Chapter 6
Joelle
Idon’t know who came up with the whole idea of cold showers but it’s a crock of shit.
I shut off the water and grab the towel, drying off as fast as I can to try to stop the shivers. Now I’m just annoyed AND horny.
I don’t know what came over me the other night, flirting with Alex at the bar like that, but whatever it was it hasn’t gone away. My skin is hot and feels too tight. I can hardly walk without squeezing my thighs together against the ache there. I can’t concentrate.
I’m a hot fucking mess.
I swear to God, I don’t think I was this hormonal in high school. I want to blame it on the stress of a new job, or tell myself I’m deflecting because juggling my responsibilities at home with my new job is hard. But Jesus, you’d think I’d never had an orgasm before.
And even if that were true, it’s definitely not the case after these last few days. Ever since I sat in that bar and heard Alex mention me riding Elliot, I can’t stop thinking about it. Even though I know he didn’t actually say that. Alex was perfectly respectful and appropriate the whole time we talked, which was frustrating as hell. I thought for sure he was interested in me. He was definitely flirting with me at the beginning.
That’s what’s so confusing. I don’t know which part turns me on more—flirting with Elliot’s super-hot friend, or the idea of riding my boss like I’m trying to save a horse. I’ve never been as attracted to a man in my life as I am to Elliot James, and now all of a sudden there’s two of them? It makes no sense.
I’m going to spontaneously combust—and not in the sexy way. Sometimes I think I’m literally going to catch fire.
“Joelle!”
I groan, burying the sound into my towel before I crack open the bathroom door.
“Be out in a bit,” I call. I dress quickly, putting on the barest minimum of makeup. No point in making more effort—I’ll just sweat it off in the kitchen.
Hormone explosion aside, the job is better than I could have dreamed. I’m learning a lot, especially since Elliot lets me shadow him whenever he’s in the kitchen. The rest of the crew, too. Aside from the usual new-kid ribbing, they’re great about showing me the ropes and making sure I don’t get overwhelmed. It’s only been a couple of weeks but I’m taking it as a good sign that I haven’t run away screaming. Maybe, just maybe I’m finally heading in the right direction.
When I get to the living room, Dad’s already in his chair, TV on mute.
“Morning, Dad,” I say, bending to kiss his cheek. He grunts.
“Where do you think you’re going at this hour?”
“I told you yesterday, remember? I’m heading in a couple of hours early to work on the new menu.” I force my shoulders to relax. “I sent a copy of my schedule to your email the other day. Did you see it?”
I know he did. Read receipts are a thing. And he knows that I know, but he just shrugs.
“Is there anything you need before I head out?” I ask from the kitchen. He’s got food ready to heat up and the team will be here soon so he won’t be alone all day today.
“What am I supposed to do when those morons aren’t here?” He asks. “They’re only around three times a week. What am I supposed to do the other days?”
“I don’t know, Dad,” I say. If I can hear my own exasperation, there’s no way he can miss it. I take a deep breath and try again. “Maybe try taking a walk?”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Dad’s face goes red. “Don’t you disrespect me, young lady. I’ve kept a roof over your head for damn near twenty-three years.”
Pretty sure I’ve been doing the keeping the last couple of years. I bury the thought fast. It won’t help.
“I know, Dad, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I only thought the fresh air would do you good. Maybe you could go visit some of your friends down at the VFW. You haven’t been in ages, right?”
I don’t know I was thinking, suggesting he go to a bar. Dad’s barely left the house in years for anything, let alone to socialize.
As if he can hear my thoughts, he snorts.
“Those jerks,” he says, adjusting his leg where it’s propped on the ottoman. “I got nothing to say to that lot anymore.”
“Maybe the library, then,” I suggest. I sneak a glance at my watch. I’ve got about thirty more seconds for this conversation, otherwise I’m going to miss my bus.
Another shrug.
“Storm front moving in,” he says, his eyes back on the television. I can tell he’s tuning me out again and as much as I hate that he won’t even try to get out on his own, I don’t have time to convince him right now.
“Okay,” I say, kissing his cheek again. “If you need me, I’ll be at the restaurant. I should be home in time for dinner.”
The bus ride gives me plenty of time to kick my own butt for trying to get him to leave the house. Talking about drinks is a waste of time if you can’t even get the horse to water.
I don’t know what he expects me to do. He knows we need the money. I’ve explained to him that I need this experience to qualify for the program at school. It’s not like we haven’t talked about all of this.
Maybe it’s not that he thinks he needs help. Maybe what he’s worried about is being alone in case something bad happens. After the accident and all the surgical complications that cropped up after it, I can’t really blame him. Worst Case Scenario isn’t just a vague fear for either of us anymore—it was our real life, for a while. Only Dad didn’t die.
I close my eyes against the thought. At eighteen, I hadn’t known a single person my age who knew what it felt like to take care of a parent. Having the impossible conversation of what would happen if another surgery went sideways, permanently.
It didn’t though, and Dad’s been well and truly on the mend for more than a year. Jim and Jessica go out of their way to encourage his independence and they’re forever telling me how much more he’s capable of if he’d just try. But that’s the thing—I can’t try for him, no matter how much I want to.
Maybe that’s what he needs, somebody else to tell him this stuff. A friend, a companion even. He’s long past needing a nurse, and thank God for that because there’s no way we could afford it at this point. I don’t know any of his friends anymore, if there are any still around. The crowd he used to hang out with at the VFW never came around the house even before the accident, and none of them showed up once it became clear that Dad’s recovery was going to take a lot longer than a few weeks.
Can you hire companions? The thought makes me snort. Yeah, that’ll go over well. Like a cement block tied to a kid’s balloon.
But I make a note in my phone to look into later, because what have I got to lose?
Connie’salready working through her daily checklist when I walk into the kitchen half an hour later.
“Morning, girlie,” she says glancing over her shoulder. “How’s tricks?”
“I don’t know what that means.” She says that every day but has never actually explained it to me. “How’s it looking?” I ask, gesturing at her list.
“Pretty good, considering who closed up last night,” she says, rolling her eyes before sticking me with a look. “Cheech and Chong had some help, I think.”
I flush and keep my eyes down. I’d stayed a few minutes later to cover what I could, knowing the guys closing last night were way more interested in sneaking outside to smoke… whatever it is they smoke than they were in finishing their prep.
“Glad to hear it,” I mumble. Dragging out my notes, I pull up a stool across from her.
“How’s your dad doing?” she asks.
“Okay,” I say. Connie’s quiet long enough that I look up, meeting her skeptical look head on. “Okay, so maybe ‘okay’ isn’t the right word.”
“He’s still not happy about you being gone?”
I nod. “Do you know anything about hiring companions?”
“You mean, like a hooker?”
My face goes lava hot and something in my expression makes her cackle.
“Oh, honey,” says Connie, wiping the corner of her eye. “You make it too easy.”
“I mean, like a nurse. Except he doesn’t need a nurse. He just needs somebody to hang out with. Somebody to talk to, or to help him get stuff around the house.” Or to dial 911, like he’s always so damn worried he won’t be able to do himself.
Truth be told, I worry about it too.
“We don’t have any other family close by, or I’d ask one of his sisters,” I say, shuffling my papers around.
“What kind of timeframe do you have in mind? During the day? Just when you’re out of the house?” she asks, busy again checking the labels on containers in the coolers next to us.
“Basically, any hours while I’m at work. It doesn’t have to be the whole time, just enough so he’s not alone the whole day. His therapists are there three times a week, so it’d really only be Tuesdays and Thursdays that we’d need somebody,” I say. “Why? Do you know somebody?”
“You could say that,” she says. She marks the final tick on her checklist and sets the clipboard down with a snap. “You and me are on opposite schedules the next couple of weeks.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “My kids got their own lives these days. All the grandkids are in school. It’s just me and Rupert at home.” I’ve seen pictures of Rupert, but haven’t had a chance to meet him yet. He’s freaking adorable. “Plus, you might I’ve got some experience keeping an eye on somebody who needs help. If your dad’s agreeable to the idea, I’m your girl.”
“You really mean it, Connie? It wouldn’t be forever, and I’ll pay you, of course—”
“Don’t even start with that bullshit, young lady,” she says, glaring at me. “That’s the last I’ll hear of any payment talk. I’ve got the time, and it’s not hard for me to talk to somebody as maybe you’ve noticed. I’m glad to help.”
The first tear falls before I can catch it and Connie’s glare goes laser-focused, strong enough to have me sniffling the rest back fast.
Connie’s husband Frank died about ten years ago after his fourth long battle with colon cancer. She doesn’t talk about him much but he must have been one hell of a guy to have fought it off so long. I don’t think she would make this offer lightly, and it makes me want to weep. Which she’d obviously hate, so I suck it up for later.
“Is tomorrow too soon?” I ask, ignoring the quiver in my voice. The glare dissipates and she smiles a little.
“No problem,” she says. “I gotta get back to work. Text me your address. I’ll head over there around lunch tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” I say. She’s almost rounded the corner when I get myself together enough to call out my thanks. Connie just waves without turning and then I can’t stop the tears.
They’re happy tears, sort of. It’s a relief to have one thing go right, even if it wasn’t at all what I expected.
“What’s all this?” comes a deep voice from behind me. Sex Voice, but dialed back to Sexy Voice this time.
I wipe my face on the sleeve of my sweater as discreetly as I can manage before I turn to face my boss.
“Nothing,” I say. The sniffling might have given me away, though, if his expression is anything to go on.
“Uh huh,” says Elliot. “Do I need to beat somebody up?”
It makes me laugh and I see him start to relax.
“Nothing like that,” I tell him, managing a wobbly smile. “But thanks anyway.”
Elliot gives me a long look, long enough for the tears to dry up and my skin to flush. He set his hands on the table, leaning in close to my face, close enough I catch the clean scent of his soap. His hair is damp and curling at the nape of his neck and the urge to bury my nose there is intense.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, his eyes on mine.
I can think of a couple of things he can do. A hundred things. A hundred thousand things.
But he’s my boss and I need this job now more than ever, so I shake my head and give him a stronger smile this time. His gaze drops to my mouth and for a second the air goes still around us.
This time, Elliot shakes his head, righting himself and taking a step back.
“If there’s anything I can do, you let me know, Joelle,” he says. “Please.”
“I will. Thank you.” Elliot walks down the line and back into his office, shutting the door behind him. I inhale, trying to get back some of the air he stole.
I’m so screwed.