Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Jacob
I PACE THROUGH MY massive apartment, wearing a track into the hardwood floors as I cross my living room again and again. Outside the huge windows, Seattle twinkles with lights. Cars clog the streets, blinking nodes of red contrasting the glittering silver above. I scan them as though I can pick out which car belongs to Seth, but they’re all the same from up here.
My phone buzzes.
I startle, scrambling to drag it out of the back pocket of my jeans, where I also stored my wallet and keys. The jeans verge on too tight, and the shirt above is asymmetrical and slashed in places. I rubbed a bit of product on my hands before sweeping them through my hair to tame it slightly more than usual. Then I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for half an hour wondering if I looked like I was trying too hard.
I’m still wondering as I scan Seth’s “I’m here” message, cram my phone back in my pocket, and all but sprint from my apartment. My heart hammers like I ran a mile and not a few feet by the time I reach the elevator. The ride seems to take forever, and the whole time my mind screams that Seth will have left before I can reach him. I’m shocked he agreed to this. I did … massage the truth, but regardless, part of me always expects him to slip out of my grasp.
When I burst out of the apartment building, his car sits puttering at the curb. A grin blooms across my face as I jog to his car and fling myself into the passenger seat.
“Hey,” I say.
Seth keeps his eyes forward. His hands tighten on the wheel. “Where to?”
I give him the address of a place up in the Fremont area, north of the city proper. It’s some of the best ice cream in the entire city, and I wasn’t going to settle for anything less.
I risk a glance at Seth as he drives. He’s silent behind the wheel, eyes determinedly forward. Black T-shirt, black pants. The same as ever, though his beard is freshly trimmed and sitting a bit closer to his face. I let myself believe he might have cleaned up for me, for this.
“That’s the place,” I say, pointing.
Seth does not acknowledge my arm passing across him. He circles the block, checking out the other cars parked nearby as well as the crowd outside the place. Once he deems it acceptable, he parks beside the curb.
“Let me get out first,” he says.
He doesn’t wait for a reply, but I wasn’t going to disagree. I get a private little thrill out of watching him hop out of the car and stalk toward the ice cream place. He prowls around, and I sit in his car like a prince in a royal carriage.
Finally, he returns, opening my door for me. I can’t resist, so I hold out my hand, leaving him little choice but to take it and help me out of the car. I hold on a beat longer than necessary, clinging to his hand, to this tiny taste of what we shared the other night. The roughness of his palm sends a shiver through my body that carries with it the memory of these strong hands running down my torso to peel my thighs open.
Seth lets go hastily, too hastily, as though he felt what I felt, as though those same memories rippled from my mind to his. He starts off, realizing after a step that this wasn’t his idea. He stops, motioning me past him, and I let my shoulder brush against him as I take the lead.
The ice cream place consists of an order window at the front of a totally unrelated restaurant. The restaurant doesn’t even serve ice cream. They just allow the ice cream place to occupy this tiny booth. There’s no line at this time of night, so I head right to the booth, where a bored employee startles and almost drops her phone.
“Um…”
Dread knots in my stomach as her eyes widen with recognition. I flash a smile and push on like I’m any other customer.
“Hi, I’d love a vanilla bean with mochi balls,” I say. I glance over my shoulder, where Seth looms. “Make that two.”
Seth scowls but doesn’t argue, not that I give him much choice. I turn back to the befuddled employee, who’s struggling to punch in the order on a tablet before turning it toward me so I can pay. She manages to make the ice creams, but her hands tremble as she passes two cups to me.
“Hey, are you…”
“Yup. Thanks!”
I whirl before she can investigate further. There’s no use denying it, but I’m also not going to stand around and go through the motions with her. With any luck, she won’t sneak a picture onto social media, not right away at least. Seth and I might get a few minutes of peace before this slides away from me.
Booths line the street, covered picnic tables that border the road itself. They’re enclosed, so when I choose a bench and sit, it’s almost like Seth and I are somewhere more private than the middle of a busy pedestrian area. Seth stubbornly remains standing, even as I slide one ice cream across the table.
“Will you please sit?” I say. “You look ridiculous.”
“I look like a bodyguard. Your bodyguard.”
“Are bodyguards forbidden from eating ice cream?”
His eyes flicker to the cup of vanilla and mochi sitting in front of an empty bench. “When we’re working, yes.”
I roll my eyes. “Just sit and eat the damn ice cream. You’re drawing more attention this way.”
That argument finally seems to reach him. His scowl creases his mouth, but he enters the booth after a glance and sits awkwardly on the bench.
I wave at his ice cream. “It’s melting.”
“It’s not melting,” he grumbles, but he takes the plastic spoon and eats anyway.
“It’s good, right? Make sure you get some mochi. This is the only place in the city that does it like this. It’s my favorite.”
He hums assent around a mouthful of ice cream. I stick my spoon in my mouth to keep from grinning as Seth goes back for more. For just a moment, we’re two people having ice cream, nothing more. Then the girl who rang up my order shyly approaches the table.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, and my stomach drops.
Seth’s eyes sharpen. She flinches back from the look he gives her.
“You’re Jacob, right? From Baptism Emperor?” At my nod, she grins. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this is happening. Would you mind?”
She holds out a pen and a napkin for me. I muster the best smile I can as I accept them from her.
“Sorry, it’s all I have here,” she says.
“It’s no problem,” I say, quickly signing the napkin and handing it back to her.
She hugs the napkin against her chest like it’s made of gold. “Oh my God, oh my God. Thank you so much. I’m sorry. Thank you.”
She stammers more apologies and thanks as she stumbles away.
“Sorry,” Seth says when she’s gone. “I should have seen that coming.”
“It’s okay.” I wave away the whole incident. “It’s just the girl working the register.”
“Yeah, but if she…”
He starts to rise, apparently meaning to go patrol the place or something similarly intimidating and bodyguard-like. I lunge across the table and grab his wrist before he can go. His eyes dart to my hand, but he doesn’t yank himself free.
“You haven’t even finished your ice cream,” I say.
“People know you’re here. I have to make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m safe if you’re here with me.”
His throat works. I don’t back down, holding his gaze. Slowly, he settles down on the bench.
“There’s no one else coming, is there?” he says.
“What?”
“You told me you wanted to go get ice cream,” he says. “That you needed me here. I assumed there was someone else joining you.”
“I did want to get ice cream,” I say. “And I do need you here.”
“For your safety.”
“For … my safety.”
His lips flatten into a hard line. He takes an almost defiant scoop of ice cream, and for a while, we simply sit there eating, the silence bubbling with unspoken conversation.
Then the second person arrives to shyly ask me for an autograph.
There’s no stopping or stalling Seth after that. He’s up, his ice cream forgotten. I want to call him back, but when I look up from my ice cream, I spot the same thing he does: a crowd clustering on the edges of the ice cream place.
One of them has a camera.
“Shit,” Seth hisses.
He sweeps the whole place with a sharp, appraising gaze. The crowd, the camera, me, my ice cream. In seconds, he’s picked it apart and reached the conclusion turning my guts into a nauseous mixture of mush.
“Time to go,” he says.
I can’t argue, not with that camera there. It’s already snapping away, and God knows which nosy paparazzo it belongs to. Seth grabs our unfinished ice cream and throws it out before I can protest, then ushers me off the bench and away from our secluded little booth. Someone shouts at me. Papers and pens poke through the crowd like thorns on a bush. Seth puts an arm around my shoulders and shuffles me through the sudden press, ignoring the entreaties that I stop and sign things. I smile and wave, trying to at least be nice to the fans, but I barely get a glimpse of them before Seth stuffs me in his car. He has to honk at the lone paparazzo before he can pull away from the curb and onto the road.
I watch the ice cream place disappear in the rearview mirror.
“So much for ice cream,” I grumble.
“What were you thinking?” Seth’s voice is a quick snap, like a slap across the face.
“I just wanted—”
“That could have gone far worse. Jesus, why did I say yes? I should have stopped this before it ever started.”
Worry cuts through his harsh tone, raw, blunt fear. Fear for me, I realize. Fear that he screwed up, that he might not be enough, that something could have happened.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Nothing bad happened. I signed a couple autographs. That’s all. Everything is fine.”
“I’m supposed to…”
Frustration cuts him off and sends a spear of guilt through my chest. I keep pushing him, and it keeps resulting in situations that make him feel like he’s failing. Nothing could be less true. If it weren’t for Seth, I couldn’t get out of my apartment.
We pull into the garage at the apartment building and wait to see if anyone followed us from the ice cream place. When it seems like it’s clear, Seth sighs.
I take a chance and set a hand on his arm. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. I just…”
He doesn’t chastise me, doesn’t push. He waits for the end of that sentence, and I dive toward it, terrifying though it is.
“I wanted to go out with you,” I say.
Seth goes still.
“I wanted to get an ice cream. With you,” I say. “That’s all. I didn’t think it would be a whole thing. I’m sorry. I just… Can I make it up to you? Come upstairs with me.”
It’s a casual offer. The implication of the words hits me a second late, but I don’t take them back. Instead, I tighten my grip on his arm.
He hesitates, and that sends a weird thrill of hope through me. I push my luck just a little more, taking a breath before saying, “Seth, it’s just us. There’s no one to see us, no one to judge us. Do you want to come up or not?”
Then, I wait.