23. Jake
23
JAKE
The following morning, a round of loud knocking wrenches my attention from the screen in front of me, and I open the door of the garage apartment to find Iris glaring at me from the other side.
“What a lovely Sunday surprise.” My heart flings against my ribcage like an exuberant puppy begging for attention from its favorite human.
She crosses her arms over her chest as if she senses my pleasure and wants nothing to do with it. “We need to talk.”
I offer a broad smile, ignoring her tight frown and the fact that she’s shooting daggers at me. “Did you jog all the way here? That’s six miles one way. Impressive.”
“I didn’t want anyone to see my car.” The blue sky and bright sun overhead take the edge off the crisp air of another perfect Colorado fall morning.
Her fitted athletic top and leggings cling to the gentle curve of her hips, and there’s something weirdly sexy about the sheen of sweat across her brow. I want to explore other ways to make her hot and sweaty—ways that involve tangled limbs and my mouth all over her body. And while my heart might want to cuddle up to her, my dick is begging her to turn around so I can check out her ass in those tight leggings.
Concentrate, you idiot , my brain commands. But now that I’ve gone down the mental road of imagining touching her—tasting her—I’m having a hell of a time focusing on anything else.
“Did I wake you?”
Her words snap me back to the present, and I lift my gaze to find her looking me up and down. I can only imagine what she’s thinking based on my current appearance. I didn’t bother to change the grubby gray T-shirt after spilling coffee down my front, and my baggy fleece sweatpants with a hole in the knee happen to be my lucky writing pants. I run a hand through my hair to try to smooth it down since I have a habit of pulling on the ends when I’m really thinking.
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
She sounds suspicious, and I wish I could answer her honestly. I’ve been up since before dawn because the big climax of the latest Ellie Spaulding book—the one due to my editor at the end of next week—untangled itself in my brain at four in the morning.
Some people might think losing sleep over writing a few chapters is silly, but getting up when it’s still dark because the words are coming fast and furious is way better than sleeping in only to stare at a blank screen for most of the day. Deadlines are more important than rest, but I can’t tell Iris that. No matter how much I want to share it, Spencer Charles is my secret, and I don’t trust how people will react to the revelation. Or if anyone will believe me. And Iris’s opinion matters more than most.
“I’m working on the proposal I’ll present to my grandpa in two weeks. Hammering out my vision for the future of the foundation.”
“Hammering?” She arches a brow. “At nine o’clock on a Sunday morning?”
“Did you run all the way here to give me shit about my sleep habits?” I encircle her wrist and pull her forward. “Or are you here for my version of Sunday service?”
She stumbles into me, and I quickly take advantage, kicking the door shut with one foot.
“You don’t have a version of Sunday service,” she says, her mouth curving up at one end. At least she seems less angry now. I’ll take a win where I can get it.
“Oh, but I do.” In the three-way battle between common sense, emotions, and desire, my dick is in the lead, so I lean down and kiss the underside of her jaw, loving the taste of the salt on her skin. “It involves worshiping your body.”
Her answering moan makes my fleece pants tent in front. I can’t remember ever wanting anything or anyone as much as I do Iris. I reach for the hem of her shirt, but she places a hand over mine.
“What happened with Jodi?”
And rational thinking—the buzziest of buzzkills—takes over as I straighten. “I went on the date, just like I promised.”
“She texted first thing this morning.” Iris is back to glaring and my pants are back to normal.
I shrug and try not to let my burning curiosity show. “What did she report?”
“She said it was a one-and-done thing between you two.”
“I could have told you that, Dixon.” I move toward the table where I’ve been working, snapping my laptop shut with more force than necessary. “I tried to tell you that. Now will you give it a rest?”
“You could try again.” I ignore the frustration I feel radiating from her as she follows me into the tiny kitchen area.
Other than the bedroom and attached bath, the bunkhouse floorplan is open-concept. It’s a far cry from my house in the Travis Heights neighborhood in Austin, with its modern design, expansive layout, and a wall of windows that offers an absurdly breathtaking view of downtown. But I like it here. The compact space feels like home, even though it isn’t.
I know she’s waiting for me to say something, but the words are stuck in the void between my chest and throat. Instead, I take eggs and other ingredients out of the fridge.
“What are you doing?” Confusion laces her tone. Join the club, sweetheart.
“Making the two of us an omelet. I’m not arguing with you on an empty stomach.”
“I don’t want to argue.”
“Then what the hell is your deal?” I crack three eggs into a mixing bowl, the familiar task calming me. “I took her on a date just like you asked. We aren’t a match.” I grab a whisk and point it at Iris before starting in on the eggs like I’m nursing a grudge. “Did Jodi happen to mention in her text that she’s done messing with you?”
Iris snags her lower lip between her teeth and shifts her gaze from mine as she gives a reluctant nod. “Yeah.”
“What the hell?” I repeat, as much to myself as to her. “You know she thinks I’m boring? Told me straight to my face.”
My revelation cuts through some of the tension simmering between us.
Iris drops into one of the chairs on either side of the table, letting out a shaky laugh. “Despite a plethora of faults, you’re the least boring person I know.”
I season the eggs, then add a scoop of the diced pepper and sausage mixture I prepped earlier in the week. “I think her exact words were ‘boring as hell.’”
“Did you mess it up on purpose?”
After pouring the egg mixture into the sizzling pan, I lean one hip against the counter, scrubbing a hand over the scruff on my jaw. “Are you listening to yourself?”
Her big eyes flare with emotion as our gazes hold. “I’m sorry.”
It sounds like she means it, but I’m too pissed to let this go. Pissed she’s willing to give up on us so easily and pissed that it was my past actions that led to this distance between us in the first place.
“Why are you so damn intent on pushing me away? You had fun Friday night,” I remind her. “With me. I’m not the same guy I was at seventeen. Is that so hard to believe, or are you just one hundred percent sure I’m going to mess it all up, on purpose or not?”
“It’s not you,” she admits in a quiet voice. “It’s me. I’m scared I’m going to screw up my life, and I don’t want anyone near me when it happens. My mom didn’t care about the collateral damage, but I do. It’s easier—safer—to keep you and everyone else at arm’s length. I deserve whatever bad things happen to me, but?—”
“Damn it, Iris. Take off the fucking hairshirt for a minute.” I turn back to the pan to flip the omelet, adding a handful of cheese to the top before folding it in half. “The way I see it, you deserve all the gold stars in the world for how hard you work. For the person you are on the inside. You deserve your dream house and whatever white-picket-fence future you want. And you sure as hell deserve somebody who’ll stick around and fight for you, even when you’re being your own worst enemy.”
She doesn’t answer for a long moment and the air pulses with the undeniable connection we’ve always shared. “Are you suddenly interested in being that person, Jake?”
I want to say yes, but I can’t give her that. Iris has her fears, but mine have their claws dug into me just as profoundly. I don’t let myself care about people—not the way she needs someone to care about her.
“I’m saying I don’t want to let go of whatever this is between us.”
“Me neither.” She sounds as shocked by the whispered admission as I am hearing it. Two simple words, but they’re important coming from this gorgeous, infuriating, enticing enigma of a woman.
“I like you, Jake. A lot.”
My hand jerks and the omelet nearly slides out of the pan onto the counter before I can transfer it to a plate. “That’s a decent place to start.” Especially for my heart, which is once again trying to pound its way out of my chest.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her draw in a deep breath. She has more to say, and I’m here for it. All of it.
“I spent most of my life shut down, or at least shut off. It always felt safer. But I don’t want that with you. Being perfect on paper hasn’t fooled anyone, and I’m sick of pretending.” She pauses and frowns, staring at her hands, tightly clasped on the table in front of her. “I’m too blunt too often. I’m socially awkward and nowhere near perfect with all my prickly edges. And I’m afraid all the fun in the world isn’t going to change me.”
“You don’t have to change, Iris. Not one damn thing. I like prickly, and the fact that not everyone gets to see your soft side.” I think about Jodi’s comment from the previous night. “Porcupines happen to be my favorite animal.”
I place the plate and two forks in the center of the small table and slide into the chair across from her.
She smiles. “Nobody picks porcupines as their favorite animals.”
“I do.”
“I’m sorry I made you the punching bag for my fears.”
“I can handle it,” I assure her.
“And what about Nick?” She pauses with a forkful of omelet midway to her mouth. “He was waiting on my porch after the rodeo and is planning to stay a while. Can you handle him being back in town?”
I close my eyes for a moment, tamping down the tangle of affection and regret I feel for her twin, and then nod. “Yeah. Nick and I are good. But I’m going to kick the shit out of him if he hurts you again.”
“What a coincidence.” She rolls her eyes. “He said the same thing about you.”
“Look at that.” I wink, needing to lighten the mood. To lighten her emotional load in any way I can. It’s what I failed to do for Mikey, and I won’t make the same mistake with Iris. “Your brother and I are already on the same page.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” she says, then sits back in her chair and sighs. “You make a damn good omelet, Byrne. It’s not fair that you and Nick are amazing in the kitchen when I can’t even boil water.”
“Eggs aren’t exactly complicated.” Although how happy it makes me to take care of her, even in this small way, feels ridiculously complicated.
“Trust me, I can mess up eggs,” she says.
“Your brother taught me how to make an omelet that summer. He called it the perfect hangover food.”
She laughs. “He made grilled cheese last night after the rodeo. That’s what I remember him claiming was the perfect hangover food.”
“Nick probably has more than one cure for the common hangover.”
Her lips press together, and I curse my lame attempt at humor.
“I want it to be different for him this time. I want a lot of things right now.” She takes another bite and then puts down her fork. “I want a lot of things, and that isn’t something I normally allow myself.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting.” I lean across the table and take her hand. “These days, I mainly want you. All of you. All the time.”
Her smile is one part sexy, one part shy, and completely irresistible. “I’m gross and sweaty. Dried sweat is disgusting. There’s nothing sexy about that.”
I shake my head. “The thought of you in my shower is sexy.”
She mock pouts. “All alone?” she asks as her cheeks turn pink.
“No worries, sweetheart. I’ll be with you. That’s a given.”
“What about your work?” She places her free hand on top of the laptop. Once again, I think about telling her my secret, until she continues, “Unless you have a different kind of hammering in mind.”
Okay, so much for thinking about anything but getting her naked. “Do you like sexy-times talk, Dixon?” I grin as I stand and take the empty plate to the sink.
She covers her face with her hand but peeks through her fingers at me. “I can’t believe I said that. Hammering.” She laughs low in her throat, the sound pouring over me like honey. “It’s so embarrassing.”
Returning to the table, I hold out my hand to her. “I can’t wait to hear what you scream when I make you come for the first time.”
She gasps and wags a finger at me, all prim and proper. “You can’t say things like that,” she admonishes, but I know she likes it. And I like flirting with her, teasing her, and snaking my way past that prickly exterior. Porcupines for the win.
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, Iris.” I give an exaggerated wink. “The tip? Get it.”
She giggle-snorts, and I must be really far gone because it’s fucking adorable. “I didn’t plan for this.” Her gaze drops from mine and focuses on my outstretched hand. “The plan was to say my piece then work off the inevitable frustration of you being disagreeable on my run back to the house.”
“Wouldn’t you rather work it off in the shower?” I crook my finger. “I promise to agree to anything you want, sweetheart.”
“I want you, Jake,” she whispers, and when she places her hand in mine, it feels like a victory.
The apartment’s bathroom isn’t large or lavish, but the shower’s roomy, with subway tile covering the surround. The glass door opens out, and I reach in and flip on the water, waiting for it to run hot. I tug my shirt over my head and turn back to find Iris doing the same, leaving her standing there in a sports bra and those leggings that make her legs look a mile long.
All I can think about is having them wrapped around my hips—or even better, my shoulders, as I bury my face in her.
“Turn around,” she says, and I blink.
“We’re about to shower together, honey.”
“Taking off a compression bra isn’t sexy, and you won’t convince me otherwise with the way it straps the girls down.”
“Free the girls,” I tell her with a grin. Is it a lascivious grin? I sure as hell hope so.
“I’m about to,” she answers and then does a little spinning motion with one finger. “As soon as you turn around.”