Chapter 11
Jake
“J ake?” she whispers. I can barely hear her through the patter of rain against the window. She was supposed to be asleep.
“Yeah?” We turn to face each other, and we’ve somehow moved closer.
“Do you think the bear is still in my room?” Her upper eyelids raise up, showing more of the whites in her eyes. Before I can say anything, the room goes dark. Great, my laptop must have died. I left it on since she’s afraid of the dark. Her breath hitches audibly in the quiet room.
“It’s okay,” I instinctively pull her closer to me. Something I’ve never done before, but feels as natural as breathing. Everything with her is confusingly comfortable.
Her body tenses before melting into my embrace. Her head finds that perfect spot on my shoulder, and suddenly, I’m enveloped in the comforting scents of coconut and Shea butter from her hair, with just a hint of jasmine from her skin. “No ghosts or lougarou will bother you while I’m here. And about earlier… I’m sorry for laughing.”
A quiet chuckle vibrates against my chest in the darkness. “It’s okay.” She sighs, sounding a little drowsy.
“Besides storms and darkness, what else are you afraid of?” I try to distract her a little. Asking her about things she is scared of, it’s probably not the best way to calm her, or maybe I just want to know more about her. She’s silent for a moment.
“I’m scared of bubbles,” she says so quietly that I’m not sure I heard her right.
“Bubbles?”
“Yeah, I know, I keep getting weirder by the hour.”
“I didn’t say it was weird. I’ve just never met anyone who’s scared of bubbles.”
“Well, it’s not only bubbles; it’s anything that is clustered. Especially if they look like circles or holes… It’s called Trypophobia.”
Her body shivers under my touch, and her heart rate increases.
“We should stop talking about it now, unless I want to have another anxiety attack.” Her arm tightens around my waist. “ You never said why you hate storms.” She changes the subject quickly. She probably can’t even think about it. That sounds horrible. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Her soft whisper reaches my ears like a gentle breeze, her heart beating faster against my chest.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” I tell her, but something about her makes me want to. Maybe it’s the way she trusts me or how vulnerable she’s been with me tonight. Since she felt comfortable sharing her fear with me, why not share a little bit of mine with her?
I take a deep breath before sharing part of the truth. “My father died during a storm. Car accident.” The words are heavy as I pull them from the deep, dark place that I locked them in. But I don’t mention the fight we had before, and the harsh words I told him. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, and I never want to see you again. You’re dead to me.
A conversation that I can’t undo, and I’m not even sure if I even want to. I still mean everything I said.
He asked to stay the night because there was a storm outside, and he doesn’t like driving in the rain. But I told him to leave.
The guilt is a constant storm in my heart, raging silently. Maybe if I had let him stay the night, he would still be alive. Perhaps, if he hadn’t done what he did, he would still be alive. The anger and love I still have for him intertwine, creating complex feelings I’m not ready to untangle, not even in my mind.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her arms wrapping around my waist as if we’ve done this before. This moment should be awkward but for some reason it’s not. Everything is different when it comes to her.
Her touch is gentle yet firm, her fingers pressing into my back as if she’s trying to fuse us. I’ve heard those words many times before, but they never felt like this. Reaching deep into my soul, acknowledging and touching something real and raw inside of me. Like the sun peeking over a canopy of trees.
“My mom passed away three months ago, so I understand the pain,” she whispers.
I doubt she fully grasps it, but I wouldn’t want her to. I don’t wish this pain on anybody.
“I’m sorry about your mom.” I tighten my arm around her, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she moves closer as if all we need is each other right now to help mend our broken pieces, even if it’s just for tonight.
She’s silent for a few seconds before she speaks again. “She was sick, but I wasn’t ready. We were supposed to have more time together.” Her words are as fragile as the last leaf on a tree in fall. “She is supposed to watch me get married… and be here to meet her grandchildren one day. But now she’s gone. What am I supposed to do?”
My chest burns, and I feel her pain so acutely as if it’s carved into my very soul.
“I don’t know.” I tell her the truth. I have no fucking idea. “For me, I just block everything out and find something to keep me occupied. Climbing is my escape.”
“I don’t want to escape it, though. I need to feel it all, the pain and the hurt. It keeps her memory alive. I’m scared if I stop feeling it, I might lose that, too.”
Her words hit me hard, grounding me in their honesty. Here I am, avoiding the pain. There she is, holding onto it like a lifeline, a way to keep her mom’s memory alive. That’s the difference between her and me. I’m not sure I want to keep his memories alive. There is not much worth remembering.
“Tell me about her, what was she like?” I can help her remember her mom if that’s what she needs.
“She is…” She sighs. “She was the most amazing being I have ever known. And not just because she was my mom. She was kind, funny, and loving. She was good at almost everything except for cooking and singing. The best she could make were peanut butter sandwiches.” She chuckles a little. “My dad was happy to cook for her.” My hand mindlessly rubs lazy circles on her back. “Oh, and she loved giving out cheek kisses. Maybe it’s a French thing, I don’t know, but she’d kiss your cheeks to say hello, goodnight, thank you, good morning. Everything. And it’s always two kisses, one in each cheek.” She laughs softly.
“I guess you got your attitude from your dad then,” I smile at her, even if she can’t see me.
“I’m not moody,” she says as she punches my side, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
She’s quiet again, her body warm against mine. Her breathing deepens, telling me she has fallen asleep. I should move, give her space, but every time I try, she mumbles something and moves closer, her legs draping over my thigh.
I can feel myself growing hard. I attempt to adjust discreetly, without waking her up, but Mia stirs, blinking against the sudden light as the power returns.
I hope she doesn’t look down at my pants, but as if on cue, her eyes darting down to the very problem I was hoping to hide. She quickly sits up.
I clear my throat to break some of the awkwardness. “The power is back. I’ll go check on the damage to your room.”
“I’ll come with you.” She follows me out of the room.
We head towards the door, making sure she stays behind me as we head towards her room. We exchange glances before I open her door. There are some broken glasses on the floor, but I don’t see the bear anywhere. Slowly, I walk around the room before checking the bathroom. No bear in sight, and we both let out a sigh of relief. But she still can’t sleep in here. I’ll call someone in the morning to fix the window.
Checking my phone, it’s well past midnight. “You can take my bed and I’ll crash on the couch. There should be some extra sheets in the closet I can use.” I let her know as we make our way out of her room. I don’t think she’ll want to share the bed after what just happened.
“I’m not sleepy anymore, and I’m hungry.” Her lips press together into a pout that is kinda adorable.
“It’s almost 1 a.m.” I laugh softly, masking the warmth sensation in my chest. “Isn't it a little too late for a snack?”
“But I’m starving. I didn’t really eat today.” Her stomach growls audibly, agreeing with her. “See,” she points at her tummy, “she needs food.”
I frown. “Why haven’t you eaten today?” I ask as we head downstairs. I can’t help but notice the sway of her hips, her shorts clinging to her form in a way that commands attention.
“I got caught up with writing and forgot,” she says over her shoulder as she enters the kitchen.
“You write?”
“Yeah, at least I’m trying to.” She shuffles her feet, her eyes glued to the floor.
“Trying?” I search her eyes, but she avoids my gaze.
“It’s just hard to get the words out.”
I’m not a writer, so I don’t know a lot about it, but sometimes we just need to get out of our own heads. “Don’t overthink it and just write whatever comes to your mind. You want to be a writer for a reason right?” I reach out to touch her arm. She lifts her eyes up to look at me, and I see the longing and frustration in them.
“The story is there,” I continue, “you just need to bring it out.”
She smiles at me. “I guess you’re right.” She walks towards the cabinets, stretches up on her toes to reach for something.
I lean against the counter, watching her. She’s wearing my jacket, but it barely covers her ass, the curve underneath her shorts teasingly exposed. I need to focus on something else, fast. But it’s hard to focus on anything else when my body reacts to her every move.
My hands itch to touch her, but I clench them into fists at my side. My nails dig into my palms as I try to regain some control.
“How about I make the snacks and you take a seat?” I suggest, needing something to distract me from the growing tension.
She turns, and her eyes narrow. “That’s fine, I can do it myself.” So stubborn .
I step closer and gently lift her by the waist, setting her down on the kitchen island. She gasps . Our faces are merely inches apart. My eyes drawn to her lips, noticing how she bites down on the lower one.. Interesting. Now I know why she bites down on them. It takes all my self-control not to replace her teeth with mine. She has a boyfriend, Jake.
“Just stay here, and I’ll make your snack,” I command , attempting to maintain some semblance of control, but failing miserably.
She’s gonna drive me crazy.
She frowns, clearly doesn’t like being told what to do, and it’s both infuriating and attractive. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she mumbles. I hold her gaze, seeing the storm brewing in them, and I want to fuck her right here on the kitchen counter.
I turn away, mostly to hide the intensity surging through me. I open the fridge and take a few seconds to compose myself, the cool air doing little to calm the heat building inside. My hands are trembling as I grab the pepperoni and cheese before closing the door, my mind racing with the thought of her so close.
I move to the counter, then take the bagels, slicing them onto a plate, and topping them with the cheese and pepperoni, adding a dash of spice. I can feel her intense gaze on me, and I steal glances of her, sensing the tension. Sliding everything into the microwave, I recall how she snuggled against me earlier. Our eyes meet, and I can tell she’s thinking about the same thing.
“So, what’s your book about?” I lean over the counter, while we wait for our pizza bagel to cook.
She shoots me a sharp glare.
Okay, she’s pissed again.
The microwave beeps. I turn to pull them out of the pizzas, placing them next to her.
“I’m grabbing a beer from the fridge, do you need anything?” I need a drink to ease this tension.
“I’ll have a beer,”she responds.
I pause, staring at her for a few seconds, making sure I’ve heard correctly.
“What?” she says, noticing my prolonged gaze.
“Sorry, you seem more like a wine kind of girl.”
“And what kind is that?”
“Red wine, something sweet.” I smirk at her.
“I do love sweet red wine, especially chateau noir which was my mom’s favorite. It’s made in France. Can’t a girl do both?” She shoots me a glare.
I shake my head, pleading the fifth. I can see where this conversation is going, and I refuse to answer any questions that will self incriminate me. I’ll get the lady her beer.
Grabbing two beers, I hand one to her as I lean over the counter. I watch her devour the mini pizzas one by one, barely taking a break. She’s so focused that she doesn’t notice me staring at first.
“What?” She stops mid bite, catches my amused look, her mouth half-full with a piece of pepperoni stuck at the corner of her lips. She appears a little embarrassed, but masks it with a scowl. “I was hungry, okay? And you’re just standing there staring.” Her cheeks puffed out with the food, giving her an adorable look. I can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
I realize I’ve been watching her this whole time. “Sorry.” I offer a sheepish smile, grabbing a mini pizza. “I guess I was just caught up in watching you enjoy the food. You seem to really like them.”
“That’s rude, watching other people eat,” she laughs, her mood lightens, “but they’re really good. Thanks for making them.”
I don’t know what’s bigger, her ass or her mood swings.
As much as I like her attitude, and her sassiness, I like her laughs and smile even more.
Moving closer, I stand in front of her. “You’re welcome, but promise me you won’t starve yourself again.” I wipe a little tomato sauce from her lips, my touch lingering a moment too long. Her doe-like brown eyes meet mine, sending a flutter through my chest, the kind of exhilarating feelings I only get before a climb. I step back before I do something I shouldn’t.