by Stacy Wise
His phone beeps with a text. “My ride’s here. I’ve gotta run. Grab your stuff this afternoon and move in today.”
“Are you sure?”
He flashes his winning smile. “Yeah. No prob.”
I follow him out the door and fall into step with him. “Thanks. I’ll try to find a place as soon as possible. I don’t want to impose on you.”
“No rush. I’m cool.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze that sends chills through my entire body before he jumps into the black Lincoln Town Car that’s waiting to whisk him away.
The car turns down the driveway, and I watch it disappear through the gate. Can I stay long enough to make you fall in love with me? Shit. I hate myself for liking him. I really, really do.
As though floating on clouds, I drift back through Jack’s house and out to the guesthouse. My new home. I’ve already decided I’m going to stay. It may kill me. I’m sure a therapist would tell me to walk away—that unrequited love promotes self-loathing or something equally unhealthy. I thought seeing him make out with Nichole Antocci would cure me of my crush for good, but it obviously didn’t have the lasting effects it should have. Any sane person would’ve been over him in a heartbeat.
I wander into the kitchen. Oh, joy! It has the exact same giant sink as Jack’s kitchen. The tiles are bright white, except for the backsplash, which has an intricate design with colorful hand-painted tiles. I pass through the kitchen and push open the door to the bedroom. I don’t even try to stop myself from rushing the bed and crashing onto it. It’s the prettiest bed ever—a mahogany sleigh bed covered with a luxurious white linen duvet cover and an oversize pillow that runs the length of the headboard. A velvety, cinnamon-colored jacquard throw is folded at the end of the bed. I grab the blanket and wrap it around me, breathing it in. It doesn’t smell like Jack. Of course it wouldn’t.
I let the blanket slide from me as I stand. Suddenly, I can’t wait to get my work done so I can go to the sorority house and pack my things. “I promise I won’t stalk you, Jack McAlister,” I say in so soft a whisper that I can barely hear it myself. This is going to be great. It would foolish to turn down such an awesome place to live. I may even get to see Jack in his low-slung pajama bottoms again. Oh, shut up. I’m going to make this work.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It’s already dark outside when I pull into the driveway. The hidden spotlights cast a soft glow across the line of trees, making the house look warm and inviting. I wonder if Jack is home yet.
With a bag of groceries in each hand, I circle back to the guesthouse. I heft the groceries onto the counter and start filling the fridge. Once I have all the cold items put away, I return to my car for my suitcases.
As I heave my big roller bag from the trunk, a strange clicking startles me. I freeze, listening, but there’s only silence. Seconds later, a car cruises up the driveway. The clicking must’ve been the gate. It’s not Jack. His truck sounds nothing like the powerful purr of this engine. A red Porsche rolls to a stop thirty feet away from where I’m parked. I busy myself with lugging the second suitcase from the trunk. As curious as I am, I don’t want to make an ass of myself by staring. But maybe I can sneak a tiny little look. I pretend to adjust the handle of my bag, which allows me to get a peek at the driver’s side door. At least I’ll know if it’s a guy or girl. The door opens, and I see the foot first—a foot encased in a sexy silver high heel. The rest of the body emerges from the car. Corinne Dahl. Oh God. They are still dating. I should’ve known.
The way she can pair designer jeans and a flowy, black, one-shouldered top with the fancy shoes is applause-worthy. Maybe her stylist came up with the look. The soft spotlights highlight her milky skin, making her appear otherworldly while I look like a grungy mess. I grab the handles of both bags, hoping she doesn’t see me but knowing she probably will. She’d have to be blind not to see me hobbling across the driveway.
I reach the guesthouse and wheel my bags straight to the laundry room. After living out of suitcases for so long, I don’t know what’s dirty and what isn’t, so I’m going to wash it all. Why? Because I can. I love that I have my very own washer and dryer right here. No more dragging my basket down two flights of stairs to use the communal washers. And let’s face it; I need to keep myself occupied so I don’t think about Corinne and Jack. I busy myself with sorting laundry until I’m certain enough time has passed that I won’t run into Jack greeting her with a kiss at the door.
I skulk back to my car and grab the trash bags that are stuffed full of my bedding and kitchen supplies. Corinne is clearly inside Jack’s house. Her Porsche sits there, mocking my Ford Fiesta. Ugh. I’m sure she wouldn’t travel with trash bags. She probably has an entire team of people to pack and move for her. Shoving my hair from my face, I trek back to the guesthouse.
After plunking one bag in the kitchen, I haul the other to the laundry room. If I plan on having anything to wear tomorrow, I need to fire up the washer. I shove a load of whites in, add detergent, and press the power button. Nothing happens. It’s surely a simple error. However, after reading everything, I’m more certain than ever that I pressed the correct button. Shoot. I reach for my phone to text Jack but stop myself. I can’t ask him for help. Corinne Dahl is over there, wearing shoes that mean business. I’ll unpack my bathroom, and when I’m finished, I’ll assess the washer situation with fresh eyes.
Unpacking my toiletries doesn’t take as long as I anticipated, so I decide to take a nice, hot shower before tackling the washer again. Besides, it’ll help me relax, and I think more clearly when I’m calm. The warm water cascades over my tired body as I scrub all the grime away using my favorite silky tropical flower body wash. I take the time to shave my legs and allow my conditioner to sit for more than the usual thirty seconds. When I step out, I feel a million times better. I comb the tangles from my hair and twirl it into a bun. After slathering lotion over my skin, I dress in the last of my clean clothes—cropped pink sweatpants, a ribbed gray tank, and my favorite gray hoodie that’s extra soft from age. I slip my feet into my fluffy bunny slippers and pad back to the laundry room with new determination.
I scan the area, and the solution hits me. Since no one lives here, it hasn’t been plugged in. Easy fix. I smile as I hoist myself up so I can see behind the washer. And…damn. Not the right answer. I’m out of ideas. I’m going to be up until three a.m. doing laundry if I can’t figure this out. I have no choice but to text Jack. It’s not like he’ll have to fix anything. Maybe it’s a simple matter of telling me where the fuse box is.
Sorry to bug you. I can’t get the washer to turn on. Is there a circuit breaker I can check?
I have no idea if he will respond or not. He could be in the middle of something that I don’t want to think about. I traipse to the kitchen and pull open one of my full bags. My phone dings.
I’ll be right over.
I have to read the text again. He’ll be right over? Oh, hell. I don’t want him to come over here. I have wet hair, for God’s sake. And what if he brings her with him? I pace the kitchen, trying to come up with a response that will stop him. Before I can do anything, there’s a knock on the door.
In a panic, I pull off my bunny slippers and shove them into a kitchen drawer. I rush to the door but pause to breathe before turning the knob. There’s Jack, sporting his well-worn jeans and a gray thermal. I sneak a subtle glance past him, looking for Corinne. “Hey. Thanks for coming over. You didn’t have to.”
“It’s no problem. I know how girls are with laundry.” He smiles.
The cold November air blows in and makes me shiver. I cross my arms in front of me, hugging myself to keep warm. Jack’s gaze falls ever so slightly. Oh, shit. I didn’t bother to put a bra on after my shower. And now I’ve given him a great view of my very braless cleavage. Jesus. He’s going to think I’m throwing myself at him. “It’s freezing. Come on in.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” He rubs his hands together and walks ahead of me to the laundry room. He pushes
the start button just like I did. “Maybe it’s the plug. Did you try it?”
“Yep.”
“It probably got tripped. It’s a GFCI outlet, so it just needs to be reset. Here, look.”
I step closer to see what he’s talking about. I try not to breathe, because I don’t want to smell Corinne’s perfume and the aftermath of sex, but I can’t resist letting my arm brush his. “The red button?”
“Yeah. Give it a try.”
I hoist myself back up onto the washer. “Here goes.”
“Ten points for a graceful execution.”
“Shut up. I can’t reach the outlet without climbing up here.” I press the button, and it makes a loud click. “I think we’re good.”
His hands fall on my hips, surprising me. “I’m just going to help you down from there.” He guides me gently off the washer and allows my feet to land softly on the ground. “Can’t let you get injured again.” His hands drift from my hips as quickly as they appeared.
I turn to face him. He’s inches from me. It would be so easy for him to press me up against the washing machine and kiss me. My face feels hot, and I shake the thought from my head. “Why don’t you try the power button, then? I don’t want to get electrocuted.”
“But you don’t mind if I get electrocuted?”
I shrug. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Give it a try.”
He chuckles and reaches past me to push the button. I don’t move when his arm grazes my body. “It works. You’re good.” He pauses. “Is that you or your laundry detergent I smell?”
I bite my lip, trying to hide the fact that I’m practically panting. “It’s me. I just showered.”
He nods, and I swear he stole another glance at my chest. “You smell good, like Hawaii or something.”
“Thanks.” I do my best to sound normal. You can come in closer if you want. My whole body smells this good, Jack.
“Anything else while I’m here?”
Yes. Kiss me until I can’t see straight. “No. I saw someone drive up when I was unpacking my car. I don’t want to keep you.”
“Oh. That was Corrine. She just left. You met her before, remember? At the Bel-Air.”
I nod and step into the hallway. “Yeah.”
He smiles. “I told her you were moving in, and she came over to lecture me.”
I feel the color drain from my face. “Why?”
He shakes his head. “She’s protective, I guess. She thinks it’s weird you’re going to live here.”
“Do you think it’s weird?”
“No.” He crosses his arms in front of his body. “She’ll get over it. She’s just trying to create drama. I’m used to it.”
I stare at him, unable to contain my surprise. “That’s not a very nice way to talk about your girlfriend. Don’t you think you should care about her feelings a little more?”
He stares back at me, blinking. “Uh, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“Yes, she is!”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’d know if we were dating.” He shifts his hand to the back of his neck and stretches. “We dated a long time ago for a month or two. We realized early on we wouldn’t work as a couple.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Now you do.”
I follow him down the hall, trying to wrap my head around this new information.
Jack looks around the guesthouse. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
I laugh. “Yeah. The trash bags on the kitchen floor are a nice touch, right?”
He walks into the kitchen and surveys the mess. “Do you want help unpacking? Believe it or not, I know how to organize a drawer.”
I pause. “I’m really particular about my drawers.”
“You’re really particular about your drawers?” He mulls this over and grins. “It’s good to be particular about those.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I ask, without missing a beat. “Drawers can say a lot about a person.”
His eyes laugh. “I agree. So, since your drawers aren’t an option, how about you tell me where to put things? I’m great at taking direction.”
“Tell you where to put things?” My sexed-up brain flashes to images of him putting things exactly where they should be, like his lips on my mouth, and his hands all over me, and…stop!
“Yeah. I’ll follow your lead. I’ll do it however you want.”
“Thanks,” I say casually, even though butterflies are slam-dancing in my tummy. Does he have any idea how flirtatious he sounds? Anyway, I’m sure he’d act like this with any girl who’s not wearing a bra.
He pulls my flour sifter out of the bag and holds it up. “Is this a fertilizer spreader?”
“Because a fertilizer spreader screams ‘kitchen supplies’?”
He shrugs.
“It’s a flour sifter. It should go in a low cupboard with my mixing bowls and glass measuring cups. Metal measuring cups can go in a drawer with mixing spoons and whisks.” I speak with authority, focusing on the task at hand. Because having Jack in my kitchen, looking all rumpled and hot and kissable and saying I’ll do it however you want is killing me.
“Um. Yeah. Maybe I’ve overestimated my skills. How about I stack your plates and bowls?”
“That’d be great.” I open the bag wide and take out my plates. Good thing they’re melamine and not glass, or they would’ve broken for sure. I was in no mood to wrap things carefully when I packed up my apartment.
Jack finishes putting the few plates and bowls I own away and leans against the counter, facing me. “I have to say, this is one of my better ideas, regardless of what Corinne thinks.”
“What?”
“Having you move in here. I like that you’re nearby.”
I laugh. “Nothing like an on-the-premises assistant. Just don’t abuse it, okay? No midnight requests for kale or protein powder.”
He holds up a hand like he’s taking a vow. “No midnight kale runs.”
“Well, on second thought, maybe one midnight run. I owe you. My living situation was stressing me out.”
Jack hops up on the counter, his legs dangling in front of the cupboards. “Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that. Have you talked to Meg since you moved out?”
I drop the last of my kitchen prep tools in a drawer and shut it. “Nope. I haven’t.”
“Is that weird?”
“Yeah. She was my best friend.” I look in the trash bag, aware it’s empty but needing to do something. After giving it a good shake, I fold it into a neat square as Jack watches me.
“That really sucks.”
“Yeah. It really does.” I set the bag on the counter and face him. “She turned into someone I don’t know anymore. I couldn’t see it for the longest time. Believe it or not, she actually thought that you guys would’ve gotten together if I hadn’t forced you to change your number. She assumed you loved her pictures.”
He shakes his head, causing a lock of hair to fall into his eyes. He shoves it away and says, “That’s fucked up. I know so many people like her, who think they’re entitled and shit. She had no consideration for how her actions would affect you.” He pauses and looks down at his hands before lifting his eyes to mine. “I hope working for me didn’t bring all this on.”
“In a way, it did. But it would’ve happened sooner or later. She isn’t the kind of person I want as a friend.”
Jack hops down from the counter and walks over to where I stand. “I’m sorry. Lessons like that suck.” He reaches forward and pulls me into a hug. I catch my breath, surprised that it happened so easily. I squeeze my eyes shut and get lost in the feel of his back, the smell of his skin. His hand touches my hair, and I feel him inhale. It makes me want to wear this lotion every day.
The ringing of his phone kills the moment, and he pulls away. “Shit. I’ve gotta take this.” He turns to answer with, “Hey. Hang on one sec.” He looks back at me. “Welcome to the ’hood. Text me if you need anything else, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Ja
ck.”
“Sure.” His eyes linger on me for a second too long before he heads for the door. I should go braless more often.
Crouching low so he can’t see my shadow crossing the closed shutters, I sneak over to the door and watch him through the fish-eye peephole as he walks back to his house. When he disappears through his door, I return to the kitchen and stand in the middle of it, wanting to be surrounded by the enchanted air he left behind. I hug my arms around myself and slow dance across the floor, wishing he were still here. I stop when I realize the call that stole him away could have been from a female.
Please don’t let him be in love with someone else. If only I could will him back here. I’d open the door, a surprised smile on my face. He’d say, I miss you already, and I’d pull him inside. He’d smile that sexy smile that makes me dizzy. And he’d tell me how good I smell. Before I could say thanks, he’d kiss me.
The sudden buzzing of the washer yanks me from my fantasy. The noise is unrelenting, and I rush to the laundry room to find the “unbalanced load” light flashing red. As I work to even things out, it strikes me that this could be a sign. My feelings for Jack are out of balance with his feelings for me.
I slam the washer door and head to the kitchen to retrieve my bunny slippers. I’m suddenly cold.
Chapter Thirty
I occupy the passenger seat of Jack’s truck. We drive in silence, and I stare out the window at the pretty afternoon sky that could’ve been custom painted with a shade simply called Sky. White puffs of cloud drift lazily across it, like vacationers floating in funny-shaped inner tubes on a lake.
As we leave a dusty trail behind us, Jack finally turns to me. “That was good, right?”
“Yeah. I think it was.”
“Okay.” He taps his steering wheel. “Man. I’ve been stressing out about that for weeks.”
We just left Leo at the pig sanctuary. As soon as we arrived, I knew it was the right home for him. Karen, the gal who runs the place, took to him immediately. She may have been extra sweet because of Jack. In fact, it’s possible every single person who has ever worked at the barn was there today. Karen reassured Jack that he was doing the right thing. She said she would work with Leo over the next few weeks and decide whether she would adopt him out, or possibly use him as a therapy pig. She thought he might have the right disposition for the job. It made me proud.
