10. Izzy
Izzy
Jack curls his hand over my foot and squeezes playfully before letting go and meeting my stare.
I let his words fall around us like the rain pounding against my window, the ghost of his thumb still burning against the top of my foot.
Me?
“No, you don’t want—”
“Hey,” he says softly. Jack shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t look for reasons that aren’t true.”
I can’t really argue with him. I slowly draw my foot back over the velvet cushion, studying him. In the room’s dim light, he’s all hard edges and shadows. There’s still a stubborn bruise under his left eye above a freckle I’ve never noticed before.
I shouldn’t notice a freckle.
He shouldn’t be on my couch with me. Or in my house. I definitely shouldn’t be letting him flirt with me. Or worse, be earnest.
“Stupid habit,” I finally confess. That much is true, at least.
“I’d tell you if I didn’t want to know you. I mean…” I love the way the light catches in his hair, how it curls a bit by his ears. “I would just show you. Guys aren’t that complicated.”
I snort. “I’m discovering this.”
“See, we’re getting somewhere already.”
I yank the blanket higher on my chest like armor. I don’t know if I can trust myself if he flashes that soft, crooked grin. Especially not when he looks so comfortable on my couch, so at home in the quiet.
Jack raises his soda to his lips, then frowns when he realizes it’s empty. He sets it on the hand-painted coaster on the small table beside him, and I try not to notice how careful he is with it.
“That’s against the rules.”
I swear my heart flutters. “Right.” I lift my chin, shimmying against the pillow beside me. I need something solid to hold me up right now. “And this isn’t a date?”
“Nope.”
I don’t believe him, but the way the corner of his mouth tips up is entirely too distracting. With a sigh, I twirl a piece of hair around my finger. “Okay, then what do we need to figure out?” I say. “Everyone knows how we met.”
“But what happened on our first date?”
“Why does anyone need to know?”
“They don’t. It might just come up. Jesus, Sinclair, just tell me your idea of a perfect date.”
A frustrated laugh bubbles out of me. Fine. I’ll play. “One time, a guy took me to Chili’s, then brought me to see Lord of the Rings and recited every line.” I pause, waiting for his laugh, but when it doesn’t come, I continue, “It was the extended cut.”
“That sounds… lonely.”
A soft gasp catches on my lips. I was half expecting a joke or those dimples or something so unserious that I would forget just how much that sucked. And, if I’m being honest, most of my dating life. But giving that truth over to Jack right now feels like too much.
“I’ll think about my perfect date,” I whisper.
“And you’ll let me know?”
“Make something up, something easy to believe. Like you took me to that place you always take your dates to in the South End.”
“I don’t always—”
“Jack, it’s late. Don’t mess with me.”
Something between a laugh and a scoff rumbles in his chest. “It’s a good spot to be seen.”
All those perfectly polished parts of him melt away at night, in some magic trick I don’t want to think about. Just like the night at the hospital.
“And you like to be seen?”
Jack shifts over the couch cushion, drumming his fingers on the top of his knee. He studies me, opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, then shuts it and shrugs instead.
I should tell him I want to be seen too. That it feels good, but I don’t. That painful knot sits at the base of my throat instead. I snatch up the clicker and turn on the TV before I can do something mortifying like ask “Why?”
“Merritt Point has a Halloween party in two weeks,” I say. “We can go together for our first public date.” The words tumble out too fast, and I rush to fill the space before he can read too much into them. “I’m going to watch a movie now. You can stay and watch too if you want.”
Oh god, why did I say it like that? So desperate and—
“Sure, I can stay.”
Wait, what?
“You don’t want me to stay, Izzy?”
“I didn’t think… I was going to watch Sleepless in Seattle. Figured you were probably busy or something.”
“First? Love that movie. My mom named my sister after it, actually.” He relaxes against the cushions, reaching for the corner of my blanket. “Second, you need to share.”
Heat floods my face. I should say no. Should keep this boundary at least. But I’m already tossing a corner of the blanket toward him before I can talk myself out of it.
He’s staying?
The movie starts, but I barely register what’s on screen. I’m too aware of the warmth radiating from his body.
It’s pretend. He’s just being nice. Don’t read into this.
But somewhere near the middle, my body stops listening to my brain. I shift closer. Just a little. Then a little more. My head tips to the side, and suddenly I’m resting against his shoulder.
His warmth wraps around me, steady and solid. My muscles unclench one by one, and I melt against him. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not holding everything together. I’m just… here. Being held up by someone else.
My breathing evens out as Meg Ryan bounces in her car to the chorus of “Horses, Horses, Horses.” My head dips to the beat, eyes heavy. Jack shifts on the couch beside me, warm and solid, and I stop fighting it.
The TV is still on, throwing a faint glow across my living room when I wake up.
I’m curled against Jack, his arm wrapped loosely around my middle, and for one perfect, terrifying moment, I don’t want to move.
Then reality crashes back in.
Oh god. I fell asleep on him.
There’s no way I can sneak away without waking him up. Do I just wait? Pretend I’m still asleep until he wakes up? Forget it, I’ll gnaw off my arm like a trapped animal and flee. That’s a reasonable option.
The only option, really, when I lift my head and feel the small, wet puddle on his shirt.
Shit, I drooled on Jack Murphy. I can’t… I don’t think I’ll ever forgive my friends for this.
“Movie done?” His arm tightens around me slightly before he seems to catch himself, then pulls back. “Sorry.”
I untangle myself, instantly regretting it as the cool October night replaces the human furnace I was just sleeping with. “You should probably go,” I say, my voice scratchy from sleep.
“Yeah.” He swallows, and something in his voice makes my chest ache. “Probably.”
“And I—” I motion toward his sleeve. “Sorry.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“What’s that exactly?”
“It’s covered in the fake-boyfriend dating manual. I need to accept your apology and reassure you that it doesn’t bother me.”
“When really?” I lean back on my hands. I’m too busy studying him in those slutty little glasses of his.
“I’m going home to burn it, then buy a new one because I can afford it.”
I giggle, biting my bottom lip. I finally peel my gaze away, happy that he uses that moment to stand up and grab his jacket in the kitchen.
“Good night, Izzy.”
I nod, wrapping myself in the blanket that smells like him now. I lie back against the pillows before I can do something stupid like ask him to stay. “Good night, Jack.”
I don’t watch him leave. This feeling—this ache in my chest—is a warning. It’s exactly why I need to keep my walls up, because Jack Murphy is temporary.
This whole thing is temporary.
I wipe my eyes and stretch, squinting into the morning sun pouring through my windows. Never made it to my bed last night, but still—rude.
The blanket is twisted around my waist and legs, and I swear I can still smell the lingering hint of cedar from Jack’s cologne.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting off that dangerous thought. Riley’s name lights up the screen.
“How much do you love me?” she says instead of hello.
My neck aches thanks to the lumpy bow pillow I embroidered and definitely overstuffed. I should have gone to bed like a real adult instead of passing out on the couch for the night.
“Hello?” Riley’s voice echoes over the phone.
“I can’t believe you called me. You’re terrified of phones.”
“It’s an emergency. Wait, were you sleeping?”
“I was.” Barely know what day it is, I was sleeping so hard. “Back to your original question, Ri—yes. But I’m going to be real with you, I’m a little afraid of what’s coming next.”
“I need your help.”
“For you? Always.”
“I didn’t finish.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You do love me!”
I chuckle, then switch to speakerphone and mosey into the kitchen, frowning at the two plates left in the sink and the empty soda can on the counter.
Strategy session? Don’t think those usually end up with snuggles on the couch, watching Sleepless in Seattle.
“I’m almost at your place. I need to practice for my driver’s test next week.”
“Almost here? How?”
“Um, Uber,” Riley says with the perfect embodiment of teenage sass.
“First, I’ll pay for that. Second, where’s Mom? She can’t help?”
“Sleeping, I think. I don’t know.”
Right. I purposely took this morning off to try to catch up on the million other things that are piling up in my life. Zoe was more than ready to fill in for me, almost giddy at the chance. But if the past few days are any indication, I know this afternoon is going to be busy.
Thankfully.
Things always work out for me, I repeat in my head, shutting the fridge on the sad proof that I haven’t grocery shopped in a week.
“Come on over. We can take Mildred for a spin.”
Mildred, my teal Saab, is a relic of the twentieth century with almost three hundred thousand miles on it. She’s testy on a good day, but she does the job. There’s a reason I walk for my errands most days. She’s good for a grocery haul or to run over to visit Mom’s place in Gloucester.
I quickly dress, throw my hair into a ponytail, and am in the middle of making coffee when I pick my phone up off the counter. I should probably say something about last night. Thank Jack for the pizza? Clarify boundaries?
My thumb hovers over his name when my sister bursts through the front door.
Riley has her long brunette hair in two French braids, an oversized crewneck on, and leggings with the most aggressively Dad-looking sneakers I’ve seen since the nineties.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She rushes into my kitchen for a hug.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You aren’t sending me home.”
I draw back, finally able to catch my breath. “Well, I don’t love the fact that you took an Uber without asking anyone. That’s not safe.”
She shrugs, her eyes shifting to my outfit. Judgment is heavy, but she wisely keeps it to herself. “Fine, I won’t.”
“You’re going to nail your driver’s test. I know it.” I grab my ceramic to-go cup and hold up the coffee pot. “Want any?”
“No thanks.”
She spots the pizza box. “Have any leftovers?”
“Not much, but we can grab breakfast while we’re out. You know where the keys are.”
Riley plucks them out of the seashell on the table beside the front door. “Let’s hope I don’t crash.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “Let’s hope.”
“Ohmygod, we’re going to die!” my sister screams, clutching the steering wheel as the car sputters.
“No, we’re good. Pull over to the side.”
We might die, actually.
“The side, Riley. Side of the road!”
My sister takes her hands off the steering wheel and covers her face, hysterical.
I lunge for the wheel. Mildred jerks again, then shudders. A grinding whine rips through the cab of the Saab.
“Nope, can’t take your hands off the wheel. Never a good idea. Riley, you can do hard things. You need to keep your hands on the wheel now and drive us to the—”
“Someone is going to hit us!”
I whack the hazard lights button on, then stick my arm out the window, flagging drivers by. I make the mistake of peeking up in the rearview as another SUV barrels toward us on the narrow, scenic highway.
“We can’t switch seats right now. You need to bring the car to the side of the road.” I grip the worn gray leather passenger seat.
“We’re going to die. I’m going to die, and I haven’t even been kissed yet.”
“What?” My head spins. “We don’t need to confess things. We’re not dying.”
Mildred has other plans. Smoke starts pouring out of the hood.
Shit, shit, shit. I can’t afford a new car. Can barely afford to fix this one.
“Riley, two hands. You’ve got this. Right here. Nudge her to the side of the road.”
Thankfully, she guides the car to a small sandy pull-off beside three large boulders. Just over the side, the ocean is eating up the beach. Almost high tide.
I open my door, climb out, and gesture for her to follow me. “Grab the keys. Crawl out this side.”
She bounces out and bends down, clutching her knees. She drags in a deep breath, heaves, then screams.
“Okay?” I ask.
Riley shoots up and tosses her arms in the air, her face red and puffy from crying. “I killed Mildred!”
I peek up at the sky, inhaling a deep drag of ocean air, before a laugh erupts from me. “It’ll be fine.”
“She didn’t deserve to die.”
“Well, you didn’t kill us at least.”
Now we’re both laughing on the side of the road, our hands waving in the air, the early afternoon sun warm. I peel off my sweatshirt and grab my phone.
It’s an instinct to call my mother. I’m not sure why I bother, because she doesn’t pick up. She almost never does. She’s not so forgiving if I don’t answer before two rings. But that’s how it works between us.
Fine. I’ll call Sloane or Sarah. Kate’s probably in Boston. At least Riley can head home safely, and I’ll wait for a tow truck.
“Mom won’t answer my texts.” Riley huffs. “Maybe someone will…”
Just my luck.
A green SUV pulls up beside us, then squeezes in front on the sandy shoulder.
The driver door opens, and a man jumps out in a tank and gym shorts, with a black hat turned backward. “Well this is one way to get my attention, Sinclair.”
I know the voice as soon as I hear it. Doesn’t stop me from spinning so fast I stumble and fall back against the rock, scraping my arm.
Of course. Of course he’s here. Of course I look like a wreck—no makeup, hair in a messy ponytail, my car literally smoking next to me, less than twelve hours after I fell asleep and drooled all over his shoulder.
And he looks… Jesus, the man has gorgeous corded arms, only made hotter by tattoos. It’s just unfair at this point.
“Fuck,” I mumble more at the universe than my scraped arm.
“Was cleared to drive this morning. I was heading back—”
“Iz, is that… oh my god, it’s true? You’re dating Jack Murphy?”
“No.”
“Yes,” he answers at the same time.
Riley peeks between us. I pinch the bridge of my nose, suddenly a little swoony. “Yes,” I admit on a sigh.
Jack’s grin is slow and devastating, like he knows exactly what that admission cost me.