13. Izzy
13
IZZY
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Derrick grumbles, though he makes no move to pull away from me.
“It’s face mask night,” I say, spreading a charcoal mask over his forehead and cheeks. “You have to join in.”
He makes a huffing noise, but that’s the extent of his argument. I take it as a win, since he remains steady and doesn’t fight me as I continue my work. His attention stays fixed on me as I spread a thick layer over his skin, making it hard to ignore how close our bodies are in this tiny hall bathroom. He’s propped up against the sink, and there are only a few inches between his chest and mine. I have no doubt my nipples are hard, since our proximity is all I can think about. Dammit, why didn’t I put a bra on after my shower?
As if he heard me cursing myself, he lowers his gaze to my chest before quickly looking away. His Adam’s apple bobs when he clears his throat.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him it’s okay to look. That I want him to look, but the fear of rejection keeps the words at bay. I can handle it when a guy isn’t into me, but I’m not sure I could handle it if this guy wasn’t into me.
When I’m finished with the mask, I step to my left and wash my hands. The move, unfortunately, brings us elbow to elbow and hip to hip. Unless he moves, there’s no way around it. “All done,” I whisper softly.
Finally, he straightens and moves past me, but not until after he gives my hip a soft pinch. “My face better be as smooth as a baby’s butt after this.”
Laughing, I dry my hands on the towel that hangs from the ring on the wall. “I’m not sure about that, but your pores will look fantastic .”
“That’ll have to be enough, I guess.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
As I turn, I find him standing in the doorway, blocking my exit, and my stupid, treacherous mind wonders what it would be like if he leaned down and kissed me. Backed me up against the sink and lifted me onto the counter. His mouth on mine. His hands on my skin. His scent invading my nose.
I have to bite my lip to keep a moan from escaping.
I desperately need my vibrator, but that will have to wait.
Finally, after an awkward moment of silence, he moves away from the door, taking my fantasy with him and down the stairs.
I count to thirty before I follow.
“Popcorn?” I ask, already pulling a box out of the pantry.
“Sure.” He picks up a piece of homemade pizza we haven’t cleaned up yet and takes a bite. He insisted he wasn’t going to like the feta and apple flatbread pizza, but then devoured his in its entirety.
“That’s my piece,” I scold him, but there’s no malice in my tone. Only pure amusement. The man still doubts me in the kitchen, but with any luck, he’ll change his mind soon. Except for the tofu tacos last week, he’s enjoyed all the meals I’ve made.
He smiles and takes another bite. “Do you ever film cooking videos on your channel?”
“No.” I stick the popcorn bag into the microwave and push the button, then turn back to him. With my elbows propped on the island, I rest my chin in my hands. “Cooking is for me. I don’t want to make it feel like a job. Setting up a camera and talking through every step, then editing and blah, blah, blah? That’s like work, and I don’t want to risk ruining something I love.”
Brows lowered, he lets out a thoughtful hum. “I never thought about that—how whatever you film, even if it’s something you’ve always loved, becomes a job.”
“I keep certain things to myself,” I admit, tapping my nails against my cheek. “I cherish them more because they’re only for me. I was thinking…” I wet my lips, working up the nerve to broach this subject. “If you’re cool with me filming a project for my channel—you never gave me an answer when I asked—would you also be willing to let me help with design choices?”
He gives a gruff laugh, pulling out a kitchen chair. He plops into it and crosses his arms. The light above the table bathes him in an orange glow. “I’m not HGTV, Izzy.”
“I know. But I…”
He doesn’t let me flounder for words long. “Film, help, do whatever you want. ”
Hope blooms in my chest. For the first time in months, genuine excitement consumes me.
It’s tempered a fraction when the microwave chimes. So I pull it out, tear the bag open, and dump the contents into the large bowl.
“Want any other snacks?” Derrick asks. “I made brownies.”
I freeze, bowl clutched to my chest, breath catching. “Brownies? When?”
“While you were taking a nap.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” I chastise teasingly. “Blasphemous.”
A tiny grin spreads his lips. “I’ll grab them.”
While he does that, I scurry into the family room with the popcorn and get comfortable. My couch in LA is for show rather than comfort. It never bothered me before now. I’ve played into that lifestyle for so long that I never considered choosing furniture with different priorities in mind. But that’s just one of many things about my life that have left me unsatisfied. I don’t regret my career or my move to LA. It was the right move for me at the time, and the location was the right place to be for my goals. But I’ve outgrown it.
Derrick settles beside me with a tray full of brownies. His added weight causes me to dip closer to him. He doesn’t say a word when he leans forward to set the brownies on the table and my toes bump his leg.
I cue up the show, and we settle into companionable silence. We keep the popcorn between us, both sneaking pieces to Wonton periodically. I’m still not over the night he got spooked and ran away. Losing my furry best friend is a devastation I don’t want to contemplate.
“Is this supposed to feel crunchy?” Derrick asks, wiggling his nose in a way that makes the mask crack .
“It hardens as it dries.” I try not to laugh at the way he grimaces.
He huffs lightly. “The things you women do for beauty.”
“It’s worth it. You’ll see.”
It’s totally possible he won’t agree, but I love how soft my skin is after I rinse it off.
When the episode of Gilmore Girls is over, we head upstairs to wash off our masks. I’ve just rinsed the last bit off my face when Derrick calls out to me from his bathroom. “It won’t come off! Help me!”
I dry my face on a fluffy towel, chuckling, then pad into his room.
I’ve never crossed this threshold before. Bedrooms are sacred spaces. One must be invited in like a vampire before entering. A large, warm-colored rug covers the majority of the hardwood floor, and his king-size bed is set between two windows. The headboard is made of a dark fabric that’s both masculine and stylish, adding to the aesthetic of the whole cozy room.
“Did you decorate your room yourself?” I ask when I join him in the bathroom.
He looks up with his hands still on his face and the mask smeared all over him and into his facial hair. “Yeah. Why?”
I glance back over my shoulder. There’s a bookcase beside his dresser, filled with books and other memorabilia. And… oh, wow. An old record player and a neat stack of vinyls on the floor.
“It’s beautiful,” I finally answer after a prolonged staring session. “You really like records, huh? I have a small collection back in LA. There’s a record store attached to a coffee shop down the street from my apartment. It’s one of my favorite places to go. ”
He arches a brow, top lip twitching with amusement at my word vomit. “Nothing beats vinyl.”
“That’s where Reid gets his love for it, huh?”
He doesn’t answer me, but his eyes get heavy, and the air thickens with tension. Our bodies seem to draw into one another.
Kiss me. He’s going to kiss me .
I’m ready for it.
Prepared.
Craving .
Wonton barks downstairs, dissolving the moment. It goes up like a cloud of smoke as we both startle back.
Derrick turns back to the mirror. “I tried to get it off, and it just…” He shrugs in a helpless way. “It keeps getting everywhere.”
“Dampen your face again.”
He leans over the sink and does as I’ve said and then I carefully wipe at the remaining mask with a cloth.
“Add more water.”
We work together until there isn’t even a speck of mask left in his beard.
Once I’ve rinsed the washcloth and he’s patted his face dry, we hesitate, watching each other in the mirror. But he doesn’t let it linger. With a thick swallow, he turns the light off and leads the way back downstairs.
We settle on the couch, pretending nothing at all happened upstairs. All the while, my body aches with want from the kiss that never was.
“Brownie?” Derrick asks.
I want to say no. I’m not in the mood for one now, but it’ll keep my mouth occupied and hopefully distract me from my thoughts. So I say, “Sure. ”
When he holds the plate out to me, I thank him and take a square, the texture perfectly chewy. And when I take a bite? It takes all my strength not to moan.
Yep, perfection.
Can he do nothing wrong? It would go a long way in calming my raging hormones if he had at least a flaw or two. His love for bacon and processed foods drives me a wee bit crazy, but it’s not enough to keep my libido in check.
As I finish my brownie, Wonton sniffs the blanket, searching for crumbs, and because I’m a paranoid dog mom, I give him a gentle shove away and make sure there are none.
With a sigh, I lie on my side and prop my head on a throw pillow. Onscreen, Lorelei and Rory get up to all their antics.
“Who’s your favorite character so far?” I ask Derrick.
He purses his lips, giving my question some serious thought, which I appreciate. Anything Gilmore Girls related is serious business.
“I like the mom.”
“Lorelei?”
He shakes his head. “No, her mom.”
I blink at him, flabbergasted. “You’re an Emily fan? I’m horrified.” Even though I love Emily now , I’d hardly expect her to be a first-time watcher’s favorite character.
He shrugs. “I think she’s misunderstood. She doesn’t always go about things in the right way. But it’s clear she’s been hurt in the past—probably her own upbringing—so healthy communication isn’t her strong suit. It’s obvious she loves Lorelei, though, even if she doesn’t say it.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “That isn’t at all who I thought you’d pick.”
He chuckles and pulls my feet onto his lap, eliciting a squeak of surprise from me. “Who’d you think I’d pick? ”
Ignoring the way my heart rate has increased, I clear my throat. “Luke.”
Derrick lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “I like Luke, but my favorite is definitely Emily.”
“I truly don’t know what to do with this shocking piece of information.” I grin.
In response, Derrick digs his thumb into the arch of my foot.
Eyes rolling back, I groan with pleasure. “That feels good.”
He does it again, and before I know it, he’s massaging my feet.
With his hands on my body like this, it’s next to impossible to avoid thinking about the almost-kiss.
I’m not crazy, right? He wanted to kiss me.
Doubts settle into my mind. Could I have imagined the whole thing?
My mind spirals, and when I can’t take it anymore, I pull my feet from his grasp and pause the show. “I’m tired. I need to go to bed,” I blurt out in a gasping breath.
More like I need to go to my room so I can pull out my vibrator and pretend it’s not Derrick I’m thinking about.
Face scrunched with confusion, he stutters, “I… okay.”
Wonton happily follows me up the stairs to bed, where I close the door and lean my back against it.
I need to get over this ridiculous crush.
It’s not good for me or my sanity.