34. RAE
34
I t’s like every time I tell myself to not make this thing between us any bigger than it is, Jensen will find a way to touch me, hug me, make my skin burn, and press a kiss on top of my head. My father was like that with my mother.
Affectionate, sweet.
He was the no-nonsense lumberjack kinda guy, with his flannel shirts and thick beard, but make no mistake, he was a pushover when it came to his wife. He loved her dearly. It was visible in every single touch. Every single look. It’s the same look Hunter gives Charlotte when she does nothing more than walk across the room. His hazel brown eyes filled with amazement every time he looked at his wife.
I’m staring out of the window as we drive back home, a shitstorm of feelings sitting in my chest.
Today, I’ve caught Jensen looking at me with that same admiration, and my heart can’t help hoping I’m not imagining, while my sanity tells me to run fast. Run fast before it's too late. Before the last that's left of my heart shatters into a thousand irreparable pieces, leaving me broken forever. And then there’s Charlotte’s words, still lingering in my head like a song you can’t get out.
“Can’t I just sneak into your room tonight?” He pulls me back to him with his word, and gives me a playful wink that has me gasping for air for more than one reason.
“No.” I shake my head horrified and horny by the image it gives birth into my brain. “If Nana finds out, she will drag you out of there in the middle of the night. Let’s save ourselves from that kind of embarrassment.” I hold his gaze, heat creeping into my neck.
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“Jared James Jensen,” I scold, narrowing my eyes, though it’s hard to keep glaring at him when he’s giving me that lopsided grin.
His eyes darken, and he rolls his lips. “My name has never sounded as sexy as it does when it comes from your lips.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you're about to swallow me whole.”
He laughs. “Don’t give me any ideas, then.”
The back of his hand brushes my blushing cheek before he turns his attention back to the road. A happy feeling crawls inside of me, still enjoying the perfect ending of this day.
Having dinner with Hunter and Charlotte gave me a sense of peace I haven’t felt before. Looking at their relationship, the small touches, and the loving banter, it felt natural. Relaxed. I want that. I crave that. That sense of comfort my parents gave each other, combined with the safety of a place to call home.
I glance at the man that seems to make me burn from the inside, staring at his sharp jaw. He has a vacant gaze in his eyes, focused on the road.
“Are you okay?” I cock my head.
When our eyes collide, a lazy grin forms, and my heart jumps.
The things this man does to me.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers before placing them on his lap.
For a second, I close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of his hand against mine as I pretend for just a minute this is our forever. To pretend his father isn’t New Jersey’s next governor, and he doesn’t have a reputation to take into consideration. To pretend we are just a boy and girl, enjoying every minute together.
“Do you ever wonder if you should change your path? If it’s time for change?” he asks.
My head rears his way, cautiously watching the troubled look that’s darkening his face.
Is he talking about me? About us? Is this the part where he tells me that it was fun, but I gotta go ?
Swallowing hard, I push the fear away that rapidly grows in my stomach as my hand goes damp in his.
“I do.” I raise my chin, answering honestly. “That's why I moved back home.”
There was nothing wrong with my LA life. It was fun; it was glamorous. It made me grow up. But in the end, it wasn’t me. I knew this life was just a cop out until I was ready to face my demons back at home.
“LA is not me,” I add, although I don’t know why. I feel like I need to explain to him, to let him know I’m not going back to LA. Ever. And after that phone call with his agent, it became pretty clear he’s not moving to the East Coast anytime soon.
“It’s not me either.” I can hear the sadness in his voice. His pained energy almost suffocates me. I want to wrap him in my arms and tell him everything will be fine, even though I don’t even know what is hurting the most.
“Then why stay?”
He lets go of my hand, running a hand through his hair, and I hate the loss of connection. As if he’s rejecting me. As if it’s personal.
“I don’t know.” When he glances over at me, I can see the confusion, the lost boy. It’s only brief, gone within a second, but I saw it. He can hide a lot behind his cocky stance, ready to tell the world to go fuck themselves. But I see the craving for confirmation, for validation. The craving to be enough. I want to be the one who gives him that, but my own fear cripples me from saying anything.
So instead, I grab his hand once more, squeezing it, before I turn my focus back to the trees passing by in the darkness, silently telling him I’m here.
I’m here, and I hope he doesn’t let me go.