Strong Opinions
Ashton
I didn’t sleep. I just laid there on the couch all night, listening to the soft creaks of the house and trying not to think about Jordy—about how much I still want her, even after everything she said in that phone conversation.
I heard her come out once, probably to brush her teeth.
I pretended to be asleep—coward move, maybe—but I wasn’t ready to face what I’d heard last night.
Or how I feel.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to will the memory out of my head. But her voice won’t leave me.
He’s been really generous, and it might be because he wants more.
I don’t think of him that way.
It’s actually kind of annoying.
He keeps hinting.
I keep dodging, but politely so I can keep a roof over my head.
Obviously, I’m just a pity project to her, something she’s putting up with. I think back to our day on the river, about holding her hand and then later taking her to the art gallery. I thought there’d been a connection. I’d seen the way she looked at me, felt the tug of that thread between us.
Did I misread everything?
After Jordy went to bed, I’d stayed up a little longer.
She had too, apparently. Her light had been on for at least another hour, and it took everything in me to not knock on her door and demand to know what was going on.
But I didn’t. The thought of her rejecting me again when the phone call had done the job so flawlessly … it would be more than I could take.
And I had two more weeks of putting up a good front.
I stretch, taking the last few moments of alone time before I have to get moving on my day. All I want to do is burrow under the covers and forget the world exists.
The sound of wheels on the linoleum floor gives me pause. I peek my head over the couch, and there’s Jordy, rolling two suitcases—one in front of her, and the other behind. She winces when she sees me.
“I thought I’d ask you for one more favor. My car is in town, so…”
I sit up. “So you need your suitcases?” I shake my head, looking from them to her. “What are you doing?”
“Getting out of your hair. I figured it was time.” She takes a deep breath, then offers a shaky smile. “You’ve been so generous,” she says.
Generous . That fucking word.
“Is that what you think this is? I’m just being generous?”
I get up from the couch, and her eyes widen. But I’m pissed.
“I’m not trying to get in your pants by letting you stay here,” I say. Her jaw drops.
“Um, okay?”
“In fact, I don’t expect anything from you just for staying here. Did it ever occur to you that I was just being nice? That I saw you in a hard spot, and I let you stay here because I have the room?”
“Well, I thought you did it because you felt guilty for getting me drunk,” she says.
She laughs a little, but I note the hurt in her eyes, which pisses me off even more.
She doesn’t get to feel hurt, not after playing fucking games and then gossiping to her mom about what a clueless idiot I’ve been.
“I heard you on the phone last night.”
She looks confused for a moment, tilting her head. “When I was talking with my mom?”
“Yeah, and I heard everything. How you don’t think of me that way.
How it’s annoying. How you’re just being nice to keep a roof over your head.
Well, let me tell you something … you don’t have to worry about me.
I might be attracted to you, but you don’t need to pretend to be interested just so you can stay here.
You don’t even need to leave now, even though I’m livid you think that of me.
There are no strings for you staying here, Jordy.
I would have kept my mouth shut until the day you left, if that made you happy. ”
She inhales sharply, then lets it out in a slow, unsteady breath. “You’re … attracted to me?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Lottie chooses that moment to let her presence be known. Her wail sounds loudly on the other side of her door. I move to it, but I point to Jordy’s suitcases.
“I’ll drive you to get your car, but your shit is staying here.”
Then I turn to my daughter’s room, trying not to let my anger affect the way I open her door.
On the other side, I pause to catch my breath. Lottie quiets as soon as she sees me, watching me with wide eyes.
Fuck. I can’t believe I actually admitted I liked her, even knowing that she found it “annoying.” I said the unspoken thing aloud. Now what am I supposed to do? Walk out of this room and pretend nothing is wrong?
I gather Lottie in my arms, who seems to understand that her daddy is in a strange state. She pats my cheek, almost as if to comfort me.
That’s the thing about my daughter, I could be having the worst day of my life, and one sweet little gesture from her can make it all go away.
“You’re my girl, you know that?” I kiss her forehead, then lean back to look at her.
My beautiful girl. She grins, then moves her head toward me again for another forehead kiss.
It’s our game, to see how many kisses she can take.
I give them all to her, peppering her face with kisses while she squeals.
By the time I leave the room, the ice is broken. I’m still mortified by my admission, but I said what I said. Even if Jordy doesn’t return my feelings, I no longer have to hide behind them.
“Want coffee?” Jordy asks. She’s seated at the end of the counter, almost like she’s waiting for me. Her suitcases are no longer in view, which feels kind of like a message—she’s staying. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or panicked.
“Sure.” I strap Lottie into her highchair then turn. Jordy is next to me, holding the cup of coffee.
“You’re attracted to me?” she asks again as I take the cup from her hands.
I narrow my eyes as I take my first sip. “That’s all you got from what I said? What, you want to rub it in my face?”
“Ashton, when have I ever been that horrible to you?”
I take a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe not to me,” I say, “but you seem to have a very strong opinion about me.”
“You’re right,” she says, stepping closer. She takes the coffee from my hands and puts it on the counter. She moves even closer, placing one hand on my hip and the other at my chest.
“Come on,” I murmur, looking down at her. I want to move away, but my feet are firmly planted on the ground. I feel dizzy from her proximity, completely consumed by her. It’s cruel. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you my opinion,” she says, her voice husky. Then she brushes her mouth across mine with the softest of kisses. Barely a whisper. Testing. Tasting.
And I break.
I grab her hips, pulling her against me like I’ve been waiting a lifetime. Her hands slide around my neck, and my mouth claims hers. It isn’t sweet—it’s hungry. It’s all the conversations we haven’t had, all the tension finally snapping.
I can’t get close enough.
“Zowies?” Lottie asks.
I break away from Jordy, laughing even as the confusion sets in. What the fuck just happened?
“I don’t understand,” I say, reaching for the Cheerios and pouring a small hill on Lottie’s tray. “You said all those things to your mother.”
“And I bet you thought that call was about you,” she teases.
“Huh?”
“I was talking about my boss.” Her hand lands on her hip, and she gives me a pointed look.
It takes a few beats for me to register what she’s saying. “You mean, Alexander Winslow?”
“Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We dated for a minute, before I started working for him. I realized quickly that we weren’t compatible.”
Just the thought of that man’s hand on her … I want to pop his fucking head off his body. I still remember that too wide grin he had as we went over the paperwork with Bob to sell The Till. Just knowing he aimed that slimy smile at Jordy makes me feel like I could commit murder.
“What’s his deal? Is he still fucking with you? I mean, unless you want him to. But aren’t there laws against that?” I clench my fists at my side, and she glanced at them, her face looking amused as her eyes flicked back to my face.
“I’m an independent contractor,” she says. “And did you not hear what I just said? No, I don’t want him. That’s what I was trying to tell my mom.”
I scroll back the mental tapes, trying to remember what I heard.
“You said I’m generous and putting a roof over your head.”
She shakes her head. “No, I said he’s putting the roof over my head. I’m paid well for what I do, and I get to keep my New York apartment thanks largely to that paycheck.”
“You said the money was an issue.” Even as I say it though, I realize what a fool I’d been.
“It is,” she says. “He’s made of money. He lives completely different than me.
If I were interested in a relationship with him, it would mean giving up my autonomy and bending to his world.
Money is nice and all, but it’s not everything.
” She touches my arm, sliding it down until our hands clasp.
“It didn’t matter if he bled money, I knew I’d never love him. ”
There’s something in the way she says it— love —how she’s touching me when she says it. It makes me feel hopeful. We’re nowhere near the meaning of that word, but fuck, it feels like a possibility.
One that I want.
“And you?” I ask, turning toward her, loving the way her fingers feel laced with mine. “Are we unmatched?”
The corner of her mouth quirks up, and she shakes her head.
I lift her chin with my finger so that she’s looking up at me. “Are you attracted to me?”
She bites her lip, then nods.
“Even though we’re from different worlds?”
She moves closer still, her face inches from mine. “Not all that different.”
But we are. She’s in my arms now, but soon she’ll be on a plane, heading thousands of miles away.
“In two weeks, you leave for New York, and I’ll still be here in Lahoma Springs.”
She takes a deep breath, her smile faltering for a moment, then she looks back up at me. Her eyes are so beautiful, a deep, dark brown I could get lost in. I want to smother myself in her, to consume and be consumed. I feel complete, and I also feel like I can’t get close enough.
“I can’t keep stuffing these feelings,” she admits, and it makes me take a quick breath. Because I can’t either, and the relief of this moment is almost overwhelming. I have her. But the ache in my heart can’t stop telling me that I’m going to lose her.
“What do we do?” I ask.
Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears, but she smiles through them. I brush a thumb over her lashes, catching them before they fall. She closes her eyes briefly, leaning into my hand. When she looks at me again, it’s with renewed determination.
“We make the most of our time,” she whispers, then presses her lips to mine.