17. Jess
Jess
“YOU LIKE HIM, YOU CHEEKY LITTLE MINX!”
“Speak louder Court, I think a few people in Timbuktu missed that,” I hiss, glancing around to quadruple check that nobody is listening.
My new friend wriggles in glee, her eyes glittering in a slightly manic fashion. “Tell me everything. Spill the tea.”
“Listen to you! You’re so down with the kids,” I tease. “And, there’s no tea to spill. There isn’t anything to spill.”
“Lies.”
I shake my head.
Courtney points an accusing finger at me. “Terrible, awful, wicked lies.”
I pull my sunglasses down onto my face instead of answering, and sit up on my lounger.
Courtney and I have been spending more time together lately, and I’m growing very fond of my neighbor.
Today, we’re in Aiden’s backyard, tanning in our bathing suits and sipping Courtney’s “famous homemade pina coladas.”
To buy myself some time from inevitably having to talk about Conor, I take another tentative slurp of my cocktail. I shoot Courtney a big smile to avoid gagging.
“Good?” Courtney says.
“Mmmm.” I nod as convincingly as I can as I set my glass down. As far away from me as possible.
Calling this a cocktail would be extremely generous. Even calling it a drink might be pushing it.
It looks, and tastes, like toxic waste.
But, Court went out of her way to pick up the ingredients for the pina coladas, just to share them with me. Her hospitality means so much to me, I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth.
“Remind me what you put in these again?” I ask through my smile as I attempt to swallow the slimy mush.
“Secret recipe.” Courtney waggles her eyebrows. “And stop trying to change the subject, missy.”
“Fine.”
I flop back on the lounger and adjust my bathing suit.
Usually, I’d feel frumpy next to a tall, tan, lean creature like Courtney.
She’s got one of those rangey bodies like a gazelle, all sharp angles and graceful limbs.
And perfect, normal-sized perky boobs—she can probably wear those itty bitty triangle bikini tops without worrying about her chest having a mind of its own and trying to make a desperate bid for freedom.
Yes, that is based on a real story.
And no, I don’t want to talk about it.
Anyhow, one of the nicest things about Courtney is that, even though she’s tall and slim and gorgeous, she is totally non-judgy. For the first time in my life, I don’t find myself wanting to compare. We’re different, and that’s okay.
Courtney rolls on her side and looks at me expectantly. “Tell me.”
I let out a happy sigh. “I dunno, Court. There’s nothing going on between us. Nothing’s happened. He’s never made a move. But there’s, like, this... chemistry when he’s close to me. Like, he has a force field that I’m being sucked into.”
I pause for breath, realizing how stupid this must sound. I don’t think I’m imagining it, though. The way he looked at me by the pool last week, I could have sworn he was about to kiss me… right before he shoved me in the water.
Courtney, meanwhile, fans herself with a People magazine, pretending to swoon like some sort of heroine from a Victorian novel.
“Can I live vicariously through you?” she asks wistfully between fans. “Take pity on this poor spinster who only has love for her dogs.”
I fish a piece of ice out of my drink and chuck it at her. “Oh, please. One disastrous Tinder date and you’re acting like you’re going to run off and join a nunnery.”
Courtney went out with a guy she swiped right on last week who turned out to be Mr. ALL Wrong.
Martin looked great both on paper (well, phone screen) and in person—he’s a successful attorney with classically handsome looks.
Lover of books, baseball, and vintage cars, according to his profile.
I helped Courtney pick out a stunning, low-cut pink cocktail dress and she went off to meet him at a beautiful restaurant on the river, which was a great start. But, it all went downhill from there.
To recap:
He told Courtney that it was “his treat” but then ordered the house white before asking what she wanted to drink (which happened to be scotch on the rocks). He then suggested they order food from the appetizer menu to share. So, basically, a cheapskate. Strike one.
Then, with a leering smile, he proceeded to check out every female in the restaurant. And, he had the nerve to make a backhanded compliment about how Court’s dress was nice, if you’re into that sort of short, tight thing. So, both pervy and misogynistic. Getting worse by the second.
Strike three—and the cherry on top of the dumpster fire—came when Martin passed gas at the dinner table.
Like, the man farted while on a date. Loudly.
As Court so delicately pointed out afterwards, if you have the urge to pass gas on a date—or anywhere in public—you should go to the bathroom and do so in private. Nobody takes risks like that.
“Forget Farty Marty,” I tell my friend. “He was a total dud. That date was zero reflection on you as a person, you could have your pick of any guy. And, like I told you, there is nothing for you to live vicariously through when it comes to me and Conor. Because nothing’s happening. Period.”
“Why not? You’re both young, single and hot. And, he’s just a bedroom away.” Courtney smiles a Cheshire Cat grin and I stick my tongue out at her.
“Oh, gee, thank you so much for pointing that out, Court. I’d never realized.
” I roll my eyes at her. Then, I sigh. “But the thing is, I think he sees me as a friend. He barely even flirts with me anymore. Plus, guys like that always know when a girl thinks they’re hot.
Which means that he could’ve made a move at any point and tried for the full roommates-with-benefits experience.
Which I would have turned down, obviously. ”
Courtney snorts a laugh, which she promptly attempts to disguise as a cough. “No, you wouldn't.”
But I’m not lying. I would have turned down any proposition like that. Because I like Conor as a person. A lot. And I don’t want to be anybody’s casual fling—my emotions can’t help but get involved. Plus, I’m not into that sort of thing to begin with.
But, despite my words to Courtney, I’m beginning to think Conor isn’t into that sort of thing either. I’ve never seen him do anything more than talk to another woman, and he’s not the big flirt I originally pegged him for, either.
He’s been nothing but super sweet to me lately. A good roommate, and a good friend. Who pushed me in the pool, instead of kissing me like I thought he might. Which leads me to my second point...
“But I haven’t had to turn him down because he hasn’t tried anything. Which makes me think that he’s probably just not attracted to me.”
I sigh, deeply disappointed in myself for caring this much. I can’t believe it’s been almost a week since Conor took me to his house for demolition. Almost a week since he followed me home from the bar, held me as I cried, and made popcorn for me.
The day of the demolition, I was sure there was something building between us. The mere memory of his hands on mine as we swung the sledgehammer makes my body tingle. But since then? Nada.
He’s been busy at work all week, and we’ve only seen each other briefly here and there—although I still wake up to a freshly brewed pot of coffee every morning.
The most time we’ve spent together in days was when he took me to see the house I’ll be working on, which is stunning.
While we were there, he gave me my written offer to contract for Brady Homes as a stager—for more money than I used to make in a month at Cirque!
I told him it was way too generous, but he insisted it was the going rate for staging.
That afternoon, I sped to the library and checked out every book they had on home staging.
“Think about it, Jess. You’re fresh out of a break up, living with him, and he offered you a job—which means, technically, you now work for him. Maybe he’s just a good guy and he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries.”
Was that why he pushed me in the pool when I was sure he was going to kiss me? Boundaries?
“Or, maybe he’s just worried about upsetting your stupid brother,” Courtney continues with a shrug.
I cock an eyebrow at her. “Remind me why you hate Aiden so much?”
Courtney, for all of her forthcoming brashness, is surprisingly mute on the subject of my brother—unless she’s ranting about something he supposedly did wrong.
“I don’t hate him.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“This isn’t about Aiden. It’s about Conor. Who is clearly blind if he’s not attracted to you.”
“Smooth conversation diversion,” I tell her. But, I drop the Aiden subject, which is clearly touchy.
I’m thankful for Courtney’s support, but she’s being too nice. I’m not the girl who gets the guy that everyone wants. I’m the girl that gets left for someone else.
“Blind or not, it doesn’t matter. I need to stop thinking about the fact that it’s never going to happen, and move on. The important thing is that he’s nice, and he’s really helping me out with giving me work.” I smile to myself. “Which is more than any guy’s ever done for me.”
Courtney’s cat-like grin is back. “And that, my dear, is exactly my point.”
* * *
After Courtney goes home to attend to the loves of her life—Butch and Cassidy—I decide that there’s no time like the present to get to work on doing some painting.
I’ve been putting it off for days now, battling with nagging self-doubt and thoughts of failure.
I’ve conveniently used my staging books to procrastinate, telling myself that I was too busy reading to make any of my own art.
But the job with Conor is a one-off, temporary.
I’m going to need further employment down the line, so I’ve got to bite the bullet sometime.
I’ve decided to ease myself into creativity by doing a painting for Aiden.
Something to thank him for letting me stay at his place rent-free.
There’s a spot above the couch where I’d love to hang it.