by Geneva Lee
Before Max can continue, Jude bends down to his level. “I need to help your mom with something. Is it okay if I work on your car?”
Max’s eyes follow his lips and he puffs out his chest, giving Jude a permissive nod. The man of the house has handed me off, it seems.
I cross my arms and wait. I can handle whatever it is that has brought Jude Mercer to my doorstep. I just needed to button my pants first.
“I’ve been worrying about your car,” he says as he walks past me and deposits his jacket on the couch. “I thought I could take a look. See what I can fix.”
“Oh.” I search for a polite way to tell him to fuck off, because I don’t think I can handle another five minutes of staring at him in his tight shirt with his stupid tattoo peeking out from the sleeve. Not without jumping him anyway. “That’s not necessary. I know a guy…”
“Yeah me,” he interrupts. “Look, I brought my tools over.”
I’m well aware of that.
“I don’t need help,” I blurt out.
“You’ve made that pretty clear.” But he continues toward the garage. “Max and I have an agreement.”
“But what about—”
He flashes me a grin that makes me forget my objection. “You’ll have to take it up with Max.”
I don’t take it up with Max. Instead I pace for a while. Then I try to watch the movie again, but I decide it might send the wrong message if Jude walks in and catches me tearing up over a TV movie. I begin and abandon a dozen activities before it’s time to make dinner. Water is boiling on the stove when Amie lets herself in the front door.
“What is that?” I eye the package tucked into the top of her purse, but she snags the bag before I can investigate.
“I brought you something.” Mischief twinkles in her eyes as she holds it away from me. “But first tell me what the unholy noise is emanating from our garage.”
I search for an explanation that won’t result in her rushing out to ogle Jude as he works. “Pest control.”
“Pest control drives a yellow Jeep, huh? I didn’t know we had an infestation problem.” She glances toward the front door. “If it sounds that bad, maybe we should make a run for it.”
“Not necessary.” There’s no point to lying to her. Amie is, and has always been, a distracted creature. “Come on, I’m making mac-n-cheese for Max, and you have a present for me.”
She follows me, her nose scrunching when I empty the blue box of noodles into a pot of boiling water. Processed foods are an abomination according to her. As the mother of a four-year-old, I hold no such prejudices. I’d once scoffed at individual yogurt packets and boxed juice. Now I understand. But I don’t try to stop her when she pulls out a block of aged cheddar and begins to grate it. A few minutes later, she’s starting a roux for her homemade cheese sauce. At least, Max is used to the gourmet version of preschooler cuisine. As she begins to add the cheese, she zeroes in on me.
“So about the pests in the garage…” she trails away, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“It’s really big,” I say in mock solemnity. “It had to be dealt with.”
She shakes her whisk at me, splattering the kitchen with half melted cheese.
“Hey, we don’t have a kitchen crew to clean that up.” I swipe the whisk from her and drop it in the pot.
“Spill,” she demands. “Or I’ll add broccoli to this.”
“Why punish Max?” I skirt around her to grab apple juice from the fridge.
“Because I know you’re going to eat, too, and you hate broccoli. Which is ridiculous. You’re a grown woman.” She pauses mid-lecture and returns to her sauce.
“So that’s it?” I lean against the counter and try to catch her eye. “You’re going to punish me with vegetables?”
“I have to do something. This situation is more serious than I thought,” she says quietly not looking up from her sauce, which to be fair is at a pivotal stage.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Get the bag.”
I frown but her cryptic attitude shift and the mystery package are too tempting to ignore. Picking up the bag, I peek inside and find a long black box. “Did you buy me my own cooking utensils again, because the stuff I got at the grocery store is fine.”
“That is not true. That stuff fell apart. I switched it out with Le Creuset months ago. Nope this is something you need even more, especially now that you have a pest problem.”
I don’t miss the suggestive way she says pest. She knows it’s not an exterminator in the garage. But a present is a present, so I take the lid off and shriek. A number of words cross my mind as I stare. Big. Purple. Long. Thick.
But mostly: dildo.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I dump the box on the table and back away like it’s a snake. “I don’t need a…a…”
“Vibrator?” she offers. “Acceptance is the first step, babe. You need to accept that your vagina has been out of commission for so long that archaeologists are planning digs there.”
“That’s not remotely true.” I’m not holding it, but I can’t stop staring at it. Is the realistic shape necessary? What’s the point if it’s purple?
“When was the last time you had sex?” she presses. “Max’s dad?”
I hesitate. It’s a subject that doesn’t come up. Not sex. Sex comes up all the time. That’s what happens when your roommate has the libido of a sixteen-year-old boy. Max’s father. We don’t talk about him. I shut the conversation down the first time he came up and she’d stayed away from the topic since then. “Yeah, I guess.”
It’s the most I’m willing to share.
“You guess?” Apparently it’s still too much. “If you can’t remember it’s even worse than I thought. This is an emergency.” She abandons the sauce and grabs the vibrator, trying to shove it into my hands.
After a few minutes of her chasing me around the kitchen, trying to show me the various settings, I give. “Will you stop? I prefer the real deal.”
“Are you asexual? Is that it?” She eyes me as if she can analyze where I’ve gone so wrong.
“No, I’m tired and I’m a mom and I don’t have time for sex. If I wanted to, I’m sure…”
“Yeah, I bet the Orkin Man in there would be happy to help,” she says dryly.
“Orkin Man?” Jude’s deep baritone interrupts us.
I jump, but Amie panics and tosses the dildo to me. Having never been an athlete, I don’t catch it. It lands at my feet in all its purple majesty and rolls a few feet to the center of the kitchen. Jude sees it all and somehow keeps a straight face.
“I got the motor replaced. You can now freely roll down your window without fear. No major repairs needed,” he informs me as though there isn’t a bright, plastic penis lying on the floor.
“I owe you so much.” I push Amie forward, stepping around her as she scoops up the renegade sex toy.
“About that…”
I plaster on a smile as my heart begins to pound against my rib cage.
“How about dinner?”
“Well, you’re in luck. Amie made her famous mac-n-cheese.” I bite my lip, hoping things don’t go any farther. And hoping they do.
“Actually, I want to take you out.”
“You did the work.”
“So I should get to pick dinner, and I feel like Chinese.”
“Okay! Chinese food not sex!” I burst out.
He raises an eyebrow, but betrays no surprise. “Deal. I never mix Chinese food and sex anyway.”
I pray for a hole to open under my feet and swallow me. Instead Max darts into the kitchen and barrels into Jude. But before I can apologize or pull Max away, he wraps himself tightly around Jude’s legs. Max beams up and at him. For all the willpower Jude showed in the last few minutes, he can’t resist grinning back at my son’s adoring face. The knot I usually feel low in my belly around this man winds itself around my heart and tightens.
There was a reason I’d refused him the first time
he’d offered to help with the Civic. I remember that now as I stare at the dangerous scene unfolding in front of me. I’ve chosen to believe I could be enough to make up for the absence of Max’s father. In this moment I know I’ve failed.
“Dinner.” My voice is tight and Amie immediately jumps into action.
“I’ve got it. Max and I will hang tonight.” She picks Max up and heads to a cabinet, calling over her shoulder. “You two go on.”
Am I really going to do this? I’m not certain what message leaving with Jude will send Max.
But Jude doesn’t give me a chance to back out. He moves toward me and places a hand on the small of my back, and the slight contact sends me back to that night in the rain and the forbidden kiss we shared. “I’ll have her home early. Grab your purse.”
Even as my mind continues its run-down of all the reasons this is a horrible idea, my body shifts into auto-pilot, doing exactly as he says. A tingling sensation radiates from fingertips up my arms to the back of my neck. Excitement. I can’t deny the anticipation building within me even as my brain tries to argue against my actions. But I can’t fight my feelings while he’s touching me, even in such an innocent way. Because the gesture is so protective, so safe, that I can’t deny my urge to go with him.
Sorry, sweetheart, you’re losing this battle.
“Mind if we take my car?” he asks as he leads me toward the front door.
“Don’t want to be seen in mine?” In all fairness, it might no longer sound like it’s chewing scrap metal, but it’s probably filled with old french fries and junk mail. I don’t even remember the last time I bothered to vacuum it.
He opens the door with a shrug. “I’ve already been seen in it. I only thought you might enjoy being the one driven around for once.”
Such a simple offer but one laced with attention. I’m always the one in control–the responsible one. Even splitting a lot of the domestic tasks with Amie basically equates to finding enough time for each of us to get things done. She has the restaurant. I have a kid. We help each other as a matter of survival not luxury. I can’t remember the last time I handed full control of my time over to another person.
“That would be nice,” I accept slowly.
The sight of his yellow Jeep dredges up more overwhelming sensations. If he pressed me against it now, would I let him kiss me again? Is the fact that I’m even wondering that proof that I want him to? He opens the passenger door for me and before I can stop him he lifts me into the seat.
I yelp even as my heart leaps, recalling the last time he gripped my hips. “I’m not that short!”
“I beg to differ.” His mouth curves into a panty-melting grin. What have I gotten myself into?
I cross my arms as if they can protect my heart and shake my head. “I got in here just fine the other night.”
“You scaled it like a rock wall.” He shuts the door and leans in through the open window. “This is a date, Faith. Like it or not.”
The monster dildo may have given him the wrong impression of my expectations for the evening. “This isn’t a date!” He’s already walking around the car. If he heard me he doesn’t respond as he climbs inside.
But as he shifts the Jeep into gear, he flashes me a wicked smile. “Darling, this is a date.”
Chapter 9
We don’t have to go far to get to the restaurant, which is good because Jude drives like a maniac. Either he’d been extra careful the night we picked up Anne from the bar or I’d been too preoccupied to notice. Tonight I find myself wishing I actually had a Last Will and Testament. I might need it sooner rather than later.
Thankfully the designers of his death rig have been thoughtful enough to make the whole interior a giant cage to hang on to when he swerves around corners. I send up a silent prayer of thanks when he pulls into the parking lot. But I’m still glued to my seat when he comes around to help me down.
“Did I go too fast?” he asks when I lurch out of the passenger seat.
“No.” I glare at him and pull away. “But hold on, I vowed I would kiss the ground if I made it here safely.”
“So much for giving you a ride. Next time I’ll let you drive.”
I’m too preoccupied with the thought of next time to respond, so I hurry past him toward the door. He beats me there but not without effort. I have to admit that I like to see the man hustle. He looks good in action. Of course, he looks good all the time.
“I have discovered that the Lucky Dragon is the best hole-in-the-wall Chinese in town.” Jude opens the door and waits for me to enter.
“It’s also the only Chinese in town.” Most girls wouldn’t consider this an impressive first date, but I’m out of practice. A few out-of-date calendar scrolls line the walls and despite the old fast food chain booths that came with the place, the owners have hung a couple of pretty, paper lanterns from the ceiling. In a way it has its own quirky ambience complete with the aromas of soy sauce and frying oil wafting around us.
It’s not in any way intimidating like say a Michelin star restaurant or dinner at the parents, so why do I feel so warm?
No one has ever been nervous in a Chinese restaurant before. I nonchalantly wipe my palms on my jeans, afraid he might take my hand and discover I’m sweating. Jude moves toward a table and I panic. Mumbling an excuse about needing the ladies room, I dart to the safety of the bathroom. Right now that women’s sign holds the promise of a quarantine zone. Jude isn’t coming in here. Once I shut the door behind me, I realize that eventually I will have to go out.
Digging my phone out of my purse, I call my emergency contact, because I’m definitely in crisis. Amie answers in one ring.
“A date isn’t going to kill you.”
I never claimed she was good in a crisis. For the moment I ignore that fact and launch into the situation. “He went toward a table and I didn’t know if I was supposed to wait for him to pull out my chair. Obviously I’m a capable woman who can pull out her own goddamn chair but is it rude not to let him? What if he doesn’t try to at all and I’m left standing next to it looking like an entitled bitch?
“Faith, literally no one in the history has ever overthought a date this much.” I can feel her sigh through the phone. It actually vibrates through the speaker.
“That was helpful.”
“Get your ass out of the bathroom and back to Jude before I come steal him,” she orders me.
“You’re babysitting,” I remind her.
“Where there’s a will,” she threatens. “Seriously, the captain has requested you return to your seat. Stop being pathetic and exit the lavatory.”
I hang up on her just so she knows I don’t find her funny. Someday when we’re old and gray she’s going to crack jokes while I have a coronary. I should probably have a discussion with her about appropriate crisis intervention.
I pause at the mirror, which only reminds me that I never put on a drop of make-up today. Not a confidence booster. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to open the door.
Jude’s waiting in a booth and I slide in so quickly that I nearly fall out the other side. At least the chair issue is laid to rest.
“What did Amie say?” he asks as he hands me a paper menu.
I devote my full attention to the Chef’s Specials. “No clue what you’re talking about.”
“You disappeared for the length of a bible. I was beginning to worry that you had climbed out the window.”
I toss the menu on the table. It’s probably a bad idea to eat anything with my stomach in knots. Fiddling with my straw, I shrug. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I practically kidnapped you.”
“No, you didn’t.” I can still be cool. I have the capacity for it inside me somewhere.
“Sunshine, I would have had an easier time at gunpoint.”
The waitress appears interrupting our banter and I order my old standby: Sesame Chicken. Jude orders for an army. When she finally stops scribbling it down, I’m gawking.
&nbs
p; “I love Chinese,” he admits. “It’s hard to find around here. Dozens of teriyaki places and no Kung Pao chicken. I’ll take home the leftovers and eat for a week.”
Instantly I imagine curling up on the couch and slurping down cold lo mein with him. The vision twists inside me. Could things ever be that comfortable with him? Not until I corral the tireless butterflies I’ve felt since the moment we met.
“What do you love, Faith?” he asks.
I must be a hell of a conversationalist if he’s forced to ask me leading questions at every turn. He might have dragged me out tonight but I can’t change the fact that I’m here. “Music,” I start and then the answers pour out of me like they’ve been waiting for him to come and ask this question for years, “and the rain, especially when it’s foggy. Coffee in the morning but tea at night. Yellow. Every shade of it. Cats.”
“Cats?” he repeats back. “Not dogs?”
“I like puppies, but I love cats. They’re so wonderfully selfish. They just lie around and sleep, then demand you attend to them.”
Jude laughs and all I can think of is making him laugh again. “You sound jealous.”
“I am jealous,” I admit. “Who doesn’t want to be a house cat?”
“Not a street cat?”
“Been there, done that.” I wave him off. “Living off scraps and taking charity. Yeah, not anymore.”
“Maybe not even cats have it made.” His palm is on the table and I wonder if he’ll slide it across to mine. I haven’t been this aware of a man’s hands since tenth grade.
“I guess not.” I sip on my water vaguely aware of the music playing on an old stereo in the kitchen. The dining room isn’t crowded. Everyone who’s come in after us has left with takeout.
“It’s your song,” Jude points out at about the time I realize that I’m humming.
“By the way, you were right about the words. I looked them up.”
