18. Jensen
Chapter 18
Jensen
B eyond the flashes of commercials and stray light from the kitchen, Jensen sat deep in thought in the dark of his townhouse. With the television on mute, silence lurked in the spacious home.
Some might argue that a townhouse was too big for a bachelor, but Jensen liked to entertain. He factored those details in when he invested in the property years ago, using a small chunk of his trust fund to buy his home instead of funding a lavish eighteenth birthday.
He hadn’t regretted the decision once.
Jensen clicked through a few of the work reports, knowing he'd earn some lecturing from his sisters about bringing work home. His habit of prioritizing his job led to many fights in the past, mainly with Delaney. He promised to better separate work and home life for his own sanity.
Just not that evening.
The evening news made good background noise while he worked, keeping him from falling asleep in the middle of a spreadsheet. His informational emails weren’t about to write themselves.
Between every few emails, Jensen glanced at the television to catch the newest headlines flashing onto the screen. Except for President Spencer's planned address in the morning, nothing new grabbed his attention off the spreadsheets clogging his laptop.
“And that should be a good place to end for the night,” Jensen said to himself. He let out a yawn while hitting the last email address on his list. He cracked his spine while stretching over the back of his sectional, ready to crash. “What a wonderful start to my weekend. I should’ve accepted Cal’s invitation to go out.”
Although he lamented about the hypothetical night he could’ve spent in a loud, dimly-lit club with some friends, Jensen knew he’d choose to be home nine times out of ten. Somewhere between graduating college and then, he lost interest in wild nights out and boozy adventures.
It had everything to do with his impending responsibilities as a potential CEO in less than two months. For Hidden Oasis, their leader's actions helped the company's reputation shine or caused it to crumble. Jensen needed positive press if he wanted the job to be his.
As his eyes drooped a little, a knock at the door spurred him wide awake. He hadn’t been expecting any company.
Jensen climbed off the couch, leaving his laptop to sink into one of the cushions. He jogged over, opening the door without checking the peephole, but when his eyes landed on sandy blonde hair, he froze.
“Daisy?” he whispered.
The sight of her bordered on unrecognizable. Her hair fell out of a sloppy bun, framing her red, puffy face. Watery mascara streaks darkened her cheeks in the tell-tale shape of runny tears. Her work clothes looked disheveled as she swayed on her feet, nowhere close to the confident woman he knew.
“Jensen,” Daisy’s words slurred hard. If Jensen leaned in, he expected to smell alcohol wafting off her. She staggered forward into Jensen's arms—more of a stumble than a lunge.
Jensen’s eyes scanned the street for Daisy’s car. “Daisy, please don’t tell me you drove here.”
“No. . . took a taxi. . . you’re pretty,” Daisy giggled. Her hands slid over his white tank top, looping around his neck, and she leaned into him. When Jensen looked down, her mouth crashed against him with a fierce, albeit clumsy, kiss.
Jensen almost recoiled from the sharp taste of tequila and lime in his mouth. Shit, she was drunk out of her mind.
His nonresponse elicited a whine from Daisy, who tried to pull Jensen back to her when he turned his face. Her hands played with the hair at the nape of his neck, batting her lashes at him with a pout.
"Daisy, no," Jensen spoke softly, not wanting to hurt her. His hands grabbed her waist and held her steady when her legs wobbled. "How much did you have to drink tonight?"
Daisy didn’t give him a clear response, giggling while she tried to grind against him over his sweatpants. Her head lolled back. "I don't know. . . now, take me to bed. You can rip my clothes off and put me in my place."
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not? Am I not pretty anymore?”
“Daisy, you know that’s nowhere close to true.”
Jensen listened to her groans of disappointment when she buried her face into his neck, gripping him tighter. Her touch pleaded for attention, pawing at his clothes and pressing herself against his body.
He guided her into his house, shutting the door behind them. Jensen sighed when Daisy giggled and kissed his neck, clearly thinking she'd be getting laid. He had no clue why she gave the taxi his address instead of hers, but she'd be safer here than trying to go home—too drunk to get inside without additional help.
Jensen eased off her shoes and dropped them by the front door with her purse. He locked the front door, earning a few more giggles and noises from Daisy.
“Come on, Your Highness.” Jensen scooped under Daisy’s thighs and hoisted her into his arms, slightly bending her over his shoulders. “You’ll thank me later when your head is pounding after all that tequila, and you’ve become well-acquainted with my toilet.”
Daisy continued to play with his hair as Jensen climbed the stairs, heading toward his bedroom. Despite her drunkenness, Daisy wiggled in his arms and squeezed him tighter like the excitement kicked her wide awake.
“Bedroom. . . I like your bedroom. . .” said Daisy.
“Yeah? What do you like about my bedroom?” Jensen asked.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and took in the neat bedroom, except for the rumpled sheets of his bed. Jensen set Daisy onto the edge of the bed, but she flopped backward with a laugh, writhing on the sheets.
"I like your bed because it's where you like to fuck me." Daisy arched her back off the bed, striking a seductive pose. She rolled around, yet all her attempts to convince Jensen firmly solidified his resolve to gently let her down.
Something wasn’t right.
“Yeah, but we’ve also defiled my couch and my kitchen table and the patio out back.” Jensen sat her up, holding her when she swayed a little too hard. “Stay here, okay?”
"Okay," Daisy sighed while Jensen darted into the ensuite bathroom. He pulled several drawers open and rummaged through them, hunting for something in the dark.
He fumbled around until he grabbed the crinkly package of makeup wipes. Either Hayley or Piper saved his ass with their pesky habit of rearranging his bathroom drawers, stuffing them with their things for when they stayed over.
Jensen slipped back into the bedroom, finding Daisy stuck in her dress pulled halfway over her head. He kneeled before her and eased the dress back down. Daisy’s bewildered face came into view while he pulled open the makeup wipes.
"You can't fuck me with my clothes still on," Daisy whispered when Jensen brought the makeup wipe to her cheeks. He cleaned her cheeks free of damp mascara and the rest of her smudged makeup. "Don't you. . . you want me, right?"
"I want you when you're sober and able to consent," Jensen hummed while wiping away the eyeliner and mascara, softening her face. He moved to her lips to fix the smeared, cherry-red lipstick she loved. "I like you when you’re feisty and constantly talking shit, even when I’ve got you pinned.”
Daisy didn’t respond while Jensen tenderly wiped the last of her makeup away, leaving her skin dewy and flushed from the crying she’d obviously been doing. Tears and the alcohol made for a rough pairing.
Jensen rose off the floor and dimmed the bathroom lights before turning on the shower. A hiss filled the air before steam rose from the warm water, not scalding hot.
“You can take as long as you need in the shower and use my stuff for shampoo or soap. I’ll wash your clothes and give you something from my drawers to wear,” Jensen murmured, helping her off the bed.
But Daisy gripped onto him, sensing his intention to give her space. She shook her head, burying her face in his shoulder. Her voice wavered, “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
Jensen froze. In the years that he knew her, Daisy never begged him like that for anything, let alone for him not to leave her. He could count on one hand the number of times he saw her cry. The vulnerability struck him straight through the heart.
"I won't go, okay?" Jensen promised. His eyes met Daisy's glassy, red-rimmed ones for a split second until she nodded, acknowledging him. She grabbed at her clothes until Jensen helped her out of them, dropping them into a puddle on the floor.
He guided her into the shower, standing in the open doorway while Daisy basked in the warm torrent of water. She blinked hard as she lingered under the water, no longer swaying as much.
Jensen grabbed the shampoo from its bottle in the carved alcove. He squeezed some of it into his hands, lathered them up, and ran his fingers through Daisy’s damp hair. He scraped his fingers along her scalp, humming quietly as Daisy let him wash her hair.
She turned her face out of the water to stare at him. Jensen watched tears well up in Daisy’s eyes. Her lips trembled a little as her face darkened, unable to hide the quiet drop of her gaze. She was ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” Daisy hiccupped. “I’m so so sorry for—”
“You don’t have to apologize to me for anything. I’ve got you,” Jensen shushed her, holding her face in his soapy hands. Maybe she’d talk when she sobered up, but he knew something drove her to his door. It haunted her.
Daisy sucked in a shaky breath as Jensen’s hands returned to her hair, sliding through the heavy tresses. Her gaze focused on the wall, letting a glassy, far-off look paint over the whisky-colored irises.
Jensen's eyes stayed on her face while he washed her from the night's indiscretions before she showed up at his doorstep. She needed sleep; his room would be her safe place to crash, free to stay even after the sun rose in the sky.
Whatever she needed, Jensen would give.
From his spot on the sectional, Jensen scrolled through the channels of the muted television. Sleep abandoned him somewhere in the rush of the night. However, he didn't seek its embrace, distracting himself with something mindless.
Two hours passed since the unexpected arrival of Daisy on his doorstep, stumbling drunk and in a bad way. After the shower, he had put one of his buttoned work shirts on her before tucking her into bed. Daisy went without a fuss, curled up on his side of the bed.
Since then, he checked on her a few times. He always left after seeing her chest's peaceful rise and fall, buried under the weighty duvet.
Jensen’s eyes jumped to the clock for the time, ready to do another pass by his room, until the stairs creaked. He sat straight up and turned toward the staircase, spotting the rumple of his white dress shirt.
Daisy stepped into view with hands rubbing her bleary eyes. The shirt hung heavy on her, barely grazing the middle of her thighs with its hem. Her hair dried during her sleep and framed her face in waves. The grimace of her hangover painted her face in its discomfort.
She wandered down the steps, almost skittish with how she hesitated at every step until she saw Jensen. Her eyes locked with his across the room. She stilled, hands tucked behind her back.
“Hey,” Daisy whispered. The greeting carried over the space as Jensen pushed off the couch. From the coffee table, he snatched up the hangover cure he grabbed as soon as Daisy fell asleep.
“Here, I grabbed these for you.” Jensen met her at the stairs, holding out his hand with the meds. In his other one, he offered a chilled bottle of water. “You should start with this.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing. But you can’t go on an empty stomach.”
“Jensen, you don’t have to feed me. I already interrupted your night by being a nuisance.”
"Well, too bad. You're already here and can't drive home at this hour. I know you've got this attachment to being independent and not needing help, but it wouldn't kill you to let me."
Daisy’s mouth opened to argue, but she stopped herself. Jensen assumed the quiet staring contest they fell into might’ve sold his point. She sighed. “Okay. Do you have anything here?”
“I have leftover Chinese.” Jensen grinned, offering his arm to Daisy like a gentleman. “I’ll make you the best stir fry known to mankind.”
"I'll be the judge of that." Daisy sniffed, but she accepted his arm. She plodded alongside him into the kitchen, backlit with the lights around the stove. She let go of him long enough to jump on the kitchen counter, sitting beside the stove.
Jensen watched Daisy take her meds and chug half the water bottle. When her eyes jumped toward him, he busied himself with the paper boxes of Chinese takeout from the other day. Noodles, chicken, broccoli and assorted veggies. . . perfect.
Grabbing the ingredients out, Jensen stationed himself on the opposite side of the stove from Daisy. The sizzle of oil drizzled into a warming pan echoed throughout the kitchen while he got to cooking.
Beside him, Daisy shifted on her countertop perch. Her bare legs dangled off the side while Jensen’s shirt rode higher on her thighs when she leaned back.
"So, I don't remember much," Daisy mumbled. "Showing up here is blurry, thanks to the shots I took."
“Exactly how much tequila did you drink?” Jensen pushed the leftovers around the pan, confronted with the mouth-watering smell of the ginger chicken. His tongue swept over his lower lip when meeting Daisy’s eyes.
Daisy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Uh. . . at least four shots of tequila, and I had some wine around lunchtime. But that number might be off because I stopped officially counting after three. I might’ve been too mad to eat an actual meal today."
“Daisy. . .”
“In my defense, I had an absolutely awful day deserving of several drinks.”
“What happened?” Jensen asked, more than a little curious. Sloppy drunk and Daisy weren’t two things he considered in the same sentence until earlier that evening. She always held herself together, even when buzzed in the past.
“Can we talk about what happened between me pounding back my second shot of tequila and me waking up in your bed with your clothes on, smelling like your soap? Please?” Daisy mumbled.
Avoidance. . . something else not like Daisy.
“Alright. But don’t think I won’t circle back to this conversation,” Jensen replied, pointing his spoon at her. The comment earned a slight nod from Daisy, almost sporting the ghost of a smile. He pushed the noodles and chicken around a little more. “You showed up at quarter past nine in a bad way. You were mostly coherent when asking me to sleep with you. You couldn’t even stand still when you tried to initiate. I stopped you, wiped off the smeared makeup, and helped you shower before letting you sleep the alcohol off in my clothes.”
Daisy listened to his brief recount, eyes wide in horror, before burying her face into her hands. “Fuck.”
“I didn’t want to send you home in the state you were in. I figured you’d be safe here, and I expected to fall asleep on the couch.”
"Well, thanks. I wouldn't have been as unscathed if I went home alone."
“Daisy, you don’t need to thank me. It was the right thing to do.”
"Well, most guys would've either turned me away into the night instead of helping me sober up. . . or brought me to bed anyway."
Jensen's chest seized when those words left Daisy's lips, leaving him short of breath. He tried to say something—anything really—but he couldn't get past the mental image. No matter how adamantly Daisy pushed him to take her to bed in that state, the slur of her words and the vacant look in her eyes would kill the thought every time.
He shook his head, finding it hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. “So, what happened?”
“Why do you think something happened?”
“Because I know you. Daisy. As much as you talk a big game, you’re never the person to drink for the fun of it. You drink when you’re upset, pushed to the edge of your patience. . . like at the Ridge.”
Daisy’s tongue swept nervously over her lower lip. "I saw my father today. I went to lunch with some investors, and there he was, looking exactly the same as when he left. Before then, I hadn’t seen him in twelve years. He left me, Dex, and my mom when I was thirteen, which caused a dozen other problems in my life besides quintessential daddy issues.”
“Shit. Daisy, I’m so—” Jensen nearly dropped the wooden spoon he used to poke at the stir fry. Holy fuck, that was a valid excuse to drink until blackout.
“Please don’t say you’re sorry. You didn’t do anything,” Daisy interjected, voice strained with agitation while she shifted on the counter. “It would've been bad enough to see my father after all these years, point blank. But today, he was on a date with a twenty-year-old girl who was basically his glorified sugar baby. The poor thing is wrapped around his finger because he has money. I should be more worried about her or grossed out, yet all I’ve been able to think about is how he ruined my life and my mom’s life only to walk away and date someone younger than me.”
Daisy’s chest heaved hard, drinking the rest of her water to calm down. Jensen couldn’t blame her; the thought of his dad ever leaving his mom felt too unfathomable to conceive, let alone abandon her to date girls barely older than Piper.
Jensen watched as Daisy shook her head. “Before I was born, my mom had greatness ahead of her. She had been a Ph.D. student, one of the only women in her program to be studying astrophysics. But then she met my dad, who laid it on sweet and thick until she got pregnant with me. Then, he became the bitter jackass I knew growing up.”
“What happened with the Ph.D. program?” Jensen asked.
“They wouldn’t let her continue when she was pregnant with me. So, she dropped out to raise me. When she started to think about going back, she fell pregnant with Dex,” Daisy said, bitterness flickering to life in her voice. “She never managed to go back before he left us. Her credentials weren't enough to be hired as a single mom in that field. Her dream died with me."
“It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself for what your bastard of a father did.”
“I used to think I played a role in my mom’s unhappiness. It’s my fault she dropped out in the first place, after all. I spent years watching her struggle to keep a roof over our heads until I could chip in, wondering how much better her life would’ve been if I’d never been born.”
Jensen’s jaw clenched when thinking about this guy wandering out there. All the pieces of Daisy’s past shuffled around, fitting into place to perfectly assemble the woman perched on the counter beside him. Despite it all, she rose above the shitty hand life dealt her, presenting a royal flush for the world to gawk at.
“And now?” Jensen asked.
Daisy’s face softened. “I know Lawrence is the one to blame. My mom asked me to forgive myself a long time ago. For her, I did. It didn’t alleviate my guilt completely, but it helped.”
"Your mom's a wise woman." Jensen turned down the heat on the stove, giving space to the silence between him and Daisy. "She sounds like a great lady who raised a smart, stubborn daughter.”
"She'd actually agree with you there," Daisy chuckled. "My mom was able to find a job she loves once I started working at Hidden Oasis full-time. I'm glad I can help provide for her and Dex, even though I wonder what might've been."
Jensen perked up. “What might’ve been if what?”
“If I had chosen astrophysics too.” Daisy’s faint smile dropped; she couldn't hide the crestfallen glint in her eyes from Jensen. Her hands fidgeted while he grabbed two bowls for the stir fry. "I took some prerequisites at UCLA that were part of the major—astronomy, math, and physics. I realized quickly that the love for space runs in the blood."
“The observatory,” Jensen trailed off when meeting Daisy’s eyes. Forget the stir fry and the earlier events of the evening. He fell back into the memory of Daisy’s wonderstruck eyes the night they ran for the planetarium show.
"I think a small part of me always knew how much I loved the universe. I never pursued it further because I owed your dad for taking a chance on me. I couldn't juggle a double major while working because of my scholarship. I refused to ask him to switch majors, so I stayed with business."
“Daisy, I don’t know how you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Let your dreams go.”
“I grew up, Jensen. Dreams come and go, especially when you don’t have the illusion of choice blinding you from reality,” Daisy whispered. Jensen searched her face for any sign of regret, but a mask of indifference pulled over her features.
He might never know how badly she still ached for what should’ve been.
Daisy stared at him, head cocked and brows furrowed like she wanted to pluck his thoughts out of his head and study them. The almost scientific inquisitiveness had always been there, hadn’t it?
She approached the world with the rationality of a woman who ran the odds before she gambled them—so sure and confident of where she’d land. Behind that exterior, did the frightened girl who had no clue what came next hide?
Jensen set the wooden spoon into the hot pan, not caring if he burned dinner. He could order a damn pizza.
His arms pulled Daisy to his chest and crushed her into a hug. He waited for her to squirm or push away, but she didn't. Daisy laid her chin on his shoulder and held him close. "Jensen."
"Enjoy the moment, okay? I'll let you choose what we watch on TV with our dinner," Jensen mumbled, hearing a slight snort pressed against his ear. The thought of sitting up with Daisy on the couch, sharing dinner, and watching television struck a painfully domestic chord. Except for hook-ups, Jensen couldn’t recall a time when he and Daisy spent time together outside of work. He didn’t mind it though, not tonight.
Daisy’s mouth skimmed against his earlobe. “And what if I want to watch cheesy reality television dating shows?”
“Bring on the roses, Your Highness.”