Chapter 44 #2
Fiona in bed. Hair down. Bare legs. A shirt that probably wasn’t nearly big enough for what I was currently imagining.
I went quiet without meaning to.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“That was a very loud nothing.”
I rubbed my thumb across my lower lip. “Just thinking that shirt should be mine.”
She didn’t answer immediately and I didn’t rescue her from it.
Finally, she said, “You’d have to give me one first.”
My eyebrows rose.
“Well, look at you.”
“What?”
“Getting brave.”
“I said you’d have to give me a shirt.”
“Yeah, Cher. I heard you.”
“Why are you making it sound dirty?”
“I’m not making anything sound dirty.” I sat up and rested my forearms on my knees. “You’re the one sitting in bed asking for my clothes.”
“I am not asking for your clothes.”
“You just told me I’d have to give you one.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Feels pretty close.”
Her laugh dropped lower, more amused now that she’d realized I was playing with her. “Maybe I just think your shirts look comfortable.”
“Comfortable.”
“Yes.”
“Nothing to do with the fact that they’re mine?”
The silence stretched just enough to answer me.
My grin widened. “Thought so.”
“You think you know everything.”
“Not everything.” I stood and wandered toward the window, restless energy beginning to work under my skin. “I am curious about one thing.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Usually is.”
“What?”
I looked out across the dark parking lot. “Whether you’d actually wear it.”
“Of course I would.”
“Mm.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means now I’m picturing it.”
She went quiet again, and I didn’t have to see her face to know exactly what I’d done.
“One of my shirts,” I continued, letting my voice drop just enough to catch her. “Probably too big on you. Sleeves hanging past where they should. You pretending you only put it on because it was comfortable.”
“Pretending?”
“Definitely.”
“And what would the real reason be?” There was more challenge in her voice now.
I leaned one shoulder against the window frame. “Maybe you like having something of mine close.”
The quick breath came back, softer this time.
That one hit differently.
I smiled, but I didn’t tease her about it.
Fiona recovered first. “Maybe I just like oversized shirts.”
“Then I’m crushed.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Barely.”
She laughed. “You could always bring me one and find out.”
My attention snapped fully back to the conversation.
There were about ten ways I could answer that.
Every one of them would get me in trouble.
“You really should stop using distance to make yourself brave.”
“Who says that’s why I’m brave?”
“I know you, Cher.”
“You think you do.”
“I know you get mouthier when I can’t reach you.”
Her laugh went quiet and teasing. “What are you going to do about it?”
I stared out at the lot for a long second.
There it was.
Not the question itself.
The invitation underneath it.
Fiona had gotten better at those. She’d learned how to leave just enough space between the words for me to decide how far to follow her.
“You remember I own a motorcycle?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And Virginia hasn’t moved?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Good. Just checking.”
She laughed again. “Are you threatening to come here because I asked for a shirt?”
“I’ve crossed state lines for worse reasons.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
I could hear her shifting under the blankets, and the small sound did entirely too much to my imagination.
“So, if you brought me the shirt,” she asked, “what then?”
I smiled slowly. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you behave.”
Fiona snorted. “You don’t want me to behave.”
Well.
Fuck me.
I tipped my head back against the wall and laughed softly. “There she is.”
“What?”
“The woman who keeps pretending I’m the bad influence.”
“You are.”
“And yet somehow I’m not the one making dangerous suggestions.”
“I haven’t suggested anything.”
“No?” I pushed away from the window and wandered back toward the bed. “You’re in bed, asking me to bring you my clothes, then telling me you know I don’t want you behaving.”
“That is a very biased interpretation of events.”
“It’s my favorite kind.”
She laughed, and I dropped back onto the edge of the mattress. “Besides,” I added, “I know exactly what would happen if I was there.”
Her voice softened. “What?”
I let the silence sit long enough that I could almost feel her waiting. “I’d kiss you.”
That quieted her completely.
The last time I’d kissed Fiona, I’d spent the next several weeks reminding myself why stopping had been the right choice. She’d made that harder every time she brought it up.
“You already did that,” she said.
“You kissed me.”
“You kissed me back.”
“I’m not denying participation.”
She laughed softly. “Participation?”
“I was trying to be respectful.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Mean.”
“Accurate.”
I smiled. “Fine. You surprised the shit out of me, kissed me, and I spent the next few minutes trying to remember I was supposed to have self-control.”
Her breathing changed.
Not the startled gasp this time.
Slower.
Quieter.
I felt it anyway.
“You stopped,” she said.
“Barely.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No.” My fingers tightened slightly around the phone. “You didn’t.”
The memory of her face afterward rose with irritating clarity. The challenge in her eyes. The flush in her cheeks. The way she’d looked at me like she already knew exactly how much it had cost me to step back.
Fiona broke the silence. “Would you stop next time?”
I rubbed my palm over my jaw. “If you wanted me to.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
A laugh escaped me, low and helpless. “You are a menace tonight.”
“I asked a question.”
“You know damn well what you’re doing.”
“Maybe.” There was a smile hiding in that one word.
I closed my eyes. “Next time,” I said, “I think I’d take my time.”
She didn’t answer.
I could hear her breathing through the phone, and knowing she was listening that closely made the words feel different when I continued.
“No surprises. No catching me off guard. I’d know exactly what was coming.”
“And that would make it different?” she asked.
“Very.”
“How?”
I smiled. “I’d get to enjoy watching you decide whether you’re still as brave when I’m standing in front of you.”
Her laugh came soft and breathless. “Maybe I would be.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you.” I leaned back on the bed, staring across the room at nothing. “I’m just looking forward to finding out.”
The flirtation softened into something else before either of us seemed to notice.
“I miss you,” Fiona said.
Everything in me went still.
No teasing.
No clever answer waiting.
Just the truth, offered quietly.
Church flickered through my mind again. Brandy. Hex. All those years and miles he’d put between his children and the life he’d left, only to discover distance wasn’t the shield he thought it was.
Then there was Fiona, half a country away because I kept finding reasons distance made sense.
“I miss you too, Cher.”
She let out a slow breath. “I wish you were here.”
My gaze shifted toward the closet.
For almost a year, I’d been the patient one.
I’d been so fucking careful with her. Letting her decide. Letting her grow into whatever this was without me leaning too hard on the scale.
That had been the right choice.
It still was.
But she wasn’t asking me to wait tonight.
I stood and crossed the room.
“Jasper?” Fiona asked.
“Yeah?”
“You got quiet again.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That usually gets me in trouble.”
A smile pulled at my mouth as I opened the closet. “Sometimes.”
“What are you thinking about?”
My eyes landed on the duffel at the bottom.
“You should get some sleep.”
“That was not an answer.”
“Nope.”
“Jasper.”
I hooked the bag with my foot and dragged it toward me. “Dors bien, Ma Belle.”
Her silence turned immediately suspicious. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounded like something.”
I smiled down at the bag. “Goodnight, Fiona.”
“Jasper.”
The warning only made me grin wider. “Sleep.”
She huffed, but laughter followed it. “Goodnight.”
I waited until the call disconnected before lowering the phone.
The room suddenly felt too quiet.
And Virginia felt way too fucking far away.