12. Jess
Jess
We pull up outside the house and I pay my lovely cabbie an extra twenty to make up for the mascara all over his backseat (“Bless your sweet little heart, darlin’ girl”). I can’t get into the house quick enough.
My phone has been going off in my purse, but I don’t dare look at it. No doubt Mark has already blabbed to Johnny about what I just told him, and I’m sure everyone is having a big old belly laugh at my expense right now.
I step into the dark house, not bothering to turn on any lights. Darkness suits my mood right now. I take off one sandal and fire it at the wall. It makes a satisfying thunk! So I do the same with the other.
Then, I feel bad and scramble around for them in the dark. After a few moments of fumbling, I set them neatly on the shoe rack in the hallway closet because I’m such a good, thoughtful roommate.
A warm shower and comfortable bed are beckoning me. I’m feeling my way towards Aiden’s room, when—
BANG!
The front door flies open.
“JESS?”
The hallway light flips on, and I cover my eyes against the brightness. I peek through my fingers to see Conor standing in the doorway, his big, powerful frame practically filling it. His brown hair is mussed, his green eyes frantic.
What’s he doing home? Doesn't he have some hot redhead to attend to? Unless… I glance behind him to see if he’s got company.
But, he’s alone.
“What?” I croak. “Why are you yelling?”
“What the hell, Jess?” He lowers his voice a touch, but it’s still at a level I would classify as shouting. “Why did you run off like that? I was worried sick. I’ve been calling, I thought something happened to you.”
I’m speechless as he takes a step towards me. When his eyes alight on my face, his furrowed brow clears and his voice drops to a soft tone that slides over me like silk. “Have you been crying?”
I know that there’s no point in denying it—my face swells up like I’ve got a bee sting-allergy when I cry. It’s deeply unattractive and I wish he didn’t have to witness it, but here we are.
I give a small nod and Conor takes another step towards me.
His hands tighten into fists at his sides, making the muscles in his arms ripple.
He looks beyond pissed, but his voice is carefully—almost scarily—controlled when he speaks.
“Did something happen, Jess? Did someone hurt you? You need to tell me.”
I shake my head, mortified. “No! No, nothing like that.”
“You can tell me the truth,” Conor responds. All six foot three of him is vibrating with white-hot anger. The sight is simultaneously terrifying and breathtaking, like he’s some kind of avenging angel. Looking at him almost hurts.
“I am,” I stutter. “Seriously. I just ran into my ex’s best friend, that’s all…”
The second the words are out of my mouth, Conor visibly relaxes.
His whole body breathes a sigh of relief and his fists unclench.
The anger is immediately replaced with something entirely more terrifying—genuine concern and care.
His gorgeous green eyes search my face intently.
My breath catches once again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head a second time, fresh tears forming. “I’m sorry for making you worry, I should’ve told you where I was going. I can’t believe you followed me home. Now, your night is ruined. And you were with that girl—”
“Jess.” He cuts me off abruptly. Takes a step closer. He’s practically face to face with me now. Or, more like face to chest—he’s got about a foot on me. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Not now, not ever. I was worried about you, so I came home. My decision. Okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe.
I’m not sure how it happens, but next thing I know, his strong arms are around me, and my body melts into his. One big hand tightens on my back, while the other strokes my hair. It’s the most tender, sweetest hug I’ve ever received.
And, I allow myself to give in, pressing my face into his chest and inhaling that delicious clean laundry scent mingled with pine.
He’s so warm and solid that, for a moment, I forget about everything that happened tonight.
Forget about the state of my life. Forget about the past, the present, and what might happen tomorrow. I just let myself be held .
I don’t know how long we stand in the hallway, arms wrapped around each other. But, when he finally breaks away from me, I feel better than I have in a long time. Like his hugs have magical properties.
As he steps away, his hands linger at my waist for a delicious moment. He leans forward a fraction, close enough for the warm mintiness of his breath to mingle in the air we’re sharing.
“Better?” He whispers.
I smile a real smile, more than a little weak at the knees. “Yes.”
“Good.” Conor smiles too, and the whole room lights up. “Well, I guess we better get to bed.”
Is it just me, or does it sound like he might not want this moment to end?
“I was going to watch a movie or something?” I say it like a question. “I don’t think I can sleep yet.”
Conor runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes trained on mine. “Want company?”
I shrug nonchalantly like I couldn’t care less. But in reality, his company would mean everything to me. I don’t want to be alone right now. “Yes.”
“I’ll see you out here in a few minutes.” Conor steps away from me, and I miss his warm, slightly intoxicating, presence almost immediately. Then, he walks into his bedroom and shuts the door.
I stare at that closed door intently. Because currently, Conor is behind it. Getting changed. Like, taking off his clothes so he can put on new clothes.
That is how changing works.
Clearly I’m having a stroke—the mere thought of Conor taking off his clothes anywhere near me has sent me into a tailspin. That, plus my skin burns deliciously with the memory of his arms around me. Who would’ve thought that a friendly, casual hug from Conor Brady could be so satisfying?
I stand for way too long in the hallway, gazing at what is essentially a piece of white wood.
My mind rolls over what he said when he slammed through the door.
I still can’t believe that he came after me.
I didn’t even think he’d realize I was gone, but he showed up moments after I got back.
Which means he must have been watching me.
I slip my phone from my bag, suddenly curious. Sure enough, I have four missed calls and a few texts, starting right after I left.
My heart skips a beat. But then, I remember how kind his hug was. How his seething hot anger had morphed into something so platonically caring. Lacking all traces of his flirty, sexy smile.
Maybe he thinks of me like a little sister. Maybe he’s being nice because I am his friend’s little sister. Knowing Aiden, he probably asked Conor to watch out for me. Keep an eye on me.
What other reason on earth would make Conor leave that beautiful girl at the bar and come home after me?
The sinking realization hits me with all the force of the Titanic crashing into that iceberg. In my brain, the world’s tiniest violin player whips out her fiddle and serenades me as my ship goes down.
I need to hit the brakes. Conor is being nice to me, nothing more.
I tear my eyes away from his door and stalk into Aiden’s room. Where, yes, I am still sleeping. He never needs to know.
The bathroom mirror confirms my worst suspicions. My face is mascara-tracked and the color of beetroot. My eyes are swollen and puffy, like little mole eyes. Surely, no guy goes for the crumpled, weeping type.
He’s just being a good guy. There for his buddy’s sister. A friend to his roommate.
I scrub off all my makeup and take a quick shower.
Then, in a fit of “friendly” defiance to my fantasy-filled brain—the one where Conor is Leo and I’m Kate, only I’m the one painting that glorious body and nobody drowns unnecessarily—I change into my giraffe onesie.
I braid my wet hair, and stalk out of the bedroom makeup-free and ready to be the best roommate ever.
I walk into the living area to find Conor in the kitchen, popping popcorn.
And, oh my giddy aunt’s pajamas, does he look good.
He’s also taken a shower, and his skin is flushed, hair damp and tousled.
He wears sweats and a navy hoodie that somehow makes his eyes look greener than ever.
And since when have sweats been so attractive?
All of my friendly feelings go flying out the window as my eyes roam over him.
He catches me staring and his lips part slightly as he stares back at me.
Then, this really intense thing happens. His gaze locks on me, trailing tantalisingly upwards from my ankles. His eyes move slowly along my legs, over my hips, and then drag inch by inch up the line of my body. His gaze rests momentarily on my lips, my cheeks...
He’s looking at me so carefully, so deliberately. It’s as if his eyes are caressing every inch of my body.
Then, his gaze meets mine and I hold my breath.
“Nice onesie,” he smiles.
I immediately look down to take in my orange and brown, fuzzy giraffe outfit, complete with a hood adorned with teeny giraffe horns.
A blush explodes across my cheeks. I was so lost in the moment, I’d forgotten that I was wearing the least sexy outfit ever invented.
An outfit so unsexy that it’s a perfect cause for staring.
I curse myself for getting carried away by those stupid emerald eyes.
“Where did you get it?”
“Oh, it’s kind of a long story,” I reply.
Ughhhh why am I making idiotic giraffe puns now? Can’t my brain just be sensible for one second? It’s really not too much to ask.
By some miracle, he laughs at my joke.
“You ready?” He nods towards the TV, where the Netflix homepage is already open. “Dealer’s choice.”
My heart flutters in my chest as I make my way to the plush, sectional couch. I curl up in the corner and pull a blanket over me. This is what I’ve been wanting all night. But, the unexpected plus of Conor’s company makes me jittery.
I pick up the remote and start flipping, but I can’t concentrate on any of the movies because my attention is on Conor.
“Sweet or salty?” he calls, transfering the popped corn to a huge glass bowl.
“Sweet, always,” I smile.
“Good choice.” He pulls a saucepan out of the cupboard, and throws in butter, brown sugar and syrup. “Oh, and Jess?”
“Yeah?” I look up distractedly and his eyes bore into mine from across the room.
“For the record,” he says slowly, his voice low. “That girl I was with? She’s my realtor, Karla. We were talking business because someone doesn’t want to help me with my staging.”
He says it so flippantly, so casually, that he could’ve been talking about the weather. Then, without waiting to gauge my reaction, he turns his attention to the pan on the stove.
He hums softly, stirring the mixture. Then, he turns off the heat, pours the syrup over the popcorn, and frowns in concentration as he swirls the bowl. The scent of caramelized sugar fills the air and my mouth waters.
And all the while, I stare at him, my mind going a million miles per minute. Because I could actually make my stupid lie to Mark into the truth, prove that I’m not pathetic enough to lie to my ex’s best friend in a bar about what I’m now doing with my life.
“I’ll do it!” I blurt.
“Do what?” He feigns innocence as he walks across the room and plops down right next to me on the eight-foot long couch. Close enough that I can smell his shampoo. But not quite close enough to touch.
Tingles erupt throughout my body.
“The staging,” I stammer. “I’ll help. I’d love to help. I mean… I hope I can help.”
Conor reaches into the bowl and scoops up a handful of sweet popcorn. Pops the handful in his mouth and chews. I can't tear my eyes away, I’m sitting there fixated, watching the muscles in his jaw as he eats.
He takes his time. Chews slowly. Swallows. Takes a sip of water.
Dread churns in my gut. What if he doesn't want me to help anymore? What if he thinks it's a terrible idea?
Just as I’m ready to crawl under the blanket, never to be seen again, Conor smiles. A real, big, genuine smile.
“I’d love that.” His voice is soft, almost sensual, and shivers roll up my spine. I have the sudden urge to leap on him.
“Really?” I say instead.
“Really, really.” There’s a loaded pause as we stare at each other. Then, Conor’s eyes glint mischievously. “Now give me that. I’m picking the movie.”
He reaches over to pluck the remote out of my hand, and I yell in mock-protest, my grip tightening. His fingers brush against mine, and the tension that crackles between us is undeniable. Conor’s eyes widen at the contact, and I let go of the remote. Drop my hands to my lap.
No touching the wildlife. Because that lion could easily bite your hand off.
Quick as a flash, Conor points the remote at the TV and starts flipping through movies.
But, he makes no moves to shift away from me.
If anything, he moves a little closer.