Home to You

by Taylor Sullivan

  “It’s fine,” Jake replied sharply, but then his voice softened. “I’m glad you called.”

  In a few minutes he had the battery hooked up, then nodded for me to try the ignition. I climbed in the driver’s seat, and it immediately turned over.

  He closed the hood, then walked over to my window. “We’ll follow you home.”

  His voice was soft and sweet, and a lump formed in the back of my throat. I shook my head—I’d already made him late, I wouldn’t make them any later.

  “I’ve already screwed up your evening.” I glanced over at Grace. “I’m so sorry. You guys go have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow at the barbecue.”

  She raised her brows and looked over to Jake.

  Shit! She didn’t know. “Sorry,” I mouthed to Jake—wishing I had a rock to hide under—then turned on my headlights and backed out of the space.

  Way to put your foot in your mouth, Katie. Real smooth.

  I DECIDED TO STOP AT the grocery store on the way home. It had been a while since I’d seen Jake with Grace, and even though I didn’t have any right, it hurt seeing him with another woman.

  I knew I shouldn’t have been upset; I’d been a fool to think something had changed. He was happy and proud of me yesterday, and I was just stupid for reading into his playfulness.

  I placed my basket on the counter and began scanning my items at self-checkout. Albacore sashimi, a pint of caramel gelato, and a bag of barbecue potato chips. Sure, not the best combo, but it was my damned pity party, and I’d eat what I wanted to.

  Then my eyes locked on the copy of Dirty Dancing shoved on the shelf by the gum. I grabbed it, scanned it, and threw it in my bag. If I couldn’t have a happy ending of my own, I wanted to watch Baby come out of the corner.

  It was quarter to nine when I pulled into the driveway. The house was completely dark, which only reminded me that Jake was with her. Beautiful, petite, blond-haired, blue-eyed Grace. Everything I’d never be.

  I quickly changed into boxers and a cami, threw my hair into a messy bun, and set myself up with a picnic in the living room. Fresh toes always made me feel better, so I grabbed a large bowl of soapy water and my box of manicure supplies before starting the movie.

  It was just after ten when I heard the gate open out front, and my stomach sank. I pulled my feet from the water, dried my toes with a nearby towel, and pretended to watch the screen as Patrick Swayze held on to Jennifer Gray’s hip in the merengue.

  His boots hit the deck, and my body stilled with anticipation as I waited for him to open the door.

  A second later he entered, then his eyes ran from my bowl of water to my sushi picnic, and he shook his head. “I won’t ask.” His eyes dropped to the mail in his hand.

  He was more beautiful than any man I’d seen in my life—though maybe I thought that because he was here with me, and not out with Grace. “You’re home early.” I ran my tongue over my suddenly very dry lips.

  He shrugged. “I have to be at work early tomorrow.” Then he looked up again, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Okay, what’s with the bowl?”

  I laughed and glanced down at the soapy water. “I was soaking my feet.”

  He raised his brows, nodded his head, and gave me a look.

  “Oh stop. I’m giving myself a pedicure. They’re good for the soul.”

  “I’ll take your word on that.” He set the mail on the coffee table and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

  I moistened my bottom lip again and my eyes locked on his beautiful throat. Here I was, a grown woman, drooling over a man because I could suddenly see his collarbone. “Have you really never had a pedicure before?” I grabbed a nail file out of the box.

  “Nope.”

  “Do you want one?” The minute the words crossed my lips, I wanted them back. What kind of sickly twisted person was I?

  “Are you offering?”

  I bit my lip. No. “Sure.” Crap! What the hell was I doing?

  He laughed. “Let me take a shower first.”

  Holy shit! First, I couldn’t believe I offered, and second, I couldn’t believe he actually said yes.

  As soon as he turned the corner, my head fell to my hands. But then I realized he’d be back in a minute, and I hopped to my feet, causing some of the water to slosh from the bowl. Crap, crap, crap!

  Maybe if I told him I’d changed my mind? Said I’m too tired? But I was a horrible liar, and he’d see right through me.

  I picked the bowl off the floor, carried it to the kitchen, cleaned up my picnic.

  When I finally sat down, I set a new bowl of soapy water on the ground, crossed my legs high in my lap, and began to file my nails. The shower stopped running, and I took a few calming breaths. Ridiculous. I was completely and utterly ridiculous.

  Jake walked back in the room a minute later wearing those damned sexy PJ pants. A towel hung around his neck, and he scrubbed the back of his head with one end. “Okay, what do I do?”

  I wanted to tell him to go back to his room and lock the damned door, but I was still out of breath, and all I could do was stare at his broad chest and the moisture that lingered on his skin from his shower.

  “Katie?”

  I moved over on the couch, annoyed with myself. “Put your feet in water.”

  He eyed me sideways, like I’d just told him to strip, and discarded the towel to one of the chairs. “Why? I just took a shower.”

  “Just do it,” I ordered—though even to my own ears it sounded silly.

  He grabbed a chair, put his feet in the soapy bowl, and I fetched my pumice stone from the box. Removing one of his feet from the water, I placed it in my lap, and began to scrub.

  “Shit!” he called out, nearly jumping off the couch. “That fucking tickles!”

  I laughed, feeling some of the tension fade, and yanked his foot back in place. “Don’t be such a baby.”

  When I switched to the next foot, he was more prepared, but every time he twitched I had to bite my lip to contain my amusement. I moved quickly to his toes, pretending the whole time he was someone else, then finally finished with a dab of green tea lotion and a sigh of relief. “All done,” I declared. I’d made it all the way through without doing anything stupid.

  But when I glanced up and found him watching me I wasn’t so sure.

  “Thank you,” he said, his tone strange and unreadable.

  I cleared my throat. “You’re welcome.” Not knowing what else to do, I pulled my foot in my lap and pulled a bottle of pink polish out of the box.

  He leaned forward and took the polish from my hand. “Let me.”

  I closed my eyes and laughed nervously. “No, I—”

  But it was too late; he already had the bottle opened and the brush positioned over my toes. “Don’t look so scared, it can’t be much harder than painting a house, right?”

  I wasn’t scared, and this was nothing like painting a house.

  He took my foot in one hand, and a glob of paint dripped from the tip of the brush before he even made it to my nail. Paint ran over my skin, and he muttered under his breath.

  He glanced up at me, looking humbled, and I hid my smile as I handed him a wad of cotton balls.

  “Let me just start over,” he said, then hunched over and got serious.

  When he pulled the brush out for the second time, he wiped one side first and looked up with a proud grin.

  I nodded my approval, then sat perfectly still as the man I was in love with painted my toenails pink. At first I was enthralled. He was the guy’s guy, the baseball jock, the construction worker.

  But then I noticed how seriously he was taking the job, and I started to giggle. Just a little at first, a slight rumble that started in my belly. Then his pinky stuck out and his grip tightened on my foot. I couldn’t stop the rumble from growing.

  Eventually my legs began to shake, and he glanced up, aggravated that I was moving, and froze.

  His serious eyes met mine, and I couldn’t hold it in any longe
r. I bent over, wrapped my arms around my middle, and my whole body began to shake with amusement.

  Before I knew what was happening, I was over Jake’s shoulder, and we were in the kitchen. He was muttering something under his breath as he stepped outside, but I was laughing so hard I couldn’t make out a word he said. The next thing I knew, he tossed me out of his arms, and I sank to the middle of the pool.

  I stood up, completely shocked, and he jumped in after me, laughing as he stalked me. “You. Little. Brat.”

  I backed away, giggling like a schoolgirl, wanting to be caught, but knowing deep down I was playing with fire.

  “I was painting your toes, and you’re sitting there laughing at me?” His dimples flashed and he lunged forward.

  I dove under the water, kicked off the side, and he came after me. I was able to evade him for a minute, but he was too fast, the pool too small, and he grabbed me from behind. I squirmed and kicked; I laughed and struggled—but his grasp only tightened around my waist.

  Then I became aware of my thin camisole clinging to my breasts, and I stopped.

  His breathing was shallow, his mouth close to my ear, and I leaned back against him. “Say uncle,” he whispered.

  The words hit my cheek like a caress. I stilled—my heart pounding a thousand beats per minute—but I couldn’t speak.

  His arms tightened and he came closer, his hands at my waist, his body millimeters from mine. If I leaned back farther our bodies would join. His chest against my back, his lips close enough to taste.

  My chest began to rise and fall with each sexually charged breath, and for the first time in my life I knew it wasn’t only me that felt it. It couldn’t be just me.

  “Say uncle,” he repeated, and my body began to melt.

  I was giving up, unable to resist any longer, but my throat was so tight I could barely speak. “Uncle.”

  We stayed like that a second—my breathing labored and heartbeat wild. But then his arms fell away, his hands trailed down my sides. When I turned around, he was already at the side of the pool, pulling his drenched form out of the water.

  I took in a breath, his rejection all those years ago playing in my head like a movie, and I willed myself to wake up. My heart screamed in protest, but my voice was silent.

  No, please no.

  He never once turned around. Not even when he spoke. “I’ll go get you a towel.” And then he was gone, leaving me more empty and confused than I’d ever been in my whole life.

  IT WASN’T EVERY DAY I came to the conclusion I was screwed. But as I stood cold, aching, and with a whole whirlwind of emotions I wasn’t prepared for, it was painfully obvious. I knew I was putting myself in danger by letting him get too close, but I held a fan to the burning brush, igniting the wildfire that burned inside me. What confused me was that he didn’t pull away. He held me. Maybe just a second too long, but he held me. Leaving a heaviness in my gut and an overwhelming need to flee.

  But I couldn’t. I had no money and needed to stay in LA for work.

  Laughter from the backyard pulled me from my thoughts, and I knew I couldn’t hide in here forever. The lettuce leaf I’d been rinsing was now crumpled in my hand, and I tossed it in the trash, determined not to let my emotions get the better of me. Not today. Not over a stupid fight in the pool.

  My shoulders ached with anticipation of going out there. How could I pretend that seeing Jake with Grace didn’t bother me? I had no right to be jealous, but I couldn’t help the feelings of dread from whirling around in my belly.

  Faking some sort of sickness had crossed my mind more than once, but Jake was the one I wanted to fool, and he would see through me in an instant. I’m such an idiot. How could I let this happen?

  The back door opened, and John entered the kitchen wearing one of his mischievous smiles. Why couldn’t I have feelings for him? He was adorable, sweet, and, most importantly, available.

  “I was just coming to find you.” He sauntered toward me in that easy way of his, and I nervously wiped my hand on a kitchen towel.

  “Just getting things ready for the burgers,” I replied. And avoiding the man I’m in love with, while he spends the day with his girlfriend.

  “Well, it’s no fun out there without you, come out with us.”

  He had a great smile, and I couldn’t help returning it as I grabbed a tomato and began slicing. Maybe I could grow to like him? Maybe if I gave him a chance… What would Jake think of that?

  “Let me just finish this up,” I said, grabbing an onion and removing the delicate outer layers. I knew I was delaying the inevitable—there were only so many things I could slice before raising suspicion—but I needed a few minutes to collect myself.

  “Okay, Katie.” The gentle way he said the words made me think he knew more than he let on. “But if you’re not out in ten minutes I’m coming after you.” His tone was light, but I didn’t doubt for a second he was serious. He placed a beer on the counter next to me, then headed back outside.

  I didn’t hesitate before twisting off the cap and downing half the bottle. Drowning my sorrows with alcohol was probably not the brightest idea, but neither was spending an evening with Jake and his girlfriend sober.

  Ten minutes later, with a whole tray of sliced veggies in the fridge, I took a sip of my third beer and stepped barefoot onto the back deck. The sun was just about to set, and I relished in its heat as it warmed my bare shoulders. It was my favorite time of day. That hour when day meets night, and everything becomes more beautiful.

  I watched the four of them in the outdoor kitchen. Em, John, and Grace were deep in conversation, while Jake prepared the barbecue. Such an ordinary thing, lighting coal, though Jake made it look anything but. The gray T-shirt and black shorts would have gone unnoticed on any other man, but the sight of him made it hard for me to breathe. My eyes traveled down his broad back to the bare feet I’d held in my lap only hours ago. My thoughts lingered on the intimate moment that followed and the reason I couldn’t sleep last night.

  I drank a good portion of my beer noticing how relaxed and happy they all seemed. Em waved her arms in the air—the center of everyone’s attention. Dressed much like me in shorts and a tank top but looked like she stepped out of a magazine.

  The smell of burning coal and lighter fluid drifted toward me, and I reluctantly moved closer. Squaring my shoulders, I forced a smile and listened in on Em’s story. “So I finally got him backed into a corner, declared my everlasting love for him, and he puked all over my brand new red boots!”

  Everyone laughed, and I joined in. Even though I wasn’t quite sure what the story was about.

  “What about you, Katie?” John asked, throwing an arm over my shoulder. I knew he was trying to include me, but all I wanted was to blend into the background and hide.

  “What’s that?” I took another pull of my beer, trying not to notice how adorable Grace looked in her pale yellow sundress. Cute as a button. Damn her!

  “Who was your first crush?”

  The question startled me, and I glanced over at Jake. “I can’t really think of anyone.”

  I caught Grace staring at me, and heat rose to my cheeks. John didn’t seem to catch on to the tension and continued his interrogation. “Come on, everyone has someone.” He squeezed my shoulder, and I could sense Jake’s eyes on me. I was suddenly pissed off. He knew how I felt then—still knew. How could he not? I was practically trembling in his arms last night.

  I took another long drink of my beer before answering. “Well, there was this one guy. But he turned out to be an asshole.”

  Jake choked on his beer, and Em began pounding him on the back, but I couldn’t look at him. I moved from John’s embrace toward the table and popped a blueberry from the tray into my mouth.

  “What about you, John?” I asked, turning around to lean against the table. The beers had already given me a slight buzz, and I decided that flirting with John might be best way to survive this night.

  “What about me, swee
theart?” he replied, walking toward me with that devilish grin.

  “Who was your first crush?”

  “Well, I was eight, and I threw a handful of mud at a little cutie named Penelope Sanders. If fact, that’s how I got this scar.” He reached up to touch his chin, and I smiled, wondering if he was telling the truth.

  “Katie, are the burgers ready?” There was an edge to Jake’s voice, but I pretended not to notice.

  “Yes, they’re in the fridge,” I replied sweetly, just like a nineteen-fifties housewife.

  “Can you come show me?”

  I rolled my eyes and followed Jake inside. From the forceful way he walked, I could tell he was already annoyed with me. Good.

  I brushed past him when we got to the kitchen, yanked open the fridge, pulled out the tray of burgers and set them firmly on the center island. “There you go,” I said, then, not wanting to stick around, I turned back to the door.

  “Are you mad at me?” His gruff voice halted me.

  I spun around, intending to give him a piece of my mind, but stopped. The expression on his face made my throat tighten. “No, why would I be mad?” Because you held me like I was the most precious thing on earth, when you knew nothing would ever come of it?

  “You’ve been avoiding me since I got home.”

  What he said was true, but nothing I could say would make things better. I was close to baring it all, to walking out the door and telling him to leave me alone.

  “Katie—”

  The torture in his voice was measurable, and I had no doubt he was sorry. Just like he was three years ago. But I didn’t want sorry. The last thing I wanted was for him to say he was sorry. I closed my eyes, knowing I couldn’t bear to hear his excuses. All the reasons he would never think of me the way I wanted him to.

  “Everything okay?”

  I turned to face the girl who’d won him. The girl he wanted. Grace.

  “Yep. Need a drink? I know I could use another.”

  She shook her head, and I grabbed another beer and stormed outside.

  Em blocked me at the door, and I could tell she was curious about what transpired. For someone who’d known me such a short amount of time, she read me so well.