Chapter 16
Desmond
I wouldn’t have suspected thirty to be too old to sleep on the couch, but it apparently is.
My back wakes me up a mere four hours after I fell asleep, and a quick inventory of my body shows cramped legs, a kinked neck, and an arm that no longer feels as though it’s an arm.
Groaning, I roll over and shake out the sleepy arm, coaxing blood flow to return.
I don’t even have to check my phone to know it’s far too early to get up—it’s dark as hell, and my eyes are dry with exhaustion.
Pressing myself against the back of the couch, I adjust the pillow under my cheek in an effort to save my neck. I think longingly of my nice big, comfy bed down the hallway, and right on the tail end of that comes a yearning for the man currently occupying said bed.
As uninterested as I am in dating and sex as a whole, I do seem to spend a lot of time thinking about Jack.
More time, certainly, than I’ve ever spent thinking about mates in the past. I’m not blind, or celibate, and can recognize attraction both in myself and when it’s aimed my direction.
I know Jack looks at me and likes what he sees.
I’ve known since that first day in the locker room.
And now—thanks to a simple, offhand comment by Parker—my own attraction to Jack is pressing more than ever at the boundaries I erected.
I’ve always thought he was handsome, with that unique coloring and strong body.
I like the way he’s sweet and shy; the way he blushes, and embarrasses easily.
But those things were easy to push to the side, because he was a player on my hockey team and pursuing an intimate relationship with him would have been crossing all sorts of professional and personal boundaries.
Of course, he’s no longer a member of my hockey team.
No, now he’s just Jack who comes over every Saturday under the guise of using my washer and dryer.
Jack, who patiently plays boring video games with my nephew, and stands shoulder to shoulder with me in the kitchen, making lunch.
He helps clean the apartment he doesn’t live in, and has now spent a night in my bed.
I trust him, and I find that I like the way the apartment feels with him in it. Somehow, it feels like he belongs.
He’s folded himself so seamlessly into my and Parker’s lives, it feels as though we’re steps ahead of where we really are.
I think back to Parker’s birthday, remembering how I’d automatically reached for Jack; wanted to slide an arm around his waist simply for the pleasure of being able to touch.
I wasn’t allowed to then, but now…now, I could.
I could bend over and blow away that line in the sand with nothing more than a puff of air.
Reaching up, I press my fingers into my eyes.
Now is not the time to think about this.
I need to go to sleep, not let my thoughts spiral around re dheaded men and what it might be like to cuddle in my sheets.
The second time I wake up, I crack open gritty eyes to pale morning light filtering through the slats of the cheap plastic blinds.
Yawning, I listen for sounds of life from Parker’s room, and am unsurprised when I don’t hear any.
Last night was definitely a late night for him; add in the slight emotional turmoil and I imagine he’ll be sleeping in until at least ten.
Pushing myself to sitting, I rub my face and reach for my phone.
No messages from Nico or the team, and my email is empty of any communication from my lawyer.
I expel a relieved breath, acknowledging as I do how sad it is that the threat of an email from my lawyer hangs over my head.
I would give any amount of money, right now, to settle this and not ever have to talk to my parents again.
Standing, I grab the dress pants I’d discarded onto the floor last night and tug them on. The shirt gets tossed to the couch, pooling with the blankets. I’ll deal with it later.
After starting the coffee, I walk quietly down the hall and crack open Parker’s door.
His messy brown hair is fanned over the pillow, mouth open, and limbs star-fished.
One arm is dangling off the edge of the bed.
Carefully, I approach and tuck it back in, pinching my mouth together when he doesn’t even move.
The kid is the heaviest sleeper I’ve ever encountered.
I check on Jack, too, just in case he’s sitting in the bedroom hiding, unsure of whether he’s allowed to come out into the main room yet.
Unlike Parker, he’s curled up on his side in the fetal position, pillow clenched tight to his face and knees pulled into his chest. He’s breathing softly, a tiny snore punctuating the sound every couple of breaths.
I want to slide in behind him and feel the rumble of those snores against my cheek.
Closing the door, I head back to the kitchen in search of coffee and sanity.
I’m on to cup number two, eggs cooking on the stovetop, when Jack shuffles awkwardly down the hall, cheeks rosy and hair spiky. I smile at him, because really. How adorable could someone be?
“Morning, Jacko. Coffee?” I reach for a mug, keeping my eyes on him as he steps closer. Like me, he’s wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday, because, also like me, sleep had been more important than the nightly routine yesterday.
“Uhm”—he hesitates, biting his lip—“do you have creamer, or…?”
“I don’t,” I admit, but mentally add it to the shopping list that lives rent-free in my mind these days. “The only other morning drink option would be Parker’s hot chocolate, but?—”
“Can I have that?” he asks, perking up visibly.
“Oh, sure. Of course.”
He smiles, and takes my place at the stove as I go to grab the container from the pantry. Handing the powered hot chocolate off to him, I grab the milk from the fridge as well. I usually just use hot water for Parker, but since Jack isn’t ten, I’m assuming he’s got a slightly more refined palate.
“Parker still asleep?” he asks, dumping two massive spoonfuls of powder into the mug.
“Yeah, he’ll probably be down for the count this morning. Just me and you for a bit.” I smile at him. He smiles back with no trace of a blush, warm and fresh from bed.
So cute, Victoria comments. Piss off, I think back.
I settle for scrambled eggs with bacon for me and Jack—easy enough to make, and with enough caloric bang to keep us happy for a few hours. We sit at the dining room table, legs bumping, salt and pepper passed between us.
“Is it still okay for me to come shopping with you today?” Jack asks, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.
“Of course,” I agree, fidgeting with my fork, clinking it against the plate.
His rumpled clothes and bed head remind me of where he spent the night, and also remind me of the thoughts that kept me awake this morning. Stomach aching, I lay down my fork.
“Jack?”
“Mm?” he hums around a mouthful of egg, raising his eyebrows, eyes widening with the movement. He’s got such beautiful eyes, which only makes my stomach hurt worse. I’m an adult, and this is ridiculous. If I want him around more often, I need to ask for it.
“So, listen, I’ve been thinking—” I halt, trying to think through what I want to say. Less words and straight to the point is probably best. “Uh, how would you feel about grabbing dinner sometime?”
I groan internally. Apparently not dating for a few years makes it harder to pick the practice back up. Jack doesn’t even look embarrassed by the question, which means I’ve failed to impart on him the fact that I’m asking him out.
“Sure,” he replies, happily drinking from his mug. He’s throwing back that hot chocolate so quickly, he’s going to need a refill soon. “To Subway, again?”
I laugh. Oh hell, he’s too bloody cute.
“Well, no, I was thinking something nicer. Just me and you.” I pause, but not even that is enough for him to figure out where this is heading. It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten much this morning, or I’d be liable to vomit up my nerves. “Like a date, Jacko.”
His fork falls from his hand, clattering loudly against the plate and bouncing off onto the floor.
Eggs scatter across the table, and I reach out to steady the mug before he sends it tipping over the side.
The blush I’d been waiting for spreads across his cheeks like paint, red mixing with the freckles.
“What?” he asks, sounding so shocked I have a hard time holding back my laugh.
“I’d like to go out sometime,” I repeat, watching the color of his face turn alarming. “Just me and you.”
He gapes at me. Feeling like the hot chocolate is probably safe, I retreat back to my side of the table and wait for him to work through what I’m asking. It takes him a minute.
“Why?” is the next question to come out, which, thankfully, is pretty easy to answer.
“Because I like spending time with you.”
“Oh my god, ” he replies, looking thunderstruck.
“No drama if you aren’t into it,” I add, which makes him breathe in so sharply it hurts my chest.
“I mean…yes, obviously, holy shit. You’re so”—he waves a hand in my direction, eyes wide, and shakes his head—“ you .”
“Clears things right up,” I comment mildly, which makes him laugh, choked and a touch hysterical.
“Oh God,” he says, covering up his eyes with a palm. “I’m so awkward, though. You’ve met me, right?”
“I like it when you’re awkward,” I reply, which is a pretty awkward thing for me to say, to be fair. Jack drops his hand away from his face.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says on a sigh, before taking notice of the chunks of eggs scattered across the table. The blush blooms heavy once more. “Oh fuck, sorry, I’ll clean it up.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jacko. We can grab you another fork, though.”
“Oh I can’t eat anymore. I’m freaking out way too much for food.”