33. Coraline
33
CORALINE
I don’t get to enjoy being on Jasper’s motorcycle like I normally would, my mind is too busy spinning around and around. I’m almost positive I’m one intrusive thought away from spinning right off the edge of a cliff. The only thing that stops me from plummeting into the unknown is that it’s unknown . I’m in enough uncharted territory as it is, I can’t afford to let myself completely spiral out of control.
Control . God, what a fucked up thing that is. The idea of it, my relationship with it, the very understanding that I’ll never have it. I wish I was more like my siblings that way, able to let other people step in and take control of everything. But I . . . I’ve never been able to do that.
But I’m so tired of always trying to wrangle control. The bakery, my roommates, my friends and family dynamic—everything. I’m always the go-to person. I never minded the role, and I always thought it played to my strengths. But my go-to person was Nana Jo. And without her, I . . . I don’t know where to go.
And yet, I drove right to the compound—to Jasper —tonight without even realizing it. I know this thing between us is fake, but it feels right tonight.
The barbed whip of shame twists against my neck when I try to envision what my family would say if I showed up at their doorsteps tonight instead. My brothers, if they’re even home, would either overreact or lose their minds and go out and do something stupid that landed them in jail. My parents would be so disappointed if they knew I didn’t utilize a single self-defense move tonight. And my mom—god my mom would never spend a single minute not worrying about me for the rest of her life. And I just can’t . . . I can’t do it.
The bike slows, but Jasper’s big palm doesn’t move from its place wrapped around my thigh. I know he did it because he was worried I wasn’t going to stay on the bike otherwise. But I don’t even care. For tonight, I’m going to pretend he left his hand there because he wanted to touch me.
We turn down a tree-lined driveway, his headlights illuminating the wooded area on one side and the clear, meadow-like grass on the other. Without the wind whipping around us, I can hear just how loud the engine is. It sounds like some kind of growling beast prowling down the driveway.
The headlights illuminate a stunning two-story A-frame. I get just a glimpse of it before he follows the curve of the driveway and pulls into the garage, right next to the truck.
He shuts off the bike, and we sit like that for a moment. His boots planted on the ground, his hand on my thigh. My arms around his waist and my chest pressed to his back.
His fingers flutter against my leg. “You good, baby?”
I take it as my cue. I take my time sitting back and pulling my hands from him. I know I’m not feeling myself because I don’t even care that he picked up on my reluctance to let him go.
“Yeah.” It comes out more of a sigh.
I feel his smooth, low chuckle right in the chest.
“Take your time getting off, yeah?” He holds out his hand for me to grasp.
My fingers flex as I slip my hand in his outstretched one. For a second there, I could almost imagine him saying those words under a completely different context. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you lived out here,” I murmur, getting off his bike.
“Why would you?” He takes off his helmet and stands up at the same time. Swinging a leg over his bike, he drops his helmet on the seat.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, fiddling with the helmet. “Because we, you know.”
He gently pushes my hands away and takes care of the strap for me. He takes my helmet off, his gaze roaming over my face. “Yeah, I know.”
He holds my hand and leads me inside the house. The garage door closes behind us with a soft hum, leaving us in a dimly lit space. We step through the mudroom and into the main part of the house, and I’m immediately struck by the warmth and coziness of it all. It’s so different from the industrial vibe of the clubhouse.
The entryway opens up into a vast, open floor plan. My eyes are immediately drawn to the far wall, which is entirely made of glass. The nearly full moon shines through, casting a silver glow across the room and illuminating the surface of the lake just beyond the property. It’s breathtaking, like something out of a dream.
Jasper flicks a light switch, and soft light illuminates the kitchen and living room from canned lights in the ceiling. I let my fingers slip from his as the stunning kitchen beckons me. Gorgeous white cabinetry, sleek stainless steel appliances, black and white marble countertops. I trail my finger over the edge of the large island as I walk around the kitchen.
“Does it pass inspection?” Jasper muses, leaning his shoulder against the nearest wall.
I stop next to one of the four stools tucked under the island. “I guess I didn’t picture you in a house like this.”
His smirk slips into a frown, his brows bunching together. “Yeah, well. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I’m sorry,” I rush the words out. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just . . . surprised, I guess.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, pushing off the wall. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”
I follow behind him as he walks through the living room to the stairs on the far wall. A plush charcoal-colored L-shaped couch faces a large flat-screen TV mounted over a stone fireplace. A few pieces of art hang on the wall, but otherwise it’s bare of any personal decoration.
And still, it’s so cozy and inviting.
“You have a beautiful home, Jasper,” I murmur. I don’t know why I’m talking so quietly, except that I’m feeling nervous. Like maybe I offended him or something.
We ascend the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under our weight.
“It was my grandfather’s. He left it to me when he passed away,” he says when we reach the top of the stairs.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, baby. It was a long time ago now,” he says, turning to face me once I reach the second floor landing.
The upper level is just as beautiful as the main floor. It’s a cozy loft space with cutout windows, one of those giant bean bag chairs, and the most elaborate cat tree I’ve ever seen. It takes up an entire wall, built around the windows and everything.
My brows fall toward the center. “You have a cat?” It’s somehow surprising and not.
Like some kind of rehearsed move, Jasper makes this kissy noise and a black and white fluffy mass bounds to the floor from the top level of the cat tree.
“Coraline, meet Pudding. Pudding, meet Coraline.”
Pudding makes figure eights between Jasper’s legs, its tail curling around his calf with each pass.
“You have a cat.”
“I have a cat,” he muses, humor in his voice. “Fair warning though, three a.m. is his witching hour, so don’t be surprised if you hear him scampering around.”
I bend down and hold my hand out. Pudding takes the invitation and saunters over to me, his little whiskers twitching as he sniffs me. I hold my breath, suddenly nervous that Jasper’s cat is going to reject me or something. But he dips his head and rubs the bridge of his nose along my fingers, encouraging me to pet him.
The sweet move pulls a small laugh out of me. I scratch behind his ears, loving the way he leans into my touch. His purrs sound like a little motorcycle engine. “What made you name him Pudding?”
Jasper bends down and smooths a hand along his back. “You remember those pudding cups? The chocolate and vanilla ones?” I nod before he even stops speaking, the image springing to mind immediately. “Well, his coloring reminds me of one of those. That and the cat loves a good pudding. He loves most food, really. Don’t you, boy,” he murmurs, rubbing the space between Pudding’s ears with the pad of his index finger.
I shake my head, mostly to myself. “You’re a total cat dad.”
Jasper watches me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “He likes you.”
I smile back, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Of course he does. Have you met me?”
He hums under his breath, that dangerous smirk of his blooming across his face. He scoops Pudding up with one hand and stands up. “C’mon, baby. Let me show you to the bedroom.”
A flash of heat spreads through me, and I have to remind myself that we’re not here to play house. He’s just . . . helping someone in need. Playing his part as the protective boyfriend.
Jasper leads me down a short hallway to his bedroom. It’s masculine modern with light gray walls, a dark quilted headboard, and a California king-size platform bed. Light gray striped duvet cover and four fluffy pillows. Two square nightstands on either side of the bed, each with a simple black lamp. There are a couple books on one nightstand, and I’m almost positive one of them is the fake dating romance novel he told me about. I thought he was just teasing. Is this an inappropriate time to be turned on by my fake boyfriend?
There’s a low profile dresser against one wall, and two doors. I’m assuming one leads to an en suite bathroom and the other is a closet.
The large bay window overlooks the front of the house, and the windows on either side of the bed give an incredible view of the meadowlike area surrounding one side of his house.
I try to focus on the rest of the details instead of the way Jasper’s muscles flex under his t-shirt as he sets Pudding down on the plush cat bed near the bay window. But damn, why can’t I stop looking at the way his biceps strain against the cotton.
He catches me looking, a sly smirk brightening his face as he pushes to stand. I clear my throat and spin around, looking at the mostly bare walls.
I’m too busy not looking at him that I startle when a pile of folded clothes appears before my face.
“What’s all this?” I ask, taking the clothing from him.
“Thought you might want to change clothes. The bathroom is through that door,” he says, pointing to the door in front of me. “Make yourself at home.” He leans forward and drags his lips across my forehead in a kiss so tender it makes my heart clench.
I nod, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me. “Thank you, Jasper.”
He smiles, a soft, genuine expression that makes my heart ache. “You’re welcome, baby.” He crosses the room to snag one of the pillows from the bed. “I’ll be downstairs on the couch if you need anything.”
The question is on the tip of my tongue, a plea to ask him to stay with me. An argument that we can both sleep in the same bed, it’s big enough. Instead, I choke on all the words I don’t say, watching him as he turns to leave. He pauses at the door, glancing back at me with a look that makes my chest tighten.
“Get some rest,” he says quietly. Then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.
I stand there for a moment, taking in the room— his room. Inside his sort of secret lake house. I blink a few times, trying to figure out how my night unraveled so fully. Exhaustion weighs me down, clouding my head and tugging at my bones.
I bring the stack of clothes to my nose, inhaling the scent of him that clings to the fabric. It’s comforting in a way, familiar, and okay, a little hot.
The room is quiet, the only sound is the gentle breeze blowing, rustling the leaves of all the trees outside. Jasper’s house feels like a sanctuary, a secret haven from the chaos of the outside world. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can finally breathe.