Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Dallas
JoeyB @JoeVSVolcano
“Now that was when people knew how to be in love. They knew it! Time, distance; nothing could separate them because they knew. It was right. It was real. It was…”
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DFW @BodaciousBuckaroo211
“...a movie.That’s your problem. You don’t want to be in love, you want to be in love in a movie.” Sleepless in Seattle. Easy. You’re going to have to try harder than that, Joe.
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JoeyB @JoeVSVolcano
Try harder to what? Stump you? You know, not everything I post is about you, jerkface.
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DFW @BodaciousBuckaroo211
Now, you’re just lying to yourself.
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I take my time showering and getting ready to go over to Josette’s for dinner. It may not seem like a big deal to most, but I know what a significant step it was for her to ask. For someone who’s constantly worrying over bothering others or being rejected, her invitation was a big fucking deal.
Not that I would’ve rejected her offer. Not by a longshot. But she didn’t know that when she asked. She has no idea. No idea how her smile makes my pulse pound. No idea how my heart leapt into my throat when I took her hand on the beach, and she let me hold it. No idea how her laughter makes me feel lightheaded and her quiet contemplation centers me. How badly I want to feel her lips against mine or how afraid I am of making a move because it might scare her away.
I like this girl. And I mean really like her. And she has no idea.
But knowing she pushed past all that anxiety to invite me to dinner because she wants to spend more time with me? I feel like a million bucks right now. I honestly haven’t felt this attracted to anyone since I first met…no. Not thinking of her right now.
Grabbing the bottle of wine and the four-pack of Rizzle spiked seltzers I ran out and bought after Josette invited me over––I needed to bring something, and I’m not sure which she would prefer––I check my reflection in the mirror near the front door. I look about as good as it’s going to get, and I flash myself a smile before pulling the door open and stepping out into the hall.
I know a casual dinner of grilled cheese and soup isn’t exactly romantic, but fuck , it feels extremely romantic to me. I’m actually nervous when I knock on Josette’s door.
Several long moments pass, and I imagine her on the other side, pacing as she tries to work up the courage to open it. Working through the anxiety just like she did when she invited me over in the first place. She’s stronger than she realizes, and I decide right here and now I’m going to do everything I can to help her recognize that strength in herself.
The door finally swings open, quickly like she did it in a rush so as not to chicken out, and I couldn’t tame my brilliant smile if I tried. She looks a bit nervous, but when her eyes drop to the offerings in my hands, she seems to relax. Her gaze rips back up to meet mine, and she arches a brow.
“Trying to get me drunk, Mr. Westfield?”
A short laugh barks out of me. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Barnes. I just wasn’t sure which you would prefer, so I bought both.”
She waves me inside, then closes the door behind me before leading the way into the kitchen. I put the drinks in the fridge before turning to take a good look at her. God, she looks like an angel.
She’s wearing a long burgundy dress held up by thin straps that loop over her shoulders. Her hair is pinned up in a messy knot at the back of her head, a few stray tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. And she’s barefoot, her toenails painted the softest shade of pink.
My soft, warm thoughts shatter when I get a whiff of something that smells delicious. Something that is decidedly not grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. When I lift my nose and inhale deeply, Josette chuckles nervously and pulls on some thick oven mitts.
“I hope you like Italian,” she says as she opens the oven and pulls out a casserole dish covered with bubbly white cheese before reaching back in for a tray of buttery garlic bread. “I know I said sandwiches, but I…uh…got a craving for my mom’s baked ziti.”
“I love Italian,” I say when she bites her lip nervously. “And I can’t wait to try it.”
I hope she really did just get a craving, and isn’t trying to impress me. I’d eat a Hungry Man frozen dinner with her, and it would be one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Because of the company.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks after setting the hot pans on crocheted pads .
“I can open the wine, if you’d like,” I say, and she smiles.
I pull the wine from the fridge while she roots around in a drawer, coming out with a corkscrew. As I twist the device into the cork, she grabs two stemless wine glasses from the cabinet I fixed and sets them down in front of me. I fill the two glasses to the halfway point before pushing the cork back in and putting the bottle of white back into the refrigerator.
When I finish, Josette has two plates topped with bake ziti. She takes them to the table, and I pass her as I carry the wine glasses to our spots. Her scent wafts over me as we pass, something fruity and sweet that makes my skin tingle.
“You sit while I slice the bread,” she says when I set the glasses down and turn back to help.
Nodding, I sit and watch her work, her delicate hands wielding the bread knife in smooth, practiced strokes. Her lips purse before she blows a stream of air, whisking a strand of hair away from her eyes.
God, she’s gorgeous. Fucking ethereal.
I drag my eyes away quickly when she lifts her head to look at me, focusing instead on my glass of wine as I lift it to my lips for a small sip. My gaze pulls back to her as she walks toward me, carrying a plate of sliced bread in one hand and a box of freshly grated parmesan in the other.
I nod when she offers to sprinkle some cheese over my plate, then watch as she does the same to hers. Then she picks up her fork, pausing to stare at me expectantly. Oh, right. I’m supposed to be eating.
I pick up my own fork and stab a bite of the steaming cheese, sauce, meat, and noodles, blow on it to cool it a bit, then shovel it into my mouth. My eyes roll back as the flavors hit my tongue, and I couldn’t stop the groan of approval that bellows out of me if I tried. When I finish chewing and swallow, I open my eyes to find Josette staring at me with a happy smile.
“The key is to use Italian sausage and ground beef. A lot of recipes call for one or the other, but Mom has always been a meat-lover.”
“It’s delicious,” I reply before taking another bite and groaning just as loudly as I did the first time.
“I’m glad you like it,” she says with a grin before scooping up a bite from her own plate.
We eat in silence for a few beats, my mind unable to focus on anything but the delicious fare. Even the bread is divine, toasted to perfection with just the right amount of butter and garlic. Josette sets her fork down and takes a sip of wine, clearing her throat to get my attention.
I open my mouth to apologize for paying more attention to the food than to her, but she speaks before I can utter a single word. “Are you excited to start work tomorrow with Linc?”
“I am,” I say. “This week or so off has been nice, but I’m itching to get back to work.”
“I don’t know him as well as I know Royal, but he seems nice. I bet he’s a good boss to work for,” she says, then bites into a piece of bread, leaving her lips shiny with butter.
I’d kill to lick it off.
Shaking my head to dislodge the thought, I say, “Yeah, he seems like a cool guy. Like someone who works with his employees, not over them, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” she says with a small nod.
“Do you like what you do? The customer service stuff?”
Her cheeks turn pink, and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. I gear up to retract the question, but she opens her mouth to respond before I can.
“I like that I don’t have to help customers in person or even talk to them on the phone. It’s all through the chat feature.”
I nod, and we continue eating in silence until we’re both finished. I set my fork down and pat my stomach happily, but when I look at Josette, she’s staring down at her plate with a pensive expression. Something tells me not to ask her what’s wrong, to let her work through whatever she’s working through in her own time. So, I drink my wine and watch her until she looks up at me with a pained expression.
“I don’t really like being alone.”
I’m confused for a beat, then our conversation from the beach comes back to me. I asked her the questions and told her not to answer. To just think about it.
Do you avoid social situations because you prefer to be alone? Or do you do it because you’re nervous or uncomfortable around other people ?
I simply nod, knowing she’s not looking for my commentary on the matter. She’s just stating it out loud. And it’s more for herself than for me.
“Did your friend ever get any better at dealing with it?” she asks, her voice a thin whisper.
I nod. “He did. With therapy and lots of practice.”
Her face pales as she jerks back a few inches. “You think I need therapy? I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with therapy. I just never thought…”
“I can’t answer that for you, Josette. I can tell you that his anxiety seemed to be far more severe than yours is. It took him weeks to feel comfortable enough with me to want to hang out outside of our usual class project meetings.”
She seems to catch what I’m not saying. That it only took her a few days to muscle through her own anxiety and agree to spend time with me. She returns my smile, her cheeks blooming with color as she holds my gaze without glancing away.
“You’re so pretty.” Shit, did I say that out loud?
Josette’s eyes widen as her cheeks turn even redder, then her gaze flutters down to her plate. Yep. Totally said it out loud.
When she clears her throat, stands, and starts to tidy the table, I hop to my feet, saying, “Please. Let me clean up.”
“I can do it,” she says, and I consider it a small victory when she meets my eyes without hesitation.
“Please,” I repeat. “You cooked. I clean. Just relax and have some more wine. ”
She stares at me with unblinking eyes for several beats, then slowly nods. I grab the bottle of wine from the fridge as she retakes her seat, and she thanks me softly after I refill her glass. I set the bottle on the table before grabbing our plates and taking them into the kitchen. I feel her gaze on me as I scrape them into the trash can, rinse them, and load them into the dishwasher.
I remember where the plastic storage containers are from helping her reorganize after I fixed the cabinets, and when I reach in to grab a large one to store the leftover ziti, Josette speaks up.
“Grab two. You’re taking half of it home with you.”
I grin at her and nod. “Thanks. I’d love some leftovers.”
Once I have the food divvied up, I head back to the table for the plate of leftover garlic bread and she says, “There are some resealable storage bags under the sink. Take some bread, too.”
I thank her and do as she says, and after I finish loading the dishwasher and start it, I begin wiping down the counters. I can still feel her watching me, but I take my time anyway. Dinner is over, but I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, either, and knowing Josette, she’d feel anxious about asking me to leave. Hell, she’d be anxious about asking me to stay, too.
I just need to be clear, concise, and leave the ball in her court.
After washing and drying my hands, I walk back toward her, stopping a couple of feet away. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. ”
“You’re welcome,” she says.
“Do you want to hang out for a while? Or do you want me to go?” I ask, keeping my voice even so my tone won’t influence her to say what she thinks I want to hear.
There’s a moment of panic in her eyes, then she stiffens her spine, nods, and says, “I’d like to hang out for a while, if you’re up for it.”
I can’t contain my wide grin as I exhale roughly and say, “I’d love to.”
We stare at each other with matching goofy smiles for several moments, then Josette clears her throat and stands. “Do you want to watch a movie, or something?”
“Sure,” I say, holding out an arm for her to lead the way. “That sounds great.”
She nods up at me and takes her wine glass with her as she heads for the living room. I take a moment to refill my own glass from the bottle before following her. She sits on one end of the couch, and I take the other, leaving a couple of feet of space between us. The last thing I want to do is crowd her and make her uncomfortable. Using the remote, she pulls up my favorite streaming service and navigates through the lists.
Her “Your Next Watch” list is enlightening, mostly romantic comedies with a few true crime documentaries sprinkled throughout. Josette navigates past the list and starts sifting through the action movies, so I hold out my hand.
“Wait. Let me see that.”
She arches a brow but hands the remote over, and I go back to her recommendation list. After scrolling through the titles for a few seconds, I pause and look over at her.
“How about You’ve Got Mail ? I haven’t seen that one in years.”
Josette stares at me with wide eyes for a moment, opens her mouth and closes it a couple of times, then inhales deeply before saying, “I love that movie.”
“So do I,” I say, then I press the button to start the film.
I can see her staring at me in my peripheral vision for a full minute, but I keep my eyes glued to the screen. Eventually, she takes a sip of her wine and settles back, turning her attention to the movie. Halfway through, we’re bantering and laughing and God, I want this to become an everyday thing. Josette is so comfortable, she even reaches over to swat my arm when I say something ridiculous. It feels amazing.
And I just like being around her.
By the time the movie ends, she’s somehow scooted closer to me, leaving a few scant inches between her body and mine. There’s a sudden charge in the air, and I can’t miss the way she slowly slides to her left, widening that gap between us like she’s just realized how close we are. I try to fight my disappointment. It’s fine. She’s not ready to be that close to me, and I don’t mind waiting.
I’ll wait as long as she needs.
“I should go,” I say softly, pushing myself to my feet.
“Okay,” Josette replies, setting her wine glass on the coffee table next to mine before following me toward the door.
“I had a really good time tonight,” I say as I stop by the door and turn to face her. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“I had fun, too,” she says, and I can see her throat working like she’s trying to swallow past a lump. “We should do it again sometime.”
“I’d love that,” I whisper.
Turning, I reach for the doorknob. Just before my fingers touch the brass metal, I freeze, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. Turning back toward her, I meet her eyes and exhale slowly.
“Can I kiss you, Josette Ophelia Barnes?” I ask, my voice low and even.
She inhales sharply, swallows thickly again, then nods. My heart races as I reach out to place a palm to her cheek. My other hand snakes around her waist, pulling her against me as I bend down to bring myself closer to her height. Our lips brush once. Twice. Three times.
Josette gains a couple of inches as she pushes closer, raising up onto her tiptoes. Her eager aggression makes my heart soar, and I tilt my head for a better angle before brushing my tongue over her bottom lip. Her mouth opens without hesitation, and my blood roars in my ears as I sweep my tongue inside to taste her.
Damn. She tastes like white wine and perfection.
Holding a tight leash on my desire, I slow the kiss to a few soft nibbles before pulling back to meet her eyes. She blinks a few times like she’s coming out of a deep sleep, and her soft smile makes me want to leap up and click my heels together .
“Good night, Josette,” I whisper.
“Good night, Dallas,” she breathes back, and I release her, keeping my gaze locked on hers while I reach behind me to open the door.
I walk backwards through it, watching as she catches her breath, waves and gently pushes the door closed. I stare at it for a couple of beats before turning toward my apartment, my smile so wide, my cheeks are starting to hurt.
But I can’t drop the smile. I’m too happy.
Best. Night. Ever.