Chapter 22 #2
I could tell that he was really thinking about what he was going to say, because my job was always, always a source of tension between us.
And we’d had more than our fair share of arguments when it came to it.
He looked at me, and I could tell he was gaging how much telling me what he was really thinking would piss me off.
In the end, he ran a hand over his mouth and went in.
“I just want you to know that in no way do I think what I’m about to suggest is easy or would happen any time soon.” He paused for effect, because deep down Juan Pablo was the OG Drama Llama. “But you could slowly start doing something different. Like change careers.”
It was exactly what I thought he’d say, but what surprised me was the emotion that flared in my chest as he said it.
But I was more frustrated with myself and the fact that I was too scared to take a chance on something I really wanted, more than annoyed at him.
Still, my first instinct was to get defensive.
Lash out at him for saying things that he knew would upend my life.
I tried very hard not to bite his head off since I knew he was trying to help.
“I’ve thought about it.” Wow, I didn’t even curse him out.
Growth.
“But I can’t do that. I can’t leave a union job, with security, benefits, a pension, to do something that’s a glorified hobby, just because it makes me feel good. That’s not my life, Juan Pablo.”
“Pris, it’s not like a glorified hobby. Mi reina— Fuck.
” He sucked his teeth at the slip up. We were certainly not back to endearments yet.
“You had that room at attention. I was expecting at least a few eye rolls, but we were all hanging on your every word. And to have older Latinx men and women talking openly about sex? Yo, that shit was beautiful. For real.”
Juan Pablo never said something he didn’t mean. Never, even when it cost him a friendship or, in our case, when it meant there would be a fight. J spoke his truth, as he saw it, always. That’s why, for the most part, he kept his opinions to himself.
But hearing him say it now, it was like he was handing me a gift I’d been too afraid to wish for. And holy shit did I want to take it, but I couldn’t. This wasn’t my reality. It wasn’t even his.
I shook my head again, harder this time.
“Nah, J, I can’t. I just can’t.” My voice shook, because I wanted to ask him how to make it work.
What he saw that I couldn’t, but this road was not good for me.
I could not just throw all fucking caution and responsibility to the wind because I wasn’t feeling my job.
I held up a hand when I saw that he was going to argue. “Please.” I closed my eyes, finally feeling the tiredness of the day. Of the long week I’d had. “Today has been nice. I don’t want to get into a thing over this.”
I was pleading, and he could see it and hear it clearly, and he kept whatever he was about to say to himself. “Okay.”
With that, he turned the show back on and settled the bowl of popcorn between us again. And we went back to the show in silence, the tension of all the things that we didn’t say making the air so thick I could practically see it. I needed to go.
I was about to stand up and do it when a sharp pain in my belly made me sit back down. Of course.
My period would start fucking with me just in time to make this situation that much more shittastic. “Dammit.” I groaned as a particularly eye-watering cramp came right on its heels. With any other person, I would’ve just dealt with it in silence, but this was J, so I opened my mouth.
“Shit,” I said, grabbing my belly.
“You okay?” He was already up, his entire body poised, as if he was ready to pick me up and whisk me to the nearest emergency room.
I grimaced as another spasm shot through my back. “Cramps.”
“Oh shit.” He started moving, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Do you still like ginger tea? I have some, and I’ll put the warm pad in the microwave for you. Here.” He handed me a throw that was hanging over the back of the couch. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”
I took the blanket with numb fingers and spread it over my legs.
I sat there digesting the fact that he had the tea I usually drank when I had cramps and remembered I put a hot pad on my back when the pain got really bad.
J had never been squeamish about periods or “woman stuff.” He’d grown up with three older sisters and Irene raised him not to be an asshole.
But he had never been…nurturing. Neither of us had been.
That was one of the things that always seemed to work for us.
Neither of us was sentimental. We were practical.
Got our shit done, and if we ever needed a hand, we asked for it.
This was different. Such a departure from our usual playbook, and it shook me. To know that in these past couple of years J had worked on himself, found ways to be different, better. And I was drowning in self-doubt, my entire life one big unsatisfying mess.
“You don’t have to take care of me,” I said, realizing shit was about to get real, and I was going to cry. And I couldn’t even blame it on PMS moodiness. “I’ll go home.”
“But I have stuff here.” He looked crestfallen.
Like I’d mortally wounded him by turning down his offer to help.
And if I was a stronger woman I’d have taken my ass home.
Instead I looked up at his handsome face, and those brown eyes that were looking at me with so much longing and said, “Do you have any Motrin?”
He beamed, like I’d made his entire year by letting him coddle me.
There were so many levels to how all of this could potentially fuck with my head, but it felt so nice here with him.
I just wanted some more. More of not having to grin and bear it on my own.
More of being taken care of, for once. I knew this was the kind of shit that was going to make staying in friend zone hard, but I could not bring myself to care just then.
God, I wanted to kiss him. Pull him down to where I was, find a position that didn’t make me feel like I had ferrets gnawing at my lower back and then, I’d kiss him. Hard.
“Why are you looking at me like you want to take a bite out of me?” His mouth was all twitchy, like he was working real hard on not smiling.
I looked down at his white crew socks and then back up to see him run his hand over his fade.
Everything about Juan Pablo felt comforting and oh-so-tempting at that particular moment.
“For a guy that’s had a front-row seat to how moody I get when I have cramps, you’re taking a lot of risks.”
He snorted as I folded my arms around my belly and leaned my head against the couch.
“Let me go get your Motrin. Actually.” His face changed then, like he was really taking his life into his own hands with the next part, but he asked anyway. “Why don’t you stay over?”
He said it as he was walking away and I knew it was to avoid seeing whatever face I’d make.
It was a good time to ask him what he thought was happening here.
To make it clear to him that the only way this could work was if we didn’t muddy the waters again.
That the night after his dad’s birthday has been good, too good.
And I was scared that if we kept falling into bed together, we’d fuck things up royally.
That having him back felt like a lifeline.
I was about to say all of it. But when he came back to the room a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea and put out his hand to pull me off the couch, I took it.
“You can take my bed.” His voice was husky and low, and even in my less than comfortable state, I was having a hard time staying on task.
“J.” I really did mean to step back, but I pushed closer instead.
He brought both hands so they were pressed to my lower back, right where I needed soothing.
My eyes were half open, as if I was still trying to fool myself into thinking I wasn’t really going to kiss him.
I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he held himself back, not making a move until I did it first, and again I was blown away by all the ways in which Juan Pablo had changed.
I turned my head, so my mouth was right under his. His beard prickly on my lips. He smelled good. So good. So I opened my mouth flicked my tongue over his lower lip. Just a caress, but like I knew he would, he ran with it.