CHAPTER 30
Jesse
I am needy, and I don’t care. As soon as Murph opens the door to his house, I’m all over him. Why did he even bother locking it? He had to have known I’d be over after I left Thanksgiving dinner. That was our plan, right?
I get him backed up halfway to the couch in his living room when I realize something is off. It’s like I’m kissing a wall. A wall with a beard, but a wall, nonetheless.
“Is this a playing-hard-to-get game?” I tease when he braces my arms and draws back.
“No. It’s, um, a not-tonight game.”
He turns and trods to the sofa, flopping down in channel surfer pose.
Okay, I don’t know when or where he got that ABBA t-shirt, but it needs to go. Those sweatpants, however, well, that’s a look I can get on board with. How are sweatpants so hot?
He looked so damn good at dinner all dressed up that it was a feat to keep my eyes off him. Seeing him slumming it in ‘I’ve-given-up-on-life’ jammies, though, is equally sexy in its own way. I’m not really sorry that I won’t keep them on him much longer.
I drop onto the cushion next to him and make a beeline for his neck. Running my hand over his stomach, I’m gentle, knowing it’s probably full of Mom’s cooking.
“What? What happened to having me all to yourself?”
“I’m not sure that you want that.”
He sounds all grumpy. Is he serious?
“Um, hello.” I laugh, motioning to where I’ve practically thrown my thigh over the top of his. “In the words of a guy I know, ‘Do I have to put a sign on it?’”
I go in for a kiss, but his head veers in the other direction. His hand clamps down on my wrist where I was making my way down his thigh.
His gaze is fixed on the television, but I don’t get the impression he’s watching it. What is up?
“Jesse,” he murmurs gravely. “You didn’t even look at me.”
When? Now? I’m looking at him right now.
Wait. Dinner… This is about dinner?
“My whole family was there.”
“Yeah, but you’ve never acted like that before around them when I’m there. You didn’t even talk to me. Your sister asked if we had a fight.”
“I was trying not to make it obvious.” I’m practically sputtering. This is so out of left field, I’m not sure where it’s coming from.
“Why?” he snaps, finally looking at me. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Seriously?” I let out a disbelieving laugh, but his stoney expression doesn’t crack. “What do you want me to tell them? Murph’s helping me explore dick?”
I wait for my logic to break through his touchy mood, but his features melt into a mask of indifference. His eyes look bottomless as he glances back at the TV.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“This.” He gestures between us, sitting up, so I have to drop my leg from his. “Whatever this is. This spillover from the cruise.”
Watching him rest his elbows on his knees and scrub at his face sets off a burst of panic inside my chest. He wants to be done? Already? I knew it would have to end sometime. Heck, I’ve thought about how to stop it myself, but I was miles away from knowing how to do that.
“Why?” It’s silly how small I feel as the word tumbles from my lips, like I’m getting dumped. I guess I just expected us to quit being horny someday and mutually stop attacking each other, not receive this… emotionally charged eviction from Murph.
Sighing, he stands and shoves his hands in his pockets, distancing himself from the couch. “It’s just… not working for me anymore.”
That makes even less sense than him being upset over dinner. “It looked and sounded like it was working for you in the shower the other morning and in my living room the night before that,” I remind him playfully, but he turns a dark look on me.
“Yeah, but I’m done. I’m not an all-access shop. Okay?”
Shit. He’s completely serious.
Running a hand through his hair, he starts pacing, jaw clenched, like he’s chewing nails. My mind is racing, and my stomach has taken a turn for the worse, making me regret that last turkey leg.
What did I do?
‘All-access shop?’ I thought he enjoyed everything we’ve been doing together. Is it because he’s the only one who’s been doing the receiving? Have I made him feel used by not reciprocating?
I’m not going to lie, I love the way I feel when he kneads and strokes my ass. It makes my insides tingle and quiver, even when I’ve felt him hesitantly graze the soft skin between my cheeks a few times. I’ve wondered what it would feel like to have him there, the way he has me. I’ve even stopped worrying about it possibly being unpleasant, but I guess I haven’t given serious thought about exploring it since he seemed so content receiving.
Getting up from the couch, I approach cautiously. I’m blushing already, thinking of the words—they’re not something I ever thought I’d ask my best friend.
“Do you… want to fuck me? Is that the problem?”
He scoffs. Scoffs!
“No.”
Does he think I’ll be bad at it? Or is he babying me since I’m the newbie here?
“I can if you want. I’m sorry I never offered before, it’s just kind of intimidating, and you seemed to enjoy what we’ve been doing so, I didn’t really think about it after that. I didn’t know you weren’t happy with the way things were. We can try changing things up, though.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Gripping his head, he finally stops pacing. I didn’t realize he’s basically been running away from me in slow motion until he pivots back around and looks at me. Tight-lipped, his nostrils flare, and he shakes his head like whatever he sees on my face doesn’t meet his approval. “No. Of course, you don’t.” Spinning back around, he mutters, “I’m so fucking stupid. I never should have touched you.”
It’s laced with such disgust that my throat goes dry on a wave of nausea. He regrets touching me?
I trusted him with my body, to do things with my body I’ve never done before, and his reaction is disgust? Does he think I’m selfish and only capable of plowing him like some horny college guy? He could have said something sooner! And, excuse me, but why the derision when I offer to switch roles? Is the thought of fucking me repulsive?
“What? Because I don’t have experience?” I counter. “Come on. That’s not fair. Just show me what to do like you always do, and I can try. It won’t be boring. I swear. I mean, maybe I’ll be bad at it at first, but—”
“Jesus, Jesse,” he grumbles, pressing his hands to his ears. “Would you just shut up?”
“Shut up? I offer to let you fuck me, and you tell me to shut up? I’m the one who should be pissy right now, not you.”
“You ‘offered?’” He laughs sourly, shaking his head.
Does he have short-term memory loss now on top of jumping to irrational conclusions? Seriously, I’m going to start dropping gingko balboa in his coffee in the mornings.
“Um, yes! Hello, that’s what I just said.”
Whirling around, he grips the sides of my face so fast it startles me.
“Damn it, Jesse! I don’t want to fuck you. I want to fucking love you!”
The volume and content of his words hit my face like an explosion’s concussion effect. More stupefying than that riddle are the tears in his eyes and the tremor in his voice.
“I always have,” he chokes. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
“O-okay...”
“Okay? That’s all you have to say?”
Man, maybe he needs hormones to go along with the balboa. Did he think I stopped appreciating him because we have sex so often?
“What am I supposed to say?” I try to hold back my disbelieving laugh. Clearly, he’s in the throes of some emotional crises. “I… I love you, too.”
“Don’t,” he warns, dropping his hold on me and pointing his index finger. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t fucking make a joke about it.”
“I’m not! You’re my best friend. I love you, too.”
What the fuck? He’s face-grabbing me again.
“Love me? Does the thought of taking me out to a bar or anywhere in public and holding my hand seem like it wouldn’t be ‘weird’ at all? Do you dream about us growing old together? Living a life together?”
All I can do is blink as his suggestions manifest in my mind. Of course, we’ll grow old together. I’ve always thought we’d be friends for life, but holding hands? He wants to hold my hand in public? I don’t have time to dissect the question because he continues with his hypotheticals.
“Does the thought of seeing me with a stripper or some other guy make you crazy with jealousy? Do you wake up next to me and think, ‘God, if I could do this every day for the rest of my life, I’d be the luckiest man on earth?’ And did you tell your mom that she’s wrong—that the man you’re crazy about will love you back some day, the way that you love him, even when she looks at you like she’s worried he’s just going to break your heart?”
Wait. He…
Jealous?
Crazy about me?
He… told his mom?
I…
There’s a gymnastic tumbling competition in my stomach, doing flip-flops over my turkey. My mouth is open, but nothing is coming out. I need something to come out.
“I… I…”
Face twisting in pain, Murph turns away. “That’s what I thought.”
Oh, my gosh. It makes sense now. It wasn’t disgust with me that I was seeing. He was disgusted with himself for… falling in love with me.
Wow. Murph… loves me. Like loves me, loves me.
Crap. What do I do? He looks so destroyed.
“Murph, I…”
“Just go,” he whispers.
Go? I can’t leave him after he dropped a bomb like that. And especially not when I’m pretty certain those are tears in his eyes.
“No. We should talk,” I insist, even though I haven’t the first clue of how to talk about this.
He loves me? He wants to wake up next to me every day? I still can’t believe it.
“Jesse, go. Please,” he mumbles, his hand over his face.
Shit. He’s going into flee-the-scene mode. It’s starting already. He’s such an emotional hermit.
“No. I’m not leaving. You’ll just ignore me again. You always do this—”
“Jesse, go,” he commands, stomping toward his room like a big, angry bearded child in ridiculously sexy sweatpants.
How can he tell me he’s in love with me and then just run off? Don’t I even get a second to process? Damn it, he’s annoying!
“No!” I shout, tromping after him. “I’m not Auggie. You can’t order me around.”
“I’m not ordering you around. I just can’t do this right now.”
“Well, I can’t do you telling me you love me and then ignoring me! I’m not leaving until we talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Just go. Okay?”
Growling at his hallway ceiling, I waste too many precious seconds. He ducks into his bedroom and shuts the door.
Did he just lock it? What the actual fuck?
“You’re locking me out? That’s mature! I can still talk through the door, you know.”
“Go home, Jesse!”
He’s seriously stonewalling me? At a time like this? No one’s ever told me they loved me in my adulthood. How can I walk away from that? No wonder he’s single.
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“I swear to God, if you don’t leave, I’m going to kick you in the bussy!”
He’s resorting to physical threats now? What kind of love is that?
Gasping at his doorway, I know my battle is lost for the evening. My head is spinning, and my heart feels like it’s whirling around inside my chest. Maybe I should go home and think about this before I have it out with him. Still… he doesn’t need to get mean and tell me he’s going to kick things.
“That’s not fair if I still don’t know what it means!” I counter petulantly.
All I get is a muffled shout through the door. “Then look it up!”
I will, the jackass. And then I’ll be back to… to what? Shit. I really should go home.