Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
JESSE
The first few days at the library are crazy busy, but also crazy awesome.
It’s mostly about learning the environment, getting acquainted with the space and the people working here, and trying to take in as much information as possible.
But with everyone being so friendly and welcoming, it’s way less overwhelming than I thought it would be.
It's all great. Absolutely great.
The problem is that I can’t stop thinking about Roman, and part of the reason is that I don’t have the faintest idea what the fuck is going on between us.
Ever since the day I moved in, we’ve barely seen each other. Our work schedules don’t really match, so apart from sleepy ‘good mornings’ and fleeting ‘heys,’ we haven’t been in the same room for more than a few minutes since that first day.
Which is exactly what I should want—barely seeing him, forgetting he exists, have the days go by until the eight weeks are up and I’m gone.
Except I can’t get that damn day out of my head.
How he looked at me in my running clothes, how his dark gaze seemed to consume every part of me until I could barely breathe.
I can still hear his rough plea in my ears.
I can still see the naked longing in his eyes when he peered into his old room.
And I don’t think I can ignore what my gut is telling me.
That no matter what happened, there’s something here. Something that might destroy me if I’m not careful, but also something that might save us both.
If only the thought of opening myself up to such a possibility didn’t scare the absolute shit out of me.
When I get home on Thursday, it’s still early enough that I can have a shower and cook some food without feeling like passing out immediately, so I gather all the ingredients I need and work on the homemade pizza recipe my mom’s roommate showed me one day, one I’ve made almost every week ever since.
I’m four slices in, half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, when the front door opens and Roman walks in.
And suddenly the pizza has to make room for all the fucking butterflies that decide suddenly to wreak havoc on my insides.
Washed-up, dark jeans, tight, black T-shirt that looks fucking painted on him, messy black hair, tattooed arms holding a jacket and a—
Helmet?
I frown at it for a moment, but then his eyes look up and zero in on me, and he looks so damn pleased when he sees I’m there that it makes my chest hurt.
Fuck, I’ve missed him so much. I have to curl my toes until they’re digging into the couch’s cushion to keep myself from doing something incredibly stupid.
Like running to him and wrapping myself around him like a clingy octopus.
Jesus, I’m a disaster.
“Hey,” he says with a warm smile that only makes everything worse.
“Hey,” I reply, watching him empty his pockets of his keys, phone, and wallet, and leave everything next to his helmet on the counter. And because now we’re simply staring again at each other and I swear my skin is tingling from the way he’s looking at me, I blurt out, “I made pizza!”
He blinks, a bit taken aback, but doesn’t look away.
He never looks away.
“Enough for me too?” he mutters in his low voice, and even though there are several feet of space separating us, he might as well have whispered that in my fucking ear.
“Enough for you too.”
He nods slowly, taking his time to answer, and when he does, my heart skips a beat.
“I’ll go take a quick shower. Will you still be here?”
I’ll always be here.
Son of a bitch.
“Yeah, I’ll still be here.”
“Okay,” he says with a small tilt of his lips, before he leaves to go upstairs.
And my eyes follow him all the way up until they no longer can, the flash of relief I glimpsed in his expression, still burned into my mind.
I’m exactly where he left me when he comes back a little while later and sits on the other end of the couch—freshly showered, hair still mostly wet—with his own plate filled with the pizza I made for him.
I mean, for us.
For me. Jesus Christ.
I pretend to be really engrossed in the terrible horror movie that’s been playing for the past hour since I sat here, which I haven’t followed one bit, but when a soft groan reaches my ears, it’s impossible not to look at the source of that groan.
And see the appreciative gaze in Roman’s eyes.
“This is really good, Jesse.”
Fuck if that doesn’t make my heart flutter.
“You like it?”
“I love it,” he admits, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep my smile under control. He glances at the TV and chuckles. “I thought you didn’t like horror movies.”
“I don’t, and this is doing nothing to make me change my mind.”
“Oh yeah? What’s it about?”
“I have no idea.”
“Haven’t you been watching it since before I got here?”
“What’s your point?”
Roman is openly grinning now, and the sight of him like this makes my chest tight.
We haven’t talked about his dad, about what it’s been like for him, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to his obvious exhaustion. So, seeing him grinning makes me ridiculously happy.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m too cooked to pay attention to anything right now.”
Roman leaves his empty plate on the coffee table, leaning back and sliding further down so his head rests on the back of the couch and his knees spread casually, stretching his basketball shorts.
How he can look so relaxed and so hot at the same time is beyond me.
“How is your new job so far?”
His tone is calm, his expression showing his genuine interest as he tilts his head to the side to look at me.
I sigh, resting my own cheek on the back of the couch, feeling myself melt into the comfortable cushions.
“Tiring but very exciting. The summer program officially starts in a few days, so we’re in full preparation mode.”
“Yeah? What have you prepared so far?”
“Lots of stuff! For starters, we’ll be doing story time for the little ones, some reading challenges for all ages, coupled with a few fun games and workshops since it’s summer and we don’t want to tire the kids too much.”
Excitement fizzles in my veins, and I know it really shows on my face when I notice the sparkle in Roman’s dark eyes.
“I have a question. Do you do all the voices during story time?”
A surprised laugh escapes me and I have to bury my face in the cushion for a second, before looking his way again.
“As a matter of fact, I do. And I’m not half-bad either. Hey! Don’t laugh,” I scowl at him but I’m laughing myself, so it’s not very convincing.
Roman is shaking, his eyes crinkling at the corners, so I act without thinking, reaching him with my leg and nudging his thigh with my foot, pushing against the hard muscle a few times to get him to stop.
My breath hitches when his palm wraps around my ankle, stilling my movements. My gaze dips to the point of contact, before I look up, meeting his eyes, watching the amusement slowly bleed out and shift into something different.
Something that makes my brain hazy, my body warm, my belly tight.
He doesn’t let go of my ankle, his hand hot against my skin, giving it instead a brief squeeze that I feel everywhere.
His eyes are liquid darkness when he speaks again in the now-darker living room, as twilight descends outside.
“I’m sure you’ll be great at it,” he says roughly, his thumb rubbing tiny circles softly on my skin, and I feel myself sink further into the sensation, into the rapt way he’s watching me, leaning into that gentle kneading.
Even the smile I give him is lazy, relaxed.
“I have a question for you, too,” I mumble, feeling my earlier curiosity rear its head, though more muted now, subdued. “Why is there a helmet on the counter?”
Roman chuckles hoarsely, and I swear I feel that chuckle travel from his body to mine.
“Well, I kind of need it. No other way to ride a motorcycle safely.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, just as an image of what Roman would look like on a motorcycle slips unbidden into my mind.
God, he would look so good on one.
“You ride a motorcycle now? How have I missed that all these days?”
“You’ve usually left by the time I go to work, and when I come back, I roll it up the driveway and into the garage so it doesn’t startle you in case you’re resting. It can be really loud.”
My heart beats just a bit harder at his confession, and all I manage is a stunned, breathless ‘wow.’
And fuck, I can tell he likes my reaction. He likes it a lot.
“You want me to take you for a ride some day?” he rasps out, the glint in his eyes now more than simply teasing. Straight-up fucking dangerous.
I huff, shaking my head.
“What?” he asks, but he knows. He knows perfectly well. It’s all there in that dark gaze.
“You know what happened the last time you took me for a ride.”
His fingers flex on my ankle, before they slide just a little further up, cupping the lower part of my calf, making my skin break into goosebumps.
“What happened?”
I swallow thickly, heat pooling in my groin, making me so hard it hurts, as I stare dead into his eyes.
“We ended up fucking on your bed.”
His lips part as he sucks in a breath, his eyes blazing, his hand a hot brand on my leg.
“You remember that?”
“It’s hard to forget.”
“Because it was your first time?”
“No,” I whisper, that night forever etched in my memory. “Not just because of that.” Because it was you. Because it was us. Because nothing else can ever compare to that.
I don’t say any of that to him, and I don’t have to. He was there, he felt it all.
I feel like I’m burning, consumed by the flames mirrored in his eyes, and when his hand grips my bare leg tightly, a small moan escapes my lips.
Roman’s gaze sharpens, a hoarse, tortured Jesse reaching my ears.
Oh God, I can feel every single one of my defenses crumbling under the raw need in his voice, until I want nothing else but to drown in that beautiful, devastating need.
I can feel the building tension in the firm hold he has on me, and when my gaze dips to the obscene bulge tenting his thin, basketball shorts, a shuddery exhale leaves me.
Because he’s hard for me.
Because he wants me.