Chapter 10
Obviously, I can’t argue about the best way to get into the house anymore – because, let’s be honest, that argument is what brought us here, isn’t it?
It’s what led Jasper Hassmann’s tongue directly to my clitoris in a completely delicious way, one I can’t even remember any other guy doing in my entire life.
So, to avoid even a memory of it, I simply follow him through a little sand alley, where I would never go alone, that leads straight to the house entrance on the little stone street, with the garage gates, the villa’s majestic facade, and the little sign on the corner that says Callejón Desnudo.
I guess, at this point, I don’t even need to say that this is one of the strangest moments of my life.
We both finish the walk in complete silence, nothing but the sound of the wind and the waves left behind as we leave the beach. Jasper’s face is serious, calm, as if nothing happened. I don’t even know how I look on the outside, but inside, I know I’m in total panic.
Thinking of all the ways he could torment me. All the jokes and wordplay he’ll find a way to slip into a conversation so that no one else understands but me, because that’s who he is. Like a walking dictionary, the right words always ready on the tip of his tongue to drive you insane.
He turns the key in the small gate and looks at me before opening it.
“You hungry?” are the exact words that come out of his mouth.
Suddenly, I don’t understand anything anymore.
This wasn’t the plan. None of this.
But, honestly, I don’t know what the plan even was. Or if there was one at all.
“This isn’t you inviting me for dinner, right?”
“It’s three in the morning,” Jasper replies, as if the words justify themselves. “I just thought, after everything that happened, you should eat something.”
And now what do I do? Someone tell me what I do!
Because Jasper is standing in the middle of the path, holding the gate, with a face that clearly expects an answer.
I’m starving. I only had bread and cheese all day, and that was at lunchtime, but I have no interest in eating in front of Jasper. I’m not interested in him even knowing I’m human and need to eat to survive, but my jaw has lost the ability to move, and I can’t say anything back.
Instead of my usual debates, there’s only deep silence.
He pushes the gate open, gestures inside with his free hand, and goes back to treating me like the usual drunk, because all he says is, “Go in, I’ll find something for you to eat before bed.”
And, once again, I obey.
Jasper closes the gate carefully, checking the lock, and we follow the garden.
I drag myself clumsily and end up kicking one of the stones decorating the pathway.
He shoots me a warning look, putting a finger to his lips for silence, before opening the door even more carefully than he did with the gate, the streetlights illuminating the space for a brief moment until we’re swallowed by darkness again, interrupted only by the faint light coming through the glass panes and casting distorted shadows across the walls.
I then stumble on the edge of the rug, making a noise that echoes throughout the space. Jasper turns to me again, rolling his eyes in impatience.
“Try not to wake anyone, please,” he mutters quietly and rushes to the kitchen to turn on the light above the stove.
The yellowish light casts a soft glow over the marble countertop, and the familiar open-concept space that includes the living room and kitchen begins to take shape again.
On one side, the living room stretches with comfortable sofas, and on the other, the glass panes reveal the pool, occasionally reflecting a glimmer of light outside.
I bump into one of the counters, and, while Jasper disappears into the fridge, I fiddle with things, completely distracted. I open and close drawers, bang a cabinet door accidentally, and he turns to me, eyebrows raised in a look of reproach.
“I’m not doing anything,” I justify, pushing a silver-handled ladle from side to side in the countertop basket.
He finally steps away from the fridge, holding a glass dish, and now goes in search of something to put the food in. He grabs a plate, looks at me, changes his mind, and takes out a blue bowl out of the cabinet, as if preparing porridge for a child.
With precise gestures, he serves some creamy mush that I can’t quite identify, then opens the microwave and slides the bowl inside carefully, making sure the door closes quietly.
When the timer is about to go off, he interrupts the cycle before we hear the beep. Only after all that does he hand me the bowl. And, like the child I must appear to be today, I hold it with both hands, the smell of hot food immediately bringing a sense of comfort to my entire body.
It smells like melted cheese, but I still have no idea what it is.
“What is this?”
“Tortellini,” he replies, distracted as he opens the cutlery drawer and, like he did with the bowl, chooses a spoon instead of a fork.
My God, I’m a child!
“Cordelia made it for dinner.”
I obviously have no idea what tortellini is. I imagine Italian food. I imagine pasta and cheese and I don’t even know why I care about anything else, but there I go asking again, looking at the pasta inside the bowl and then at the spoon he’s sliding in, all the way to the bottom so nothing falls.
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know, Julie. Carbs, fat… everything you need to help you not to wake up with a hangover tomorrow.”
“Pff…” I let out a laugh through my nose. “Mission almost impossible.”
“Sit and eat,” he says, gesturing impatiently toward me.
Jasper acts like he’s doing all this out of obligation, but there’s something in the way he moves that makes me feel… cared for. In a way I’m not really used to.
Even treating me like an irresponsible drunk, there’s something in how he handles the situation that brings a deep discomfort, which is becoming harder and harder to ignore.
So even though I’m hungry, even though the food smells delicious, and even though I follow him to the couch, there’s a lot troubling me that keeps me from staying quiet.
If I stay quiet, it’ll seem like I’m enjoying it.
And nobody wants that, right?
“I told you the shorter beard itched,” I complain, because now I’m sitting with the bowl in my hands and the steam from the food is near my face and the warmth is making my skin burn even more.
Not just my neck, but my jaw, cheeks, and mouth… only I’m not really sure if it’s all the beard’s fault.
“At least you can wake up tomorrow and tell everyone you banged with Brock Magnus The Destroyer,” Jasper says nonchalantly.
“Brock Magnus doesn’t have a beard,” I reply immediately. “His face is soft like a baby’s butt.”
Jasper leans toward me, one hand on the side of the couch, the other on the backrest, leaving me curled up between his arms.
“Shut up,” he orders, in a low whisper that completely disorients me without effort.
“You shut me up!”
His hand moves from the couch and goes straight to my neck, then he leans even closer and kisses me without hesitation, his tongue already making space between my lips in a kiss that warms everything inside me again.
I respond with a sigh, worried I have no willpower to make him stop… and now I’m at his mercy again!
But it’s Jasper who lets go first, eyes fixed on mine so he can say, “Now eat your damn food.”
“You don’t need to take care of me, okay? I’ve been drunk many times before you rescued me from a Mexican jail. I can handle myself.”
He nods tiredly, obviously still not taking anything I say seriously.
“You’re going to eat quietly and then go to bed?”
“Yes, I’ll eat quietly and then go to bed,” I agree. And before there’s any room for doubt, I add, “My bed.”
“What other bed would it be?” he teases.
“Not yours, obviously.”
Jasper presses his lips together, holding back a smile.
“Why would you go to my bed, Julia?”
Son of a bitch!
He’s doing everything he possibly can to drive me crazy.
In every possible sense.
“This was a mistake,” I point from me to him and back to me as I speak.
“Of course it was.”
“It won’t happen again!”
“Of course it won’t.”
“And you’re an idiot!”
Jasper laughs. And my God, he looks so freaking handsome when he really laughs!
“Good night, Jules.”
“Night!” I snap back, like the angry child I apparently became, with my bowl of tortellini, my spoon, and my bratty face.
“You’re crazy,” Jasper says, pressing his lips and shaking his head in disbelief. But the pressed lips turn into a silly smile, so I know he’s really enjoying this.
So now that he’s finally leaving and heading toward the stairs, I’m smiling at my bowl of pasta.
Alone in the dark, smiling at my bowl like an idiot.
At some point, I must have started eating, but, to be honest, I think someone flipped my internal on/off switch, because after that, I completely passed out and can’t remember anything else.