one bushy eyebrow.
“Has Jessie told you to pinch me or something for standing her up that day? Because, sir, I swear to you, I did not stand her up on purpose. I had an all-night shift and overslept, but I wish more than anything I had brought my phone in to wake—”
“Psh.” Grandaddy interrupts Drew’s adorably nervous explanation and waves him off. “Never would have worked anyway. I’ve known her secret since almost the beginning. Jessie never has been able to pull a fast one over on me. And besides, everything happened the way it needed to. No sense looking back while you’re still moving forward.”
I chuckle and look to Drew. “He’s full of catch phrases. I swear he moonlights writing for fortune cookies.”
Grandaddy wags his finger up at me. “I don’t, but you should be writing all this down. I am very wise.”
When I look to Drew, I see him smiling softly, gaze heavy on my face. He hitches his head, telling me to come sit with him. It’s so weird, having him here with me, having him look at me like that. My heart tells me to sink in and stay a while, but the guards I’ve fashioned around it say, Not so fast.
I do go sit by Drew, though. I try to put a little space between us, but he won’t have it. He tugs on my hand repeatedly until I finally give in and scoot closer. He kisses the side of my temple and wraps his arm around me. I lay my head on his shoulder and breathe him in.
Grandaddy’s short chuckle has me looking up at him. He’s shaking his head of white hair with a smile that can only be described as overjoyed. His eyes tell me, This is good, Jessie girl. You deserve this.
“If you kids will excuse me, I have a phone call I need to make.”
No, he doesn’t. For as much as I can’t pull a fast one over on him, he can’t pull any on me either. He’s trying to give us a moment alone, and honestly, I’m grateful for it.
Once my grandaddy disappears down the hall, I look up at Drew. “Hey. So. Do you remember that day you took me back to the salon when Lucy had to go help Levi?”
He hums and lifts my hand to kiss my wrist.
“Well, you were right when you guessed that there was more to my original hate for you than I was letting on.”
He tenses a bit, setting our intertwined fingers down and turning those sharp eyes to me. “I’m listening.”
“Truth is, I hated you before I ever met you.”
He frowns. “This day is taking a turn I’m not sure I like.”
“Oh, you will, believe me. And I hesitate to tell you because your head is going to grow eighteen sizes.”
“I’m confused.”
I suck in a deep breath then let it out in a whoosh. This is it for me. This is the last straw of secrecy, my last line of defense against Drew, and I’m letting it go. Laying it all on the line. This is me saying, I’m all in.
I clear my throat and force myself to look in his eyes. “Drew, a month before I ever met you, Lucy showed me a picture of you with Levi, and I swear I thought you were the sexiest man I’d ever seen. She told me all about you and what you do for a living. She mentioned you almost every single time we were together and painted the most incredible picture of a man with her words—a man I was immediately attracted to, a man I knew I would fall for at the drop of a hat, and I wanted to avoid that happening at all cost. I knew before I ever met you that you were exactly my type—my dream man in a lot of ways. And so…I decided to hate you, to find anything unappealing about you and grab hold of it so I couldn’t let myself get close to you. By being so horrible to you, I knew I was ensuring you wouldn’t want to get close to me either.” I shrug, feeling my words between us like tangible objects. “I calculated my hatred for you and multiplied it so I could keep you away from me.”
Drew is quiet. So quiet I can hear the clock on the wall ticking. My palms sweat, and those vulnerability hives are starting to prickle my skin. Finally, he shakes his head and then intertwines his fingers in the back of my hair.
“You failed miserably from the start, Oscar. Every sharp quip, every rude jab, every sassy lift of your eyebrow and display of backbone—it all drove me wild. See, when I found out I was going to have a free ticket to act like your fiancé, I had plans.” The way he says plans has my skin erupting in shivers. He dips his head and slowly kisses my mouth, and then he pulls away to whisper, “You were strong and determined, and also exactly my type. I’ve wanted you from day one. I tried telling myself I didn’t—it didn’t work, and I almost crashed Cooper’s truck because I was sexually frustrated by you.”
“What?” I ask on a laugh.
“Shh, don’t worry about it. Point is, your grandaddy is right. No sense in looking back when we are clearly meant to be together from here on out.”
“I’m still terrified.”
“That’s okay. Me too. We just have to take it one day at a time.”
And this is how we spend the rest of the day, in a weird, gloriously happy bubble. Also, I was dead wrong about Drew not liking PDA. The man is obsessed with it. He never lets go of me. If I go in the kitchen, he only releases my hand at the very last minute, so our arms are stretched out dramatically between us like we’re in a slow-motion movie scene.
I show Drew the rest of the house but keep him firmly away from my old room. He playfully pretends to grab the handle, but I give him the look of death, making sure he knows he’s not allowed in there. And he’s not. If he goes in, he will never look at me the same way again.
After lunch, Grandaddy pulls out the old photo album and delightedly shows Drew every embarrassing photo he can find. And there are a lot: the classic naked baby photo, prom when I wore my hair piled up so high on my head I’m surprised it didn’t interfere with air traffic. He tells Drew what I was like as a kid—a firecracker, no surprise there—and describes the time I broke my arm trying to sneak out my window so I could go to the movie I wasn’t allowed to see.
Drew sits at the old dining room table Grandaddy and I shared nearly every breakfast and dinner at together, just the two of us—and now Drew’s there too. I try to hover on the edge, allowing myself to see it without feeling it or holding on too tight, but Drew grabs me and pulls me onto his lap to look at the rest of the photographs. I barely fit, my belly brushing up against the table, and Drew wraps his hand around me so it’s splayed out against my baby bump. He rubs it tenderly and kisses the side of my shoulder. How did I get here? How did this happen? And is it all going to go away when we return to reality?
It’s been a day. A good one. A great one, actually. I feel Jessie’s walls coming down more with every passing minute. She’s slowly trusting me, and I don’t take it for granted.
Except now, I’m standing in her childhood room, staring at a wall completely dedicated to NSYNC, and I’m thinking there’s a lot about Jessie I still don’t know, a lot I’m scared to know based on this shrine dedicated to the young boy band members in white tanks with spiky bleached hair in every pose possible. There’s one in front of a graffiti wall. In tuxes at an award show. A few behind-the-scenes photos scattered in of them recording in the studio with dramatic faces and headphones over only one ear. It’s a hodgepodge of images printed off the internet, pages ripped from magazines, and premium posters all pasted together to look like one elaborate sheet of wallpaper. Now I see why Jessie wouldn’t let me in here. I tried to open the door earlier today, but she just got in front of me and gave me her scary-eyes death glare—so I was forced to sneak in while she’s putting away the leftovers from dinner.
“Oh no,” Jessie says from behind me in the doorway. She races to throw her body in front of the wall, arms and legs sprawled out like that will keep me from seeing this freak show. “Don’t look at it!”
“Too late,” I say, shaking my head slowly, unable to peel my eyes from her teen fantasy creation.
“You weren’t supposed to come in here without me! I was going to prepare you! Now you’re in shock. Do you need one of those shiny thermal blankets? Should I call 911?” I don’t reply. Just keep staring. Jessie leaves the wall to come put her hands on my face. “Drew, look at me. It’s going to be okay, you just need to look away from the wall.” She starts gently turning my shoulders away, but I crane my neck, unable to escape its hypnotic spell, until finally I’m forced to snap my gaze forward.
I blink several times at Jessie. “So many pictures.” At least two hundred. I’m not kidding.
“It was a different time, Drew. The 90s were confusing. Everyone was doing it…I couldn’t resist the temptation. I’m so sorry.” The seriousness in Jessie’s eyes is what finally makes me crack. My smile spreads wide and slow, and before I know it, we’re both laughing.
“You crazy woman,” I say, taking one final look at the shrine.
She grins up at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Don’t act like you didn’t have photos of swimsuit models pasted above your bed.”
I shake my head firmly. “No ma’am. Obviously you don’t know my mom and dad. They would have whipped me if I had put up a degrading photo like that.” Jessie narrows her eyes until I wag my eyebrows. “That’s why I kept it under my mattress.” I know she’s going to try to pinch me, so I catch her hand preemptively. “Come here,” I say, pulling her up close to me. “I haven’t kissed you enough.”
It’s a rare thing to see Jessie blush, but she does now, and that’s the first place I aim my lips. She laughs as I kiss the apples of both her cheeks. “I don’t think that counts as kissing.”
“Quiet. I’m just getting warmed up.”
I lower my head, preparing to drop a soft, sweet kiss on her mouth, but Jessie meets me halfway, her lips crashing into mine. It’s a jolt straight to my nervous system that I wasn’t expecting. I’m a pretty controlled guy. I can keep my cool in high-pressure situations, and rarely do I ever feel out of my head. Right now, I’m nowhere near conscious thought, because Jessie has taken control for me and decided my fate without my opinion. Thank goodness. One of her hands hits my chest and backs me up against the NSYNC wall as the other slides up under my shirt to feel my abs. I cradle her jaw and grab her hip. The push and pull of our mouths is not soft. Not tender. It’s mad—teeth clanking, out of breath, full of desire and passion. I’ll be honest, it’s not something I thought would be in the cards until well after this baby comes, but I am HERE FOR IT.
Everything is breath, and heat, and skin, and lips, and taste. She kisses my neck, and when her tongue touches my skin, I lose my mind. I’m done for. Toast. Suddenly, Jessie has my shirt above my head and helps me whip it off. Cool air rushes across my chest and her eyes rake over
me before they snag on my tattoo. She runs her finger reverently across the ink, and heat burns through me. She kisses her way up my tattoo and then my neck. Once she finds my mouth again, I decide it’s my turn to be in charge.
I put my hands on Jessie’s hips and slowly devour her full mouth as I guide us away from the wall. I’ve never, ever needed a woman like I need Jessie. The moment gets away from me, and the next thing I know, I’ve backed Jessie up to her tiny bed. She sits on the edge, and then her head falls back against the mattress. Her smile is not nervous, but rather excited as I plant my hands on either side of her face and hover over her. I brush her hair away from her neck and then trace the line of her collarbone with my finger. Her eyes greedily take in every inch of my available skin. I can’t bring myself to care that we’re in her childhood room right now or that this dinky bed might not be able to support the weight of both of us. My mind is lost in a haze of want and all I can think about is how unfair it is that she has on more clothes than me. Time to level the playing field.
I reach for the bottom edge of her shirt then suddenly her door flies open and Harold steps inside. Jessie squeals, and I jump off of her, feeling like a dirty teenager who will be grounded for the rest of his life. I mostly blame the 90s-nostalgia scenery.
“Grandaddy! Knock first!” Jessie screeches and tosses a small pillow at the door, also looking and sounding like a guilty teen. We’re so dead. Definitely not going to junior prom without a chaperone now.
“I’m so sorry, sugar!” Harold says with a hand over his eyes as he backs out of the room. I would give anything for a black hole I could jump into right now. ANYTHING.
“Oh my goodness, you don’t have to cover your eyes like that, Grandaddy! That makes it so much more embarrassing,” she says with her hands on her cheeks to cool the flames.
I would say something right now, but nothing in particular worth saying comes to mind. I’m torn between wanting to shrink into a ball and climbing out the window to drive 100 mph until I’m home and far away from this humiliation. Instead, I laugh, because this is hilarious. Poor Harold. His cheeks are the color of raspberries, and he bumps into the wall while backing up with his eyes closed.
