by A. J. Pine
He swirled the last tiny drop of burgundy liquid in his glass, watching it paint the glass and then slide back down to the center again.
Whitney slid to the other end of the couch, and her knee brushed his as she leaned forward and traded her glass for his.
“You probably need this more than I do,” she said.
He accepted her offering without question.
“So she’s not coming,” he said. It wasn’t a question but a realization. “And you just happen to know this because of a Facebook notification.”
Whitney shook her head, and he thought he detected a note of sympathy in her gaze. He couldn’t be sure, though. She’d never been one for sentimentality, and the timing of this visit was a little more than convenient. Whitney’s agendas always seemed to serve Whitney first. He raised a brow.
“I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. But whatever you think of me, I don’t wish you any sort of pain. I never did. Yes, I got the alert, and yes, it worked in my favor because I did want to clear the air between us. But I also think it’s fair to let you know what you’re getting into by making a commitment to this girl.”
He checked his phone, which was still on that damned Facebook page, and his gut twisted. Was he really that naive to believe he could open himself up to falling for Grace and not get hurt the second he let her in?
“Look,” she said, putting down his empty glass and resting a hand on his knee.
He stared at her hand, one that was so familiar that it brought back memories he thought he’d buried deep. Then he lifted it gingerly and deposited it on the arm of the couch. Whatever Whitney’s intentions were, she was right about one thing: he didn’t trust her, not when it came to his heart.
She huffed out a breath. “I’m here as your friend, Jer. That’s it. I just— I saw the post and figured you might need someone tonight.”
What he needed was more wine. Or maybe something as small as a text from Grace so he didn’t feel like he had been completely played. She hadn’t posted that photo, but she knew it was there, right? That Jeremy had been tagged in it. Wouldn’t she at least want to explain?
But he didn’t have answers to those questions. All he had was the rest of Whitney’s wine and what was left in the bottle on the counter.
Jeremy stood and held the glass out in a gesture of cheers.
“Thanks for the wine,” he said, careful not to betray any emotion to someone he knew would use it to her own advantage. She gave him a soft smile, and he nodded toward the door. “But you should probably go, Whit.”
Her mouth fell open in an exasperated O. For the first time in a long time, she was speechless.
“I’m in love with her,” he added, and the realization that he was past the falling—that he was all in—made him pause. “And until she stands in front of me and tells me that she doesn’t feel the same, I shouldn’t be here drinking wine with you.”
Whitney slid back into her shoes and stood, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You can honestly say that, without having so much as kissed her?” Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me nothing goes on behind closed doors, Jeremy. Because if she’s cheating at this game—”
“It’s not a game, Whitney. Christ. This is her life that you’ve insinuated yourself into, for nothing other than your own gain. You may be a game player, but she’s not. I may not fully understand what she’s doing with this cleanse, but I respect how important it is to her. So no. Nothing has happened behind closed doors. And it won’t.”
She shrugged, like this wasn’t someone’s life she was playing with. Two lives, now that he was involved. “I will be here for you when you need me. And you will,” she said with confidence, and then headed out the door.
He pulled up Grace’s number on his phone, reminding himself that he trusted her. He’d just call her, and they’d straighten this whole thing out.
He pressed send. It went right to voicemail after barely a ring, which meant only one thing: she’d hit ignore.
Grace ignored his call.
He polished off his current glass of wine.
Maybe Whitney was right, that he would need someone after the fallout.
But right now, all he needed was to empty the contents of that bottle of wine.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grace froze, her hand fisted midair, not sure if she could follow through with something as simple as a knock on Jeremy’s apartment door. No, she was more than frozen. She was stuck. Right in the middle of the man she wanted and the one who could ruin so much more than just her new relationship.
“What are we waiting for?”
She jumped at the sound. Even though she recognized the voice, there was something off in his tone. He had to have seen the photo since he was tagged in the post. Yet it had been three hours since it went live—since she’d blown off their date and ignored his call. She’d had no choice. She couldn’t answer with Mark sitting there. She wouldn’t give her ex anything else to hold over her—or access to the one good thing in her life right now.
Jeremy.
He should be furious with her. Instead he was…
She turned, and there he stood, the man she’d been dying to see and now couldn’t bear to face. Though she had to face him. That’s why she was here. To explain.
But he was…smiling.
“Don’t think anyone’s home,” he teased, and then she heard it, the way the S and H slurred together so that he almost sounded British. Like a poor impersonation of Captain Jack Sparrow.
Dammit.
“You’re drunk,” she said, and he tapped his index finger on his nose. Well, he tapped his cheek first and then got his nose on the second try.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “We have a winner!”
He reached past her with his key, fumbling with it against the lock.
Wow. This was way worse than his post-massage drinking the day they’d met. His intoxication then had been accidental. Grace was pretty sure Jeremy’s current state was intentional.
“Can I help?” she asked, forgetting for the moment why she was really here, which was possibly why Jeremy was really drunk.
His smile vanished, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. She realized now what else was off, what she’d failed to notice in the shock of his arrival. His hair was wet. She glanced down at the cats and dogs umbrella at her feet and then back at him. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket. She reached for his Kingston Ale House hoodie, and the heavy, dark blue cotton felt cold and wet against her skin.
“You’re soaked,” she said, snatching the keys out of his hand before he answered her previous question. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. “It’s, like, thirty-nine degrees outside. And raining,” she added, following him into the apartment. “Where’s that fancy Gore-Tex jacket?” she asked, trying not to sound scolding when she felt like she was the one who should be scolded.
He crossed his arms, then stumbled backward. He found his footing but stuck an arm out to brace himself against the doorframe of the bathroom.
He shrugged. “Wasn’t raining when I left the apartment.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s October. In Chicago. There’s a likelihood of rain on a daily basis. And—and it’s freaking cold outside. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
She pushed him gingerly through the doorway and into the bathroom so that he now leaned against the counter. She tugged the bottom of his sweatshirt up, her palms skimming his cold flesh. She’d touched him before, skin to skin, but her heart hadn’t ached then like it did now. Because what hung between them was all the baggage of her past, and she never intended to drag him into it.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in her ear. His words were clearer than they’d been minutes ago.
“Getting you out of these wet clothes,” she said. “Then we’re going to get you some water and a few ibuprofen and put you to bed.” She worked the shirt up an
d over his head, and he cooperated without further question.
She swallowed hard, not at the beauty of his lean runner’s physique—though the sight of it did still impress her. But what she saw now was a look in his eyes not unlike what she’d seen that day when Whitney walked into Kingston Ale House.
She knew the hurt Whitney caused had worked its way into his veins for years. Had she reopened that wound so quickly, or had she created a new one?
“I texted you,” she said. “Like three times. And I tried calling you.”
He laughed, but it was a bitter sound, noticeable even through his inebriation.
“It’s kind of funny,” he said. “Because I called you, too, and it went right to voicemail after one ring. Do you know how that happens? When someone calls you, and you don’t want to take the call, you hit ignore.”
Her heart sank. That was why she was here. This wasn’t something to discuss via text or even over the phone. But trying to explain now…when he was like this? Probably not the best timing.
Grace shook her head and let out a bitter laugh of her own. Timing. It really wasn’t on their side. But she had been so sure the universe had sent her a sign, throwing Jeremy into her path not once or even twice, but three times within three days of meeting him.
“Did I miss the joke?” he asked, and she realized she’d been lost in her thoughts.
Her eyes focused back on Jeremy’s bare torso and her palms splayed against it. She quickly removed them and dropped her arms awkwardly to her sides.
“Nope,” she said, meeting his gaze again. “Now, let’s get you out of those pants.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. The small gesture was contagious, and she smiled despite the tension between them.
“Because they’re wet,” she said, rolling her eyes.
His hands found the button at the top of his jeans, and he flicked it open without incident. His pants weren’t as wet as his shirt, so it took little effort for him to drop them to the floor and kick them off completely. Now he stood in nothing but a pair of red boxer briefs, and she could see him plain as day, firm beneath the soft cotton.
Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head up to find him staring at her with his brows raised.
“What can I say?” he asked. “The little guy doesn’t know you blew me off for your ex tonight.”
Grace cleared her throat. Because “little guy” was so not an appropriate nickname.
“I need to explain,” she said. “But not when you’re like—like this.” She paused. He was in no shape for a heart-to-heart, but she couldn’t just leave. “Water,” she blurted. “I’m going to get you some water. And—where’s the ibuprofen?”
He nodded. “Cabinet over the sink in the kitchen.”
She pointed at him. “Get in bed, and I’ll be there in a second.” She rolled her eyes again and shook her head as she spun toward the kitchen, not waiting for his reaction. “To bring you the water and medicine,” she grumbled under her breath.
She found the pills easy enough. After opening a couple more cabinets, she also found a glass, which she quickly filled from the tap. When she turned to head back toward the bedroom, which she assumed was farther down the small hallway, she paused at the sight that lay before her in the living room. On the coffee table sat a cutting board full of crumbs along with two empty but noticeably used wineglasses, both with a small purple stain denoting the earlier presence of red wine.
Her heart sank. Jeremy hadn’t been alone tonight, either. But that didn’t mean he’d been with a woman. Did it? Not like she could argue with him if he had. She’d been with another man and didn’t have the chance to fully explain until now, which she realized might be too late.
God, she’d screwed up. She thought keeping Jeremy out of her mess was protecting him, but all she did was make things messier.
She lingered for another few seconds, then decided tonight wasn’t the night to discuss…well…tonight. They’d straighten this out in the morning, one way or another.
When she found his room, he was sitting up, his pillow leaned against a mission-style headboard, and his lower body was covered, thankfully, by a forest-green duvet. He was reading something on his phone.
“You have two bedrooms,” she said.
He looked up and nodded. “Had a roommate. Then I didn’t. Had another. Now he’s marrying my sister.” He shrugged. “Think I’m good on my own from here on out.”
Right.
She should just give him the water and the three red tablets and go.
She approached the bed with caution, set the glass down on the nightstand, and held out her palm.
He grabbed the pills and dropped them all on his tongue, then downed the glass of water in three gulps.
“Thanks,” he said.
She pressed her lips into a thin smile.
“I’ll go,” she said. “Let you get back to being good on your own.” She winced at her words. She hadn’t meant them to sound judgmental. But before she could step away, Jeremy reached for her hand, wrapping it in his own.
“Don’t,” he said. “Stay.” Her eyes widened, but he shook his head. “Not like that,” he said, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His eyes were only half open now, hooded and heavy. “I don’t know what happened tonight.” His words were tinged with the alcohol still flowing through his veins as well as the nearness of sleep. “But I’m thinking I might be in love with you, and I want to know what it’s like to wake up with you in my arms, even if it’s only this one time.”
In love?
They’d admitted to the possibility of falling, but were they actually in the thick of it already?
She reached for the bag that should have been slung over her shoulder, ready to consult the book for any scenario relating to the one she was in now, but then remembered she’d left it in the car, so sure she wasn’t going to go through with actually knocking on the door. But she wasn’t counting on Jeremy walking up behind her—or asking her to stay the night.
Screw it. They were suddenly walking this tenuous rope after what had felt like such a breakthrough just a few nights ago. This was one way to try to bridge the gap that had already formed. It was just sleeping.
And just this one time? Really?
“You’re giving up on me that easily?” she asked, but his eyes were falling closed, and he was sliding down so he was lying on his side. But her hand was still in his.
He gave it a small tug, and she sighed, kicked off her shoes, and pulled herself free so she could shake off her jacket. Then she climbed in next to him.
Fully clothed.
His body was warm now against hers, and either the threat of sleep was too strong or the alcohol had won because she felt no evidence of his arousal behind her. She thought about rolling to face him but knew the impossibility of kissing him despite being so close. It would be too much to bear. So she stayed as she was, her head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her.
“You could tell me,” he said softly. “Whatever’s going on—whatever made you choose him tonight instead of me—I can take it.”
She let out a long breath and squeezed her eyes shut.
“I didn’t choose him, Jeremy. Whatever you think of me right now, I wish you could at least understand I had no choice tonight. That I never would have asked you to commit to me and then…”
No matter what way she sliced it, she couldn’t explain her behavior without betraying Mark’s confidence, which meant betraying her father and putting her family’s practice at risk. And if there was any validity to his veiled threat, putting Jeremy at risk, too. The whole situation made her sick to her stomach, that she could have even thought she loved someone who only ever saw her as a means to an end. But she could trust Jeremy. Couldn’t she?
“…to commit to me and then act like it never happened?”
Her breath hitched, and she felt like she’d been socked in the gut.
“I could see how it looks that way,” she admi
tted. “But if you believed me when I said I could fall for you, I hope you’ll believe me now when I tell you that everything I do, I do for the people I love. And nothing’s changed since the other night,” she said. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud, to admit that she loved him, wholly and completely. Instead she pulled his palm to her lips and kissed it, letting her mouth linger on his skin just so she could breathe in the scent of him.
He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair.
“I believe you,” he whispered. “I knew Whitney had to be full of shit.”
His breathing quickly became heavy, and Grace knew he was asleep.
“In the morning,” she whispered. “If you’re ready to listen, I’ll tell you the whole story. Then you can decide if I’m really worth the wait.”
She let out a long breath. At least she knew now who the other wineglass belonged to. She’d be lucky to fall asleep at all with that little nugget of information clawing away at her thoughts.
Still, she closed her eyes and let him hold her tight.
Mark might be trying to get her back in his own twisted, manipulative way. But tonight solidified what she’d been thinking since Whitney tricked her into admitting her feelings for Jeremy.
She wasn’t just back in town. She was back for Jeremy, and based on how tonight went down, Whitney knew just how to pull them apart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jeremy woke, opened one eye, and stared at the ceiling. Then he tried to swallow with a severe saliva deficiency and decided this was what death felt like.
What time was it? Better yet, what day was it? And of all the years he’d spent in college and grad school, had he learned nothing? He was too old for the meaningless bargaining with some higher power to restore him to his former self.
I promise I’ll never drink again.
He was shit at keeping promises. And now he felt like complete and utter shit, so he guessed it was all well deserved.
